Why am I holding on to something long gone?
She’s six. My oldest grandchild. Two rounds, I tell her. Her mouth puckers. But that’s the most I can do before boredom hits.
Gitty says I should go first. The problem with hiding when you’re 5′ 8″ is that there are just so many places you fit. Hiding behind an open door sabotages the game, because I’ve done it so many times, it’s the first place she looks.
Under the blankets? Behind the couch? The hallway closet!
I slide the double doors open, squeeze inside. It’s not dark because we keep the light on. It’s a habit from old times when my girls, Gitty’s mother and aunt, slept in the bedroom adjoining the closet. They used it as a night-light. Now that bedroom is a home office, but tradition is tradition, and the light in the closet shines on.
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