He doesn’t seem to expect this, but his widening eyes quickly narrow. “Ahh. Sky Flores.” The way he says my name is exactly like everyone else in town does—not hiding at all his deep suspicion that my presence means instant bad news. “So nice of you to bring dinner to Gramps every week. What’s next? You’re going to sweet-talk him into giving you his credit card number, and next thing you know, you’ll be in…I don’t know, Canada? And he’ll be losing the house.”
I scowl and tilt my head at the same time. I certainly wasn’t expecting that kind of accusation. “Are you unwell? Seriously. What you just said is pure nonsense.” The last time Adam hadsaid anything about me that I know of, it was when he was chatting with Teal at a wedding last year. He’d told her I’d beenhelpinghis grandfather…not trying to take advantage of him. I glance at his eyes, searching for some sign that maybe he was having an aneurysm. Maybe he’d been possessed, even.
“Adam! What the hell are you doing, being so rude to my guest?”
William had apparently finally won his battle with the bird feeder lid. Adam and I were so loud, I guess neither of us heard the back door slide open. William points a finger at Adam. “If your mother could see you now…”
Adam’s shoulders drop as he runs a hand over his five-o’clock shadow. “Gramps, I told you. You can’t just let people you barely know—”
“Barely know?” I yelp. “Your grandfather and I have been friends for a year!”
Adam hardly registers my protests. “You can’t let her in and walk away. You need to be more diligent. While you were changing the bird feeder, she could’ve gotten your wallet, your social—”
“Do I look like the kind of dumbass who can be preyed on?” William demands to know, but he doesn’t let Adam answer. “Son, I know you’re not in a good place in your life right now, but that doesn’t give you the right—”
As William keeps shouting, I take tiny steps backward toward the front door. To hell with being sharp as a pinecone. I do not like the idea of spending my pre-work meal between two yelling men. I would rather hang out with the bears in the woods, thank you very much.
“And you!” William points at me. “Where the hell is that lasagna?”
“It’s in the dish I brought in. You can eat it all if you want. I’m going to—”
“You’re going to sit down and eat it with me. Like we always do.” William glares at Adam. “And my grandson will join us.”
William leaves no room for objection or interpretation. So I slink into the kitchen and prepare three pieces of Nadia’s lasagna. Nadia didn’t make it—I did—but I used her recipe. Her “secret” is to use spices dried from the herbs she grows in her garden. She melts a little bit of butter and tosses them in, letting them cook for a couple of minutes to release all their flavor. Then she adds it to the béchamel sauce. As a result, this lasagna isn’t just good, it’s downright addictive.
I serve William first, then Adam, who sits like a sullen teenager, his posture slack, elbows on the table. This version of him is new to me. From my ghost-spying days, I remember Adam as always confident, even in the most casual of scenarios. He was kind and polite and thoughtful. Thinking about the last time I spied on him, though…maybe this immature, paranoid person is therealhim.
Adam Noemi has been a sort of intellectual hero of Cranberry for a good long while—ever since he got a free ride to Yale and immediately began working full time atTheNew York Timesafter graduating. For a small town like ours, that was huge. Adam basically became our local celebrity. Every time he would visit town again, it was the same old story. Everyone wanted to buy him a drink at Lost Souls, the only legitimate bar in town. And every woman wanted to be his fling for the summer, or holiday break, or for whatever amount of time he happened to find himself back in Cranberry for the moment.
The last I heard, Adam had left theTimesand taken up amajor editorial position at the local paper in town. When my Amá Sonya told me that, I totally freaked out. I asked about a thousand questions in the group chat on the whole situation, which my sisters assumed were because I had a crush on the guy.
But the truth was…being around Adam just makes me feel shame now. I was hoping he’d gone back to the city and would stay there.
As he digs into his lasagna, I feel angry and indignant all over again. “You know I’ve been bringing William meals for a while. Why are you now convinced I’m gonna run off to Canada with all his money?”
William gives Adam a glare with one bushy white eyebrow raised way up. “It’s a good question,” he barks.
Adam sighs and runs a hand over his face. “Look. I’ve been researching scams specifically targeting the elderl—” He pauses when William’s glare turns into a death stare. “—older folks for a piece I’m working on. Some of these scammers play a long game.” Adam looks right at me as he says it, then glances at his meal before pointing his fork at William. “And since, you know, our last trip to the doctor’s, they warned me—”
William clears his throat so loud and suddenly, I swallow my bite wrong, standing to cough toward a corner of the room. I want to refute Adam’s baseless and, to be honest, hurtful accusations—because frankly, this is just ridiculous at this point—but I can’t even form words in my brain amid the choking.
“Dammit, woman,” William says. “Don’t drop dead in my kitchen.”
“I’m fine,” I sputter between coughs, grabbing my water. “Food went down the wrong way, is all.”
“Does that woman at your work still have you climbing ladders taller than the damn basement?” William barks at me as I’mfrantically sipping water. He’s definitely agitated. Normally he and I have a calm chat with our shared meal—as calm as can be, with William’s disposition—but Adam has obviously ruffled some feathers. William clearly doesn’t want to talk about whatever doctor’s visit Adam is referring to, but he also doesn’t appreciate being forced to initiate the conversation.
“Where do you work?” Adam asks. It’s nearly too sharp of a tone to be a question.
“She’s got a gig at the library. They have her in the basement, crawling all in the damn dust, and she’s climbing ladders in shoes that look like they’re devices made for prisoners of war!”
I sit down, finally confident I can speak without hacking. “They’re kitten heels, William.” My voice is hoarse.
“Kitten heels,” he mutters. “Damn lion heels, made with damn lion teeth!”
I smother a giggle and stare at my still nearly full plate of lasagna. For maybe the hundredth time in the last month, I regret telling William about my amazingBeauty and the Beast–style library ladders. He’s convinced I’m going to fall and break every part of my body. Just because I fell off a cliff ten years ago doesn’t mean I’m going to fall off of literally everything else, but Williamandmy sisters don’t seem to understand that.
William begins to yell about the weather, and I know he’s still pretty upset that our dinner isn’t going like it normally does. Which really isn’t my fault—the man could’ve told me his rude grandson would be here. Then we could have rescheduled.
