“I know. It was dumb. I took pictures of all these things until I looked up and realized that everyone else on the beach was taking pictures of things they loved, like people and animals, and I decided that I was sick of standing knee-deep in water and complaining that I was drowning.”

Grammy laughs long and hard. And she coughs and sputters, too. “Well, you have the wisdom of someone years older if you figured that out all on your own.” When she blinks, a tear escapes.

“Grammy,” I ask, “what’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing is wrong,” she says, sitting on the edge of my bed. “I guess I’m just feeling all blessed, that’s all.”

I feel like something big is coming.

“I can’t stop thinking,” she begins, “of the night you got so angry at me and said that you don’t have a real family.”

I sit up quick. “Oh, Grammy, I didn’t really mean—”

“Hush, now. You know I understand the hole that’s left behind by not having your momma here. I do. I know it hurts bad. I didn’t come up here for apologies. I came up here to give you something.” She reaches into her apron and pulls out a small white box. Not a cardboard box but a fancy one you’d get from a jewelry store.

“You bought me jewelry?”

“No, baby. I have something better. My prized possession. I don’t even wear it because I’m afraid I’ll lose it cleaning someone’s room, but that seems like a silly waste, doesn’t it?”

She pulls out a gold chain with a circle hanging from it. I grab it with my hand and see that it’s a disc with a gold ship’s wheel on it. I turn it over, and it reads:

To my sweet Bridget,

who is my own wheel of fortune.

Much love forever,

Your Joseph.

“From Papa!”

“Oh yes. He said he’d chosen a wheel for me at the jewelry store rather than a necklace with a shell or a boat because of the shape—how it goes round and round and never ends. Like his love for me.” She laughs. “That man had a way with words. He could talk a dog off of a meat truck.”

I flip it back over and stare at the ship’s wheel.

“Like the love in this family. For me and you. And of course, we just adored your mom, too. God, how we loved that girl.”

“Do you still love her?”

“I do. She’ll always be my baby.” She taps me on the nose. “But so will you!”

She reaches around the back of my neck and puts the necklace on me. “A reminder that you, Delsie girl, may not have your mother here, but you come from a long line of love. And don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t, Grammy.”

She kisses my forehead before she goes.

And I feel a part of something special.

My grammy isn’t perfect. No one is, and I don’t care. You can’t order people up like pizzas to have them be exactly as you want.