“Mm,” she replies, eyes still locked on her cards like they might personally betray her.
The player to her left squints at his hand and breathes a dramatic sigh, the kind usually reserved for terminal diagnoses.
“Grandma,” I try again, louder this time.
She finally glances up at me, irritation flickering across her face. “Harper, not now.”
“Shh,” someone hisses. “She’s thinking.”
My grandmother is, indeed, thinking. Hard. Her fingers tap the edge of the table as she studies her cards like they contain the meaning of life.
After a moment, she straightens. “All in.”
The table collectively inhales—which can’t be good for their blood pressure.
Chips are pushed forward. The man with the trembling hand wipes his palm on his trousers and grins like a villain in a low-budget heist movie.
Someone flips the cards, and a beat of stunned silence ensues.
Then, a flurry of cheers and groans erupts from both the players and the spectators.
My grandma slumps back in her chair like the life has been drained from her.
“What happened?” I breathe out.
“I lost,” she finally croaks.
My stomach drops. “How much?”
“Too much.”
“That’s it,” I say, tapping on her chair. “Time for a break. Come on.”
The table roars in response.
“You can’t do that!”
“She was this close!”
“Rematch!”
“Double or nothing?”
“No,” I say firmly. “She’s done for now, and you all should stop playing too. This is getting out of hand. Get some rest.”
As the residents groan and grumble, I take my grandmother by the hand like she’s a child and lead her to her usual chair by the window. Sunlight spills through the glass, warm, bright, and almost too peaceful compared to the chaos behind us. She carefully lowers herself into her rocking chair, adjusting her cardigan likeshe’s settling in for a serious meeting rather than cooling down from a near-death poker match. Her wiry fingers grip the armrests.
“You told me to make friends,” she growls, already defensive. “That’s what I’m doing. While making some money.”
“And losing it,” I exclaim, shaking my head.
Baptiste leans in, voice calm but firm. “Glenda, Harper’s right. You look a little stressed. We don’t want anything happening to you.”
She snaps her gaze to him. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“I’m going to talk to someone about all this,” I say, my jaw tightening. “I haven’t found any red flags in your documents, but there’s something going on here. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Grandma just groans, her foot tapping against the floor in time with the rocking chair.
