Mom told me at Sunday dinner, between the roast and the pie.Track Pregnancy
“We sold Grandpa’s ground to Vern Akers.”
She said it the way you’d say the weather was turning. Like it was something that had already happened somewhere else, to somebody else. She was cutting the roast while she said it. She didn’t stop cutting.
I had come straight off a night shift at the care center in Creston. Twelve hours. I hadn’t slept. I still had my name badge clipped to my scrub top, and I still smelled like hand sanitizer and the lotion we use on the residents’ heels.
I set my fork down.
“What?” I said.
“The eighty,” Mom said. “Grandpa’s eighty. Vern made a good offer. We closed on Friday.”
Across the table, my sister Brittany looked down at her plate. She was twenty-six. She had her blonde hair pulled back with a clip, and she was wearing the engagement ring her fiancé, Tanner, had given her at Christmas. It caught the light from the dining room window every time she moved her hand.Plan Family Trips
