“Oh?”
“Only she wasn’t Grandma. Not really. She was someone who wasn’t nice.”
My hand trembled as I reached for her, stroked her hair. “Well, that’s how you know it was just a silly nightmare. Because your real grandma is downstairs waiting for you and she’s very, very nice, isn’t she?”
Olivia smiled and nodded.
I swallowed down the hard lump in my throat.
OLIVIA GOT READYin record time and came racing down the old wooden staircase, the antique maple banister hung with festive pine garland andtied with red bows. Moxie was beside her, nails clicking down the wide stair treads and across the living room and dining room as she went for her food bowl in the corner of the kitchen. It stood right beside the back door that led out to the little herb and salad garden, now dusted with a thin layer of snow. Beside the garden stood a pear tree, branches now bare, the summer’s crop of pears canned and frozen and turned into jams and tarts. Olivia grabbed her bowl of cereal off the breakfast bar. Izzy was there with her own bowl of cereal and cup of coffee, headphones on, music thumping out of them as she stared down at her phone.
“Whoa, there, speedy,” Izzy said, slipping off her headphones. “Where’re you going?”
“I’m gonna eat with Grandma! Wanna come?”
Izzy shook her head, hunched down over her own bowl. “Nah, I’m good here.” She slipped the headphones back on, the thumping now turned to an angry wail.
I was in the kitchen making Olivia’s lunch. Izzy bought lunch every day, preferring the salad bar in the cafeteria to whatever we had at home. Mark had already left for work. He was out the door every day at six thirty to be at school on time. Sometimes, when he had a lot of prep work to do or an early meeting, he left before six.
Olivia ran into the guest room, carrying her bowl.
“Careful,” I called just as she stumbled, then caught herself, milk sloshing.
She was not the most graceful kid.
I went over and wiped up the spilled milk.
“Well, good morning, Olivia,” I heard my mother chirp. “How’s my favorite ballerina?”
“I had a bad dream.”
“Well, hop right up and you can tell me about it. And I’ll tell you my trick for keeping bad dreams away.”
I thought of last night, of my mother’s warning—You’re the one in danger—and how now, in the light of day, amid the normalcy of ourmorning routine, that felt like a bad dream. Still, I felt a little knot of apprehension at the idea of Olivia in there with her alone.
They would be fine together, I told myself. Nothing bad was going to happen.
This was what we’d wanted, wasn’t it? A chance for the girls to bond with their grandmother.
I went back to the kitchen to finish Olivia’s lunch. She liked the same thing every day: a peanut butter sandwich with blackberry jelly, applesauce, Goldfish crackers, and a juice box. If I changed anything, like switched out the applesauce for carrot sticks, or grape jelly instead of blackberry, or crunchy peanut butter instead of smooth, she wouldn’t eat it.
The radio in the kitchen was tuned to Vermont Public Radio. I liked the background of people talking, filling me in on everything I needed to know about the world while I got ready for my day. They were doing the weather, talking about a cold front, the possibility of snow overnight.
“It’s weird,” Izzy said. The headphones were off again, her music paused.
“What is?” I asked, looking up from the peanut butter sandwich I was making. Was she talking about the weather report? Snow in December was hardly weird. In fact, there was a fresh coating outside now: an inch or so had fallen overnight. At this stage, the beginning of winter, the fresh snow always felt magical. By March and April, we’d all groan when we’d wake up to see it coating everything.
Izzy was looking toward the guest room. “Having her here. She’s like… a stranger. But she’s here in our house.”
“She’s not a stranger. She’s your grandmother,” I said, keeping my voice light and cheerful.
Izzy took a sip of coffee. She’d started drinking coffee this year but she took it with so much cream and sugar that it was more like melted coffee ice cream.
“She’s creepy as hell,” Izzy said.
I set down the knife I was using. “Izzy!”
“Well, it’s true.”
