Grandma sits down and pats her legs. A soft chuckle escapes my lips as I lie down on the sofa, my head on her lap. She massages my head for me, and my eyes fall closed. “Your heart is aching,” she says, her voice soft. I tense, unsure what to say. I’m worried she’ll see straight through me. Grandma Anne has this uncanny ability to read people, to uncover secrets. It’s taken all of me to keep mine. “Just tired, Grams. I think I’ve just been working too hard.” “You’ve been running too hard,” she corrects me.
