Tom pointed to the great valley. “Look!”
She turned her head, and her mouth opened a little. Her fingers went to her throat and gathered a little pinch of skin and twisted gently. “Thank God!” she said. “The fambly’s here.” Her knees buckled and she sat down on the running board.
“You sick, Ma?”
“No, jus’ tar’d.”
“Didn’ you get no sleep?”
“No.”
“Was Granma bad?”
Ma looked down at her hands, lying together like tired lovers in her lap. “I wisht I could wait an’ not tell you. I wisht it could be all—nice.”
Pa said, “Then Granma’s bad.”
Ma raised her eyes and looked over the valley. “Granma’s dead.”