A clear IV connects painkiller, grandma’s last rites, and Sunday morning. Fidgeting in pink admittance gown, you could tell she hates her wheelchair—getting used to it John supposed. She was always so free in love and expletives…
His first word was “shit” looking on from a high chair—Grandma mashed peas yelling.
“Maya, come here.” Her demand facing death; grandson’s sad life had been revealed to a stranger.
Approaching light brown-haired nurse smiles as if they shared history.
“This is my grandson; the detective I told you about.”
“Grandma,” he chuckles pointing at her suspiciously.
Maya sits in a metal cafeteria chair between estranged lives.
_______________
Benny faces thug Finneran expecting another beating; good hand shaking as if about to lose the farm doubling down. Benny’s keys rattle changing owners—goodbye silver Jag.
