Janelle paused, then grabbed a napkin from the holder on the table. The question came out before she could stop it. “Do you...miss him?”
Nan took off her glasses and set them carefully on the table, then rubbed the small red marks they’d left on the sides of her nose. She tapped her pen on the puzzle book again. “He was my oldest boy, Janelle. Of course I miss your dad.”
“Do you ever hear from him?”
“No.” Nan frowned. “And maybe it’s better that way. When someone breaks your heart over and over again, sometimes it’s better to just let them go.”
Janelle had let her dad go a long time ago for that very reason. Until now she hadn’t ever thought about how it must’ve made Nan feel to have lost touch with her son. Until she was a mom herself, Janelle wasn’t sure she’d have understood. She couldn’t imagine letting Bennett go, not like that. She reached across the table to squeeze Nan’s hand.
“How about something to drink?”
“Nothing for me, honey,” Nan said, her eyes bright, but without so much as a sniffle. “I’m going to finish my puzzle.”
Ice-cold milk would be perfect with the cinnamon roll. Even better than the coffee Janelle hadn’t made yet because she was still looking for her coffeemaker. She pulled the carton from the refrigerator and poured a glass, noticing too late that the one she’d pulled from the back of the cupboard was etched and striped with dirt. So was the next she pulled out. She held it to the light, twisting it.
Filthy.
Bennett was in charge of loading and unloading the dishwasher here, the way he’d been in California, and for a brief, irritated moment, Janelle wondered if he’d been too lazy to make sure the dishes were clean, or if he’d been too inattentive to notice. Or a twelve-year-old’s winning combination of both.
She checked the dishes in the cupboard quickly. The ones closer to the top of the stack, ones they’d been using regularly, seemed clean enough, but some beneath were crusted with bits of dried-on food. Just a few here and there, but enough to make her stomach turn. The flatware in the drawer was much the same. Some of the pieces looked fine, but there were a lot of dirty spoons, and forks with bits of food clinging to the tines.
Everything would need to be rewashed. She loaded dishes in the dishwasher. Added the soap. Turned the dial—because wow, was this machine old. An hour later she checked it and found it full of wet dishes that were still pretty dirty.
“Nan? Is there something wrong with your dishwasher?”
Her grandmother shuffled into the kitchen doorway. “I don’t think so.”
Janelle checked the dial settings, thinking she must have chosen some Light or Delicate option. Nope, she’d turned the dial to Normal Wash. She opened the dishwasher. Closed it again. “I think it’s broken. When’s the last time you used it?”
“Oh...” Nan looked apologetic. “I just wash the dishes by hand.”
“But you had people over for New Year’s dinner!” That meant not only dishes, but pots and pans and serving platters and extra silverware. “Nan, you didn’t wash everything by hand, did you?”
“No, no. Everyone helped do most of it.” She nodded firmly. “And when they left, I just did the rest.”
“Oh. Nan.” Janelle sighed and opened the dishwasher again. “I think you’re going to need a new one.”
“They’re expensive.” Nan sounded worried.
“You don’t need to worry about that.” Though of course, she would. And it would require some discussion with her uncles, since this was an expense that fell under improving the house, and Janelle was only approved to handle the daily household needs.
“Maybe we can just get it fixed,” Nan offered hopefully.
Before they could say anything else, the back door opened. Nan didn’t seem surprised, but Janelle was still in the California mind-set—nobody left their doors unlocked, and anyone who came in uninvited and unannounced might as well have a target painted on their chest.
It was Andy. Today he wore a striped, long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, his feet in socks, not slippers. He’d probably kicked his shoes off on the back porch. He looked totally put-together, and if you ignored the thick white stripe in his slicked-back hair, hardly different than he had as a teen. He gave her that grin.
“Janelle! Hi!” He remembered her name this time, at least.
“Hi, Andy.” She gave him a cautious smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, he came over to play cards with me. Get me warmed up for the club.” Nan gestured. “Come on in, honey. Janelle, bring those cinnamon rolls in here to the table.”
“Your Nan makes them the best,” Andy confided. “I missed ’em.”
“You could’ve come over anytime, honey, you know that,” Nan said.
He hesitated, looking a little guilty. “Gabe said not to bother you. I sent flowers, though, when you were in the hospital. Did you get them?”
“They were lovely. And you’re never a bother. Sit down, honey. Sit.”
“Andy, do you come over to play cards a lot?” They’d spent hours, back in the day, playing poker for M&M’s or pennies. Andy had had an amazing poker face. They’d played other games, too. Bullshit had been a favorite. Blackjack. She smiled, remembering.
“Sure, whenever I can. When Dad’s napping and Gabe’s at work, and if I don’t have to work.” He opened the corner cabinet and pulled out the worn box filled with multiple decks of cards that had been around since Janelle’s childhood. “You wanna play?”
“No, thanks. I need to figure out what to do with the dishwasher.” She eyed him. “Where do you work?”
He named the town’s bigger grocery store. “I work in the stockroom. Or I help bring the carts in. They don’t really like me to bag the groceries because of my bum hand. I drop too many jars.”
She’d assumed he couldn’t work. Somehow knowing he had a job made Janelle feel better. Like you have the right to feel good about anything that happened, she thought. “Oh, that’s good.”
Andy’s laugh had always been as sweet as his smile. “It’s okay. Gabe says I should try for something else, maybe. But I like what I do.”
“Something else?”
Andy dealt out the cards, solicitously moving the pile close enough to Nan so she didn’t have to stretch for it. “Yeah. Like school or something. Maybe. But it’s okay. Mikey went to college. I don’t need to go.”
Janelle leaned in the doorway. If she was thirty-eight, Andrew would be thirty-four, or close to it. “Gabe thinks you should go to school now?”
Andrew shrugged. “He thought I should go before. But now, I don’t know. I can’t drive because of the seizures. Can’t remember stuff. School seems like a waste of time.”
Janelle kept her voice neutral. Gabe had always talked about leaving St. Marys. Becoming something.
“I’m getting out of here,” he says as the smoke curls out of his mouth. “Never coming back.”
She’s feeling lazy and hazy and has no idea what she’s going to do when school’s over, when she has to enter the real world. “What do you want to do with your life?”
“Just get out of here.” He’s dead serious. “Get away.”
“Did he go to college? Gabe, I mean.”
“Nope. He worked at the plant.”
Nan sorted her cards. “Their