“Well, look at you.”

I did not correct her.

I sat down in the chair beside her and let her take my hand, and my grandmother patted the back of it the way you’d gentle a horse.

Renee’s name.

Not mine, not Sandra’s.

Nineteen-ninety was the last year that woman saw her older daughter, and thirty-six years and an entire disease later, the face still went straight to *Neenie.*