Then I looked at Grandma again.
She was crying.
Not quietly.
Tears were running down her face.
I moved around the table.
“Grandma?”
She pointed at Sophie.
“Take off her sock.”
The room went quiet.
“What?”
“Her left sock. Now.”
I stared at her.
“What’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she pointed toward someone standing among our birthday guests.
“Lock the front door.”
My husband laughed nervously.
“Why?”
Grandma gripped my wrist.
And for the first time that day, she looked terrified.
Grandma’s fingers were cold around my wrist.
“Lock the front door,” she repeated.
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