His cheeks were red and blotchy.

“Grandma!”

He crossed the hallway in four quick strides.

I caught him and nearly lost my balance.

Patricia steadied my elbow.

“Easy.”

I held Larry by both shoulders.

“How did you get here?”

He clutched his backpack against his chest.

Then Tom appeared in the doorway holding his car keys.

“He didn’t come alone.”

I looked from Tom to Larry.

“Does Melissa know?”

Tom rubbed the back of his neck.

“She does now.”

Larry tugged at my sleeve.

“Grandma, I brought something.”

“From where?”

“Your house.”

Tom looked down at him.

Apparently, that part was news to him too.

Larry hugged the backpack tighter.

“I didn’t want Mom to get rid of it.”

My eyes went straight to Tom.

“Get rid of what, sweetie?”

“I don’t know.”

Larry unzipped his backpack.

He moved aside a math book, a pencil case, and a crushed packet of crackers.

Then he pulled out an old brass hinge.

I knew what it was before he’d even finished lifting it from the bag.

My legs suddenly felt unreliable, and I grabbed the edge of the bed.

Robert had replaced that hinge twice because the pantry door always sagged.

“Larry.”

“It’s from your door, Grandma.”

“What happened to my pantry door?”

His chin began to tremble.

“Mom took it off.”

I looked at Tom.

“What?”

He stepped farther into the room.

“I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Melissa told me this was temporary rehab. She said you’d be here a couple of weeks.”

“That’s what she told me too.”

Larry interrupted.

“She said you’re not coming home.”

The room went silent.

“She said that?”

“Yes.”

Tom pulled the visitor chair closer.

“I went to your house this afternoon because Larry wasn’t home when I got there. I found him in your kitchen with a contractor.”

“A contractor?”

“They’d taken the pantry door down.”

Larry raised the hinge.

“I asked them not to.”

My fingers closed around the piece of brass.

“Why were they taking it down?”

“Mom said she’s making things safer,” Larry said. “Clearing things out. Replacing a few things.”

“What things?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Larry wiped his nose against his sleeve.

“The man said the old door was going away.”

Tom handed him a tissue.

Larry ignored it.

“Grandpa’s writing is on it.”

I turned the hinge slowly in my palm.

My eight-year-old grandson had decided that a piece of hardware needed rescuing.

I reached for my phone.

Tom stopped me.

“Elaine, before you call her, there’s something else.”

I looked up.

“She told me you agreed to all this.”

I almost laughed.

“Apparently I’ve been very busy.”

Tom sat down.

“She said the hospital recommended you not live alone anymore.”

“They recommended help while I recover.”

“That’s not how she explained it.”

I looked at Larry.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

He frowned.

“Mom said you needed quiet.”

“She told me you were adjusting.”

“I’m not adjusting, Grandma. I missed you.”

“I can see that.”

He carefully climbed onto the edge of my bed.

“She said calling would make you want to come home.”

There it was.

I called Melissa.

She answered immediately.

“Mom?”

“Why is my pantry door off its hinges?”

Silence.

Then she said, “Tom called you.”

“Your son brought me a hinge in his school backpack.”

“Mom, listen.”

“No. You listen. What are you doing in my house?”

“I’m making it safer.”

“By removing a pantry door?”

“It swings into the walkway. You could catch your cane on it.”

“I don’t use a cane.”

“You might.”

I closed my eyes.

That was Melissa now.

She wasn’t solving the problem I actually had.

She was solving every possible future problem she could imagine before I was allowed a vote.

“What else have you changed?”

“Nothing permanent.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

She exhaled.

“I moved some things. That’s all.”

“Put the pantry door somewhere safe.”

“I already did.”

That stopped me.

“You didn’t throw it away?”

“Of course not.”

She sounded almost offended.

For a moment, I didn’t know what to do with that.

Then I asked the question that had bothered me since the drive there.

“Why eighty miles?”

Silence.

Then: “This one had good reviews.”

“There are places twenty minutes away with good reviews.”

“Mom.”

“Why eighty miles?”

Tom was watching me now.

Apparently, he’d never asked that question either.

Melissa finally answered.

“Because I knew what you’d do.”

“What would I do?”

“You’d keep trying to go home.”

I looked at the brass hinge in my palm.

“So you didn’t choose eighty miles because I couldn’t go home.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You chose it because you knew I’d want to.”

Larry stopped swinging his feet.

Melissa’s voice sharpened.

“You fell, Mom.”

“Yes.”