When I place the van in park, my stomach drops, and my heartbeat quickens. I’m really doing this. Take a breath. Just like pulling off a bandage, quick is best. As I ease my driver’s door open, Memphis steps out her back door.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Memphis greets, opening her arms for me.
When I pull from her embrace, I ask, “Can I stay with you?”
“Psst,” Memphis swats at me. “You know you are always welcome here.”
“Well, I need to tell you something first.” I signal for her to stay put as I back toward the vehicle. I open the back, driver’s-side door, unbuckle then lift Liberty from the van. “Liberty, this is…”
“Grandma!” Memphis stands beside us; tears fill her wide eyes as her left hand presses against her chest and her right fans her face. “Oh, my!”
I’m not surprised; it’s easy to see the resemblance between Liberty and Hamilton. She looks like his sister, Amy, as a little girl.
“Libby, this is Na-Na.” I point as I speak. “And this is Liberty.”