"Every time someone comes up the mountain, they always stop by to pay their respects to the old man. Then they pull up a stool and sit beside me, hoping I'll tell them the love story between me and my husband. But honestly, what love story? Nothing dramatic or epic about us. It's just been fifty-some years of ordinary days-repeating, steady, content. That's all."
Fiona's heart softened a little. She asked, "Grandma, don't you ever feel lonely living here by yourself?"
"Not really. I've lived like this my whole life-it's what I'm used to. Even though he's gone, I still feel like he's right here with me. And going down the mountain? What would I even do? Without him, that's when I'd really feel alone. That's when things wouldn't feel right."
Grandma's eyes seemed to drift, a peace
