“Frankie?”
She didn’t respond, just kept dipping the same carrot into the jar and sucking all the jelly off.
“She can’t hear you.” Dolly, my youngest niece, teetered into the kitchen in her plastic heels, a feather boa wrapped around her neck. “Frankie got her headphones on.” She lifted a gloved hand to point at her sister.
I squatted down to meet Dolly at eye level. “Thanks, sweetie. Can you tell me where your mama keeps the broom?”
Dolly shuffled to the narrow space between the fridge and the wall. “In there.”
“And the dustpan?” I asked.
“We don’t got no dustpan. Jordan broke it.”
No dustpan. I could improvise. Spotting an oversized piece of thick paper on the counter, I reached for it. “Come on, Gramps. We’re going outside to clean up your mess.”
The old man didn’t budge, just sat in the chair in the corner, unblinking as some kid show played across the screen. I leaned over and pushed the power button. The ten-year-old, Izzy, groaned. “Uncle Alex, I was watching that.”
“Sorry, kiddo. Gramps was too invested. Now come on, let’s get that broken glass cleaned up before one of the girls gets hurt.”
That must have done it. Gramps hefted himself out of the chair and made his way to the front door.
I kept one eye on my grandfather and one on Dolly to make sure she didn’t follow us out onto the driveway. “What were you thinking?”
Gramps tugged his Dallas Cowboys hat lower over his eyes. “Wasn’t thinking at all. You try living in a place where they don’t let you have any privacy. Not a bit. Probably got cameras watching me twenty-four seven.”
Best to humor the old man. At least he’d gotten his butt up out of the chair. “Probably, Gramps.”
I began to sweep the shattered ceramic pieces of the lamp base into a pile while Gramps stood nearby. By the time I pickedthe bigger pieces out of the grass, Gramps had taken a seat on the bench Char had sitting on the concrete porch. I bent down, trying to use the piece of paper I’d picked up as a dustpan.
After several trips back and forth from the giant metal garbage can Char kept on the side of the house, I was done. “Thanks for the help, Gramps. You want to take a turn around the block and get some fresh air?”
Gramps gazed up at me and then dropped his head.
“I’ve got to go in and wash up. You’ll be all right out here for a few minutes?”
“I’m old, not incompetent,” Gramps said.
I let out a chuckle. I wasn’t cut out for the job of humoring Gramps back into line, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’d taken on something beyond my ability or way above my pay grade.
As I reentered the house, I felt like I’d walked in on World War III, Sanders-style. Izzy stood in the kitchen wailing with Char in front of her.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“She lost her report. It was right here on the counter and now it’s gone.” Char turned toward her daughter. “No more excuses. If you don’t get that turned in tomorrow, you’ll get another red tag, and you know what that means.”
Izzy turned to me, her eyes brimming with tears. “Uncle Alex, did you see my report?”
My heart plummeted to my feet. “What did it look like?”
She held her arms out. “It was about this big.”
“Was it white?”
Her head bobbed up and down.
With a sinking feeling drowning all hopes of a peaceful night, I summoned a brave grin. “Looks like you and I are going to be making a trip to the store after dinner.
CHAPTER 8
