Opening the Door<br >On a sunny day in a sunny humor I could sometimes think<br > ~ f<br >o death as mere gossip， the ugly rumor behind that<br >~cked door over there. This was such a day， the last of<br >J~ly at Narragansett on the Rhode Island shore.<br > My wife s grandmother was a figure of legend in Rhode<br >Island， a tenacious grandam near ninety with a classic<br >New Englander s hooked and broken beak， six feet tall in<br >her low-heeled， sensible shoes. A short time ago she had<br >begun a career as a writer; this had brought her<br >satisfaction and some small local celebrity. She spent her<br >summers in Narragansett surrounded by the houses of her<br >five children and by numberless cousins and grand-<br >children and great-grandchildren. One of these， mv son<br >Nicholas， not quite four， had just left for a ride with her.<br >As old as she was she liked to drive short distances in her<br >black Ford sedan， but she maintained a lively regard for<br >her survival， and had cinched in her seat belt， tight.<br > Nicholas s little brother Justin was with his mother at<br >the beach. I was with my wife s brother-in-law on a<br >friend s shaded terrace. Kay s house was old and shingled，<br ><br >