Clara, of course, was on a three-month cruise through Europe. “Hospitals make me sick,” she said, dismissing her absence. “You’ve always been sentimental, Lila. You can handle this.” She didn’t arrive until after Grandma Mabel passed away. When she did, all she cared about was what she could take: the house, the jewelry, the money. Not the couch. Not the faded, peach-colored couch with floral trim and sagging cushions that held Mabel’s real secret. Before she died, Mabel allowed me to give back the care she had always provided. I bathed her, brushed her hair, read to her, and slept on the floor beside her bed.
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