“Mom wants you to come inside,” I tell my grandfather. He’s sitting on his little porch. It rests on the front yard right near the sidewalk. Grandfather likes to watch the ocean from here. Most afternoons he bundles himself up in a heavy coat, mumbles something we rarely make out, and heads to his seat. He doesn’t eat much anymore, but mom always has me call him in for dinner. He mostly comes.
“The wind’s changing,” he says.