I hadn’t considered that Grandma might become a topic of public debate while trying to buy her prescriptions.

When I told her what had happened, she was sitting at her sewing machine repairing the hem of a neighbor’s dress.

“Are they saying I made a bad cake?” she asked.

“No.”

“Well, then.” She guided the fabric under the needle.

“I suppose I’ll survive.”

“Grandma, it’s not funny.”

“No, dear.