Olive had slept with Mac every night until she’d passed away peacefully one of those nights in her sleep.
And here was Grandma much later on a Christmas morning, opening all the Seattle-themed gifts he’d bought her the first Christmas he came back after moving to the Pacific Northwest. She’d made all kinds of approving noises about the hooded Seahawks sweatshirt, the Beecher’s cheese assortment, the Starbucks coffee mug that Mac had been delighted to find had been made just one town over in East Liverpool, Ohio, and the box of Fran’s dark chocolate caramels with sea salt. The candy, especially, had been an extravagance he couldn’t afford, but he knew he’d get as much joy—if not more—from watching her open the surprises as she would.