"What people have you known?"
"Grannie."
"She isn't people."
"She's my people. She's all there is, except Peter, and he hasn't been here."
Something like jealousy possessed her. She was stung by her own ignorance.
"But there are lots of years when we didn't meet," she said.
"Lots of them. But I don't care anything about them. I told you so the other night."
"Don't you care about mine?"
"Not a bit."
She was lightheaded with the joy of it. There were things she need not tell him.