Gone

Betty Neale woke up that Saturday morning with the sun. It’d snowed yesterday and looking out the window gave her a big, big headache. “Grandma, Grandma!” she yelled out the room, “It’s a blue sky and sunny!

She ran across the hallway to her grandparents’ room, but the tussled sheets didn’t have any occupants. Grandpa was probably already down at the store and Grandma, making breakfast for her and little Ralph.

Betty went down the stairs to the kitchen – but Grandma sat in the living room chair, crying, and Grandpa stood above her. He never wore a suit this early in the morning! “Betty, sweetheart, come to Grandma,” she whimpered. Something bad has happened to Grandma so Betty ran over and climbed into her lap.

“My precious, precious little girl, oh how I love you.”

“What’s wrong, Grandma?”

But Grandma didn’t say anything for the longest time. Grandpa just paced about, asking, “When will August be home?” Grandma just held Betty close to her, rocking back and forth. Finally little Ralph came down the stairs to play with his blocks on the living room floor.

And then the front door opened and Betty saw her father’s gray face and thick brown stubble. Mr. Smith stood behind him.

Grandma addressed her son directly. “Tell us about Mary, August. What’s happened?”

“She’s gone, Mother. Six-thirty this morning. Betty, Ralph, you must be very, very brave. Your mother’s gone to heaven. I’m going upstairs for a shower and a shave.”