I knew exactly how that felt. I mean, Murphy was no transcendent talker, but she and Mom understood each other in a way they never bothered to try with me. I knew what it was like to be the left-behind one, the ignored one. It made my heart break a little for my mom. I wished I could tell her that I loved her, that I forgave her for ignoring me. I wished I could tell her anything at all. The grief hit me then, harder than it ever had before.

“Oh, now I’ve got you crying, haven’t I?” said Grandma. “I’m sorry, Lee. I didn’t mean to harp on about such sad things.”

“Please, tell me more,” I said. “It feels good to talk about this stuff, even if it does hurt. I guess I just don’t understand why Mom never mentioned Jeremiah to us.”

“I won’t lie to you, Lee,” said Grandma. “Jeremiah’s death just about sucked all the fire out of me. I couldn’t hardly pick my head up off the pillow, much less keep the Farm running. A lot of that labor fell on your mother, and that wasn’t fair at all. Probably why she ran off like she did. Me flat on my face, dark depressed, doing nothing. I despaired of my life. I wanted to die. And it’s a miracle I didn’t. I think your mother took my grief hard, the overwhelming sadness I felt. When your momma ran, she ran for her life, that I do believe.”

“What saved you?” I said.

Grandma looked up at me, eyes gone bright again.

“Well, I had a vision,” she said.

“What kind of vision?”