ADVERTISEMENT
A week ago, he held up one of his little plastic walkie-talkies with sticky fingers and said, “Grandma Annie, this is for you!”
“So we can talk even when I’m in my bedroom! You just press this button and say my name!”
I clipped it to my apron strings. “I love it, baby.”
He wrapped his small arms around my legs, holding on like I was the safest thing in his world.
Through the thin wall, I heard Lila calling him home. We live right next door to each other in Skyridge Apartments—same hallway, same familiar creaks in the floorboards. Five years ago, when Lila was pregnant with Max, I helped them buy that place. I still remember how my hands shook when I signed the cheque.
