“You’ll take my grey hairs down to Sheol.” It was something her grandfather always said to the family, particularly to her grandmother. He was driving, but drove too fast for Grandma Rosaline. He drove a little too slow for Samantha. “You’ll take my grey hairs down to Sheol!” He gesticulated as he drove, and it was something he enjoyed doing. He loved to be busy and in control and uninfluenced by other people’s concerns. He took the off-ramp, the tires squealed and the car revved angrily—he had accidentally dropped from sixth to third. Grandpa laughed heartily as though it were a practical joke and Grandma Rosaline covered her eyes, crying out in horror at the prospect of dying in a fiery pile-up on the side of the I-95.
“Heaven wouldn’t be so high I know if the times gone by hadn’t been so low!”
“Ezra!” Grandma Rosaline pleaded.
Her grandfather began laughing again, pleased. Samantha reached over in her seat and caressed Rosaline’s shoulder, though her grandfather caught her own smile and winked. “The best is still ahead,” he said.