By eight o’clock Saturday morning, the winter sun was pale yellow behind the front glass of Miller’s Corner Market.

I turned the heavy deadbolt and pushed the door back against its rubber stopper.

Emma came out of the back storeroom carrying a cardboard box of oat cereal.

Her small leather boots squeaked on the scuffed linoleum as she carried the box to the center aisle.

She knelt on the floor and lined up the small red boxes four in a row on the bottom shelf.

“Is this straight enough, Grandpa?” she asked, touching the corner of the last box.