“delanie, where are your grandpa’s keys?”
“I swear I put them on the Bible right inside his front door,” I respond with my hand at my forehead. Maybe if I compress all the information in my brain, I’ll be closer to finding the answer.
“Okay,” my Aunt Fran says, “We’ll look there, now that we can get to the keys on top of our fridge.”
“Oh!” I say, greatly relieved. “You made it into your house?” Maybe I hadn’t completely exiled them to the out-of-doors for the night.
“Yes. After we drilled the lock, we made it inside just fine.” She says sweetly.
I can tell she’s smiling, laughing more like, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. “Your Uncle Wayne says you did exactly what you were supposed to do. No one was getting in this house.”
At least no one without a drill, that is.
