The morning of the day she died, my grandmother and I sat out on the porch of the homestead together. Her frail hands shook as she brought her tea to her mouth, her wrinkled lips pursed as she bent down to drink. Her tongue searched for the straw. I just watched her struggle, knowing she couldn’t see me watching her anyway. I could just imagine the things she’d say if I tried to help. _“Fuck off,”_ she’d tease._ “I ain’t no invalid.”_ Though the wind was picking up, her hair stayed perfectly coiffed and styled. My grandmother took particular pride in that - though old age hadn’t spared her body, her hair remained as dark as it had been the day she was born. We used to joke that her deal with the devil all those years ago must’ve included a clause about it.

“You want more tea, Grammy?” I asked. She had put down her glass probably a little louder than she meant to.

“These damn hands.” She made a fist, or tried to. “They ain’t workin’ like they used to.” The wind whipped the bottom of her long dress around her legs as she rocked in her chair. The porch wasn’t creaking as much as it used to, especially since she had lost all that weight. The doctor said it was normal. That kinda thing just happens. “And don’t you smell that rain? It’s comin’ anyway. Should be gettin’ inside.”

“Ahh, just a few more minutes, Grammy. I can’t smell nothin’.” A small fib. She couldn’t see it, but the day _was_ getting darker, and the leaves were starting to fly in every direction. The day was warm for this time of year, the air thicker than usual. I pulled my long hair into a ponytail in a futile attempt to protect it from the gusts of wind.

Rocking back and forth, she stayed silent. God, she looked small. In those days, we had known the end was near for her. We didn’t talk about it. Back then, we didn’t talk much about things that weren’t good. What was the use, anyway? As sure as the rains came and went, so would Grammy. So would I.

Lightning flashed far out over the barn, and I counted the time before the thunder boomed. _One. Two. Three. Four. Five._ Grammy startled when she heard it, though it was just the first low rumblings of the storm that was to come. I stood from the bench. “Better get you inside, Grammy. Don’t want you blowin’ off in this wind.” I stepped carefully over the old flower pots filled with everything but flowers and Jakie’s little red bike, trying hard not to trip. She teased her arms up slowly as I neared so I could put my hands in her armpits. When she was standing, she grabbed me tight, tighter than I expected.

“Promise me, Abby. Promise me you’ll be okay.” Her breath was ragged and warm in my ear as she hugged me tighter. I don’t know how long we stayed there like that, out on the porch, but the warm rain was wetting our clothes when we decided to head inside. I leaned to her ear as we shuffled to the door.

“I promise, Grammy. I promise.”