why the ticket mattered so much.
My grandmother, Ruth Walsh, had just turned eighty.
She still lived alone in the small gray house in Dorchester where she had spent more than five decadesShe planted flowers every spring.
Did crossword puzzles in ink.
And every Sunday at exactly six in the evening, she called me to ask whether I was eating properly.
My name is Sam.
I was twenty-seven and working as a nurse at Mass General.
I worked three twelve-hour shifts most weeks and picked up extras whenever I could.
