A bald man buzzed us in, and a nurse with sharp blonde curls came out from a side office and pulled my mother aside like she had a secret to tell, something to do with my grandmother, but all she said was that my grandmother’s been laughing a lot today, and in hearing that I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t quite happiness, but something close to it.

I followed my mother down one long hall. This old white guy whose face sagged and who leaned on the wall’s handrail laughed at us, and when I stared at him as we passed he got all serious-like and let out several “whoops” before he laughed again.

“Weirdo,” my mother said, and our laughing wasn’t fake.

My grandmother’s door was partly open, and my mother pushed it and stuck her head in the room and said my grandmother’s name.

“Hi, yes,” she said. “Come on in.”

Even though she could still walk, my grandmother was in a wheelchair, and had it facing the window through which the maples were losing their leaves.

She turned herself around and rolled herself to the center of the room.

She looked at me.

“Hello,” she said.

“You know who this is,” my mother said. She sat on the bed.

“I do,” my grandmother said, but in a way that could have been either a question or a statement.

“This is your grandson,” my mother said.

“I know that,” she said. “Welcome back, gwus. You know, if you were white it would have been self-defense.”

“No, Mom,” my mother said. “This is your grandson, not your granddaughter.”

“That long hair could have fooled me,” she said, laughing. “But I know who he is. I was just making conversation. Abin, gwus.”

My mother pointed to a chair that I did not see. I grabbed it and turned it around and sat.

“I know who he is,” my grandmother said again. “He’s the one who doesn’t do anything.”

“Mom,” my mother said.

“Well,” my grandmother said.

That old white man came to the door and whooped.

“You get the hell out of here!” My grandmother got up from the wheelchair and went to the door. “Go on! Get!”

He didn’t leave, so my grandmother shut the door in his face. “Winooches,” she said, and then she laughed. She sat back down. “What was I going to tell you?” She looked at her finger, which she rubbed. “Forget it.”

My mother’s mouth opened to speak.

“Oh,” my grandmother said. She looked at me. “Before you leave,” she said, “can you check my mail?”

“There’s a mailbox?” I asked.

“At the end of the driveway,” she said.

Mom looked at me and I just went with it. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll check it.”