Edwin died eleven years ago.
He died in his sleep, which is the way he would have chosen, at seventy-eight, in his own bed, with Rose beside him.
She had been alone since then.
Not unhappy.
But alone.
And one of the things Edwin had said to her, many years before he died, was that he wanted to take her to see the ocean.
He had said it more than once.
He had meant it.
The margins had never materialized.
He was gone before they did.
I had thought about this.
I had thought about it for two years, the specific fact that Rose had a thing she had always wanted to see and that time was not infinite and that I was her granddaughter and that perhaps the margins I could create were the relevant ones.
I am not a person with a great deal of money.
A dental assistant’s salary in Raleigh is not a path to early retirement.
