My grandma stood outside the door to the garage. The cord went through the crack. I wouldn’t hear what she was saying. The drier spun to her voice. “Get away from the door,” my grandpa said. “I want to hear what grandma’s talking about. I think it’s me.” Grandpa’s eyes changed. He took out a deck of cards from the drawer. “Wanna play 21?” He set the cards on the kitchen table. When she finally came in, I was concentrating on my Ace. One or eleven. Her hands surprised me. They were on my shoulders. “Eleven. See?” She pointed to the eight. I looked back and up. Her hair was lit from the ceiling. She was my grandma. I decided right then: she was my grandma.
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