Behind me, the screen door slams. Mrs. Calhoun stands on the porch, looking at the three of us with happy surprise. "Well, when did you all get here? I didn't even hear you pull in." Her animation, her cheerfulness at seeing us, does nothing but make my stomach sink. She's getting worse.
"Grandma, can you make us some tea?" Ricky calls.
"Sure can," she answers, retreating into the house.
"How is it you know my grandma?" Ricky asks. Suspicion rings in his tone. This is what I mean by intelligent. He senses I'm here for a reason others might overlook.
"Small town, you know? Everyone knows everyone. She's been on her own out here, and I drove by once and noticed some things that needed fixing. I asked around and nobody could tell me if she had any family, so I drove out here and asked her myself. She said she didn't have anyone, so I offered to help her out."
"That's awfully nice of you." Ricky picks at a scab on his arm, then realizes he's doing it and stops.
"It's funny, your grandma only talks about her one son and grandchild. She never mentioned either of you."
"Yeah, well," Ricky looks at Chris, finding nothing but a blank stare. He lowers his voice and says, "We did some time. Petty theft. We were down on our luck and made some bad choices. I think Grandma's a bit embarrassed by it, not that she would ever admit that."
I nod. "Right, right."
Ricky walks around me, stopping to turn back. Not shockingly, Chris copies him. "Thanks for helping out when we weren't around, but I think we can take it from here."
I give him a hard look, which he returns with a lifted chin. "No problem," I answer.
The brothers are walking toward the house when I say something else. Ricky turns back around sharply. Chris stumbles when he turns. "What was that?" Ricky asks sharply.
"I asked if you've been cutting down trees. You smell like lumber."
Ricky's eyes narrow.
I smile and raise a hand. "Have a good day."
17
Jo
I wokeup to an email from my mom.
Travis has been difficult recently. Maybe it runs in the family. This is the age when you started making life hard for me.
Sometimes, I dream about strangling her.
"Travis?"
"Yeah?"
I switch the phone to speaker and place it on my dresser. "Normally people say hello when they answer the phone."
"Very funny," he says, sullen. Not abnormal for a fifteen-year-old.
I snap my bra into place and pull a shirt over my head. "How are you?"
"Fine."
One-word answers aren't atypical for his age range either, and I'm used to it. "Are you sure about that? You don't sound fine."
"What do you want me to say? Life is great, it's so wonderful here, Mom and Henri are delightful."
"Can I assume the opposite of everything you said and land somewhere near the truth?"
This draws a huffy laugh. I'll take it. Travis has floppy, messy hair that he pushes aside when he laughs, and I picture him doing it now.
