I couldn’t miss the look on her face the minute she saw him pass across the garden. She kept following him with her eyes until he came closer to say hello. He didn’t even have the chance to finish his hello that my grandma spat on him. The next thing, she asked us to take her back to her room.
I had never seen my grandmother cry, but that day I did. The badass who just spat on a stranger turned into a little kid trying to cuddle with her pillow. My uncle’s friend was the devil, and we didn’t even know why. Who did she see in him?