never flew again.”
She shook her head.
“I couldn’t.”
For twenty-seven years, Grandma had imagined Grandpa spending his final moments alone.
She had blamed herself for being sick.
She wondered whether she might have noticed something earlier if she had been there.
Mom had hidden most of the story from me because Grandpa had been flying to California to meet me.
She never wanted me to grow up thinking his death was somehow connected to my birth.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Grandma said.
“It wasn’t mine either.”
She looked at
