“Hi, Elsa.” He bent to hug her, dwarfing her petite frame.

Elsa was in her late fifties, with a mass of shoulder-length dark wavy hair, apple cheeks, and enough love to fill the hearts of all the lonely people on the East Coast. She had taken care of Tobias’s mother before his mother had followed in his grandmother’s unfortunate footsteps and passed away from ovarian cancer. Elsa’s mother had grown up with Tobias’s grandfather in the nearby town of Orleans, and her mother had helped his grandfather care for his wife during her last arduous months, more than a decade ago.

“Sorry I didn’t call first. I was in the area, and I knew today was a free day.” Elsa was aware of what had gone down with Carrie and his father, and she knew better than to try to talk with him about it. But when he’d come back to town, she’d told him that Carrie and her daughter, Carolyn—Lynnie—named for their mother, had moved back to Bourne last year, and they, and his father, visited his grandfather often. She’d given him their visitation schedules, which rarely changed, and had called the unscheduled days free days.

“Don’t be silly. You’re always welcome. Come.” She took his hand, pulling him into the foyer. The scent of brisket hung in the air, his grandfather’s favorite and one of Elsa’s specialties. “Have you eaten?”

“No, but I’m good, thanks. How is he?”

“Testing my patience, as always,” she said lovingly. His grandfather had been the kindest man he’d ever known, but the disease often made him frustrated and angry. “He thinks I’ve hidden his fishing pole.”

“I’m sorry.” Tobias was grateful for Elsa’s patience and for her forgiveness. His grandfather had moved to the Independent Living wing of LOCAL after his grandmother had died, but a few months after Tobias had gone to prison, his grandfather’s cognition had declined. Elsa had moved him into the assisted care wing and had been caring for him ever since. She’d written to Tobias every week with updates, and through those letters, he’d watched his grandfather slowly slip away. He’d held on to hope that Elsa had painted the worst picture when in fact his grandfather was doing well. But of course that hadn’t been the case. It was strange how easily his mind had held on to that hope in order to pull him through the worst of times.

Elsa waved her hand dismissively. “I raised three ornery boys. I can handle your grandfather.”

“I know you can. Before we go in, do you know anything about the puppet therapy program they offer here?”