Angela stood at the gate of her grandparent's home, her travel trunk left behind at her father's house, carrying only a smaller bag over her shoulder. She had not sent word ahead. She wasn't sure she could have put into words what she was coming to say.
She pushed the gate open.
The front door opened before she had even reached the steps.
"Angela?"
Her grandmother, Mila, stood in the doorway with a dish towel still in her hands and an expression that moved through surprise, relief, and warmth all within the span of a single breath.
"Hello, Nana," Angela said.
That was all it took. Mila descended the steps and pulled her into her arms with a strength that contradicted her slight frame entirely.
"You didn't write," Mila said into her hair. "Or send a word. You look thin. Are you eating?"
"I am eating, Nana."
"Hmm." Mila looked unconvinced. She kept one hand at Angela's arm and steered her inside. "Cordell!" she called as they crossed the threshold. "Cordell, come down!"
