“You have to tell them you made a mistake about the garage.”

“I cannot do that, Mother,” I said.

“They are going to arrest your brother,” she said.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a small, rectangular object wrapped in tissue paper.

“I brought this for you.

It was on your dresser in the old room.”

She peeled back the tissue paper to reveal the small framed childhood photograph of my grandmother sitting on the porch in the summer.

The glass was dusty, and the silver painted wood was chipped at the corners.