David W. Blackstone

She set the handset back down into its cradle, gently, as if afraidto spring a long-dormant trap.

“Who was it?”

“Grandpa.”

Her mother turned, astony look of disapproval set on her face. It had only been a weeksince the service. “That’s not funny.”

“It was Grandpa.”She stared at the phone for a moment, slowly picked up the handsetand held it up to her ear again; this time, she heard only a dialtone.

“We