“Arrgh. I’ll never get this.” I stand up and stretch. I desperately need to go for a walk. My grandmother’s room is comforting but claustrophobic. The ceiling is low, the wallpaper is dainty blue flowers, the bedspread is blue chintz, the carpet is white, and it smells of powder and dentures and old skin. Grandma Meagram sits trim and straight. Her hair is beautiful, white but still slightly tinged with the red I have inherited from her, and perfectly coiled and pinned into a chignon. Grandma’s eyes are like blue clouds. She has been blind for nine years, and she has adapted well; as long as she is in the house she can get around. She’s been trying to teach me the art of crossword solving, but I have trouble caring enough to see one through by myself. Grandma used to do them in ink. Henry loves crossword puzzles.

　“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it,” says Grandma, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her knuckles.

　I nod, and then say, “Yes, but it’s kind of windy. Mama’s down there gardening, and everything keeps blowing away on her.”

　“How typical of Lucille,” says her mother. “Do you know, child, I’d like to go for a walk.”

　“I was just thinking that same thing,” I say. She smiles, and holds out her hands, and I gently pull her out of her chair. I fetch our coats, and tie a scarf around Grandma’s hair to stop it from getting messed up by the wind. Then we make our way slowly down the stairs and out the front door. We stand on the drive, and I turn to Grandma and say, “Where do you want to go?”

　“Let’s go to the Orchard,” she says.

　“That’s pretty far. Oh, Mama’s waving; wave back.” We wave at Mama, who is all the way down by the fountain now. Peter, our gardener, is with her. He has stopped talking to her and is looking at us, waiting for us to go on so he and Mama can finish the argument they are having, probably about daffodils, or peonies. Peter loves to argue with Mama, but she always gets her way in the end. “It’s almost a mile to the Orchard, Grandma.”

　“Well, Clare, there’s nothing wrong with my legs.”

　“Okay, then, we’ll go to the Orchard.” I take her arm, and away we go. When we get to the edge of the Meadow I say, “Shade or sun?” and she answers, “Oh, sun, to be sure,”