I drove 190 miles after learning my parents had left Grandma behind. I thought I was simply bringing her home. Then she told me not to call them.

When I got there, Grandma was sitting beside a single brown suitcase and a grocery bag packed with medications. She was still wearing her church coat even though the lobby was warm. Her gray hair remained carefully pinned, and her face had that calm expression it always took on whenever she was furious.

I crouched beside her. “Grandma.”

She looked at me for several long seconds. Then she got to her feet.

No tears. No questions.

She walked out toward my car, climbed into the passenger seat, and buckled her seatbelt.

“Don’t call them,” she said.

I looked at her.

“I’ll tell you where to drive.”

“Where?”