“Morning, Grandma,” I say, setting the spatula down and wrapping her in a hug. “Thank you for . . . not interrogating me when I arrived.”
“Why would I? You looked too tired,” she says simply, patting my shoulder before stepping back. “But now you have to tell me how long you’ve been in town. Malerick mentioned something about a break-in and threatening notes. What is that about?”
I groan, turning back to the stove. “Of course he told you. You want coffee before I give you the 4-1-1?”
She chuckles, shaking her head. “I can’t drink coffee anymore. Doctor’s orders.”
That catches my attention. I glance over my shoulder at her, frowning. “What is it? We can take you to see a specialist. I’m sure?—”
“Jitters,” she cuts me off, waving her hand dismissively. “I get too jittery if I have too much caffeine.”
“Yes, but you said in one of your texts that you were very sick,” I remind her, turning fully to face her now.
“I had the flu,” she replies, her tone matter-of-fact.
“No,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her. “You made me believe that you didn’t have much time left.”
She shrugs, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well, I’m an old lady—seventy-eight—I don’t have much time left.”
I glare at her, crossing my arms. “You tricked me into coming back.”
“No,” she says, feigning innocence. “I think you took everything out of context.”
I huff, shaking my head. “Unbelievable.”
She laughs softly, reaching for a glass of water. “Oh, calm down. It worked, didn’t it?”
I can’t argue with that, but also, she put Maddie and Hopper in danger. Though did she? Because if what Malerick said is correct, they have been using his land too. Maybe my presence is helping them figure things out before they’re in real danger. I really don’t think which one is real, but there’s no point worrying right now.
Breakfast is quiet but comfortable. We sit at the small kitchen table, the one that’s been here longer than I’ve been alive, and eat while the morning sun streams through the windows.
“So,” she says, breaking the silence as she spreads jam onto her toast. “How long have you been in town?”
I pause, considering how much I want to tell her. “A little over a week.”
“And in that week, you’ve already had a break-in and received threatening notes?” She shakes her head. “Yet, you couldn’t come to visit me, huh?”
I wince. “You don’t have to make it sound so dramatic.”
Her brow arches. “Sweetheart, you’re my granddaughter. I know you. Trouble doesn’t just find you—you attract it like a magnet.”
I sigh, resting my fork on my plate. “It’s not like I planned for this to happen.”
“No one plans for trouble,” she says, her voice softening. “But that doesn’t mean you have to face it alone. Is it . . . is it the same reason why you left three years ago?”
She knows enough about what happened, but not all of it. Not the part where they had me and almost killed me. Only what I saw and that I was able to escape. This is definitely not the time to tell her more. I don’t want to scare her.
I find myself staring down at my breakfast, suddenly not hungry anymore. “Grandma . . .”
She reaches across the table, placing her hand over mine. Her skin is warm, her grip gentle but firm. “You don’t have to tell me everything right now. But when you’re ready, I’m here.”
I nod, my throat tight. “Thanks.”
After breakfast, I help her tidy up the kitchen. She hums softly to herself as she washes the dishes, a tune I recognize from when I was a kid. It’s one of those little things that makes this house feel like home, even after all these years.
Once the dishes are done, she disappears into the living room to water her plants, and I take a moment to step outside. The morning air is crisp, the kind that wakes you up in a way coffee never could. I breathe it in, letting it fill my lungs as I lean against the porch railing.
Birchwood Springs looks almost the same as it did when I was a kid. The trees, the houses, the quiet streets—it’s all so familiar. For a moment though, I let myself wonder if I could stay. If I could make this place my home again.
