Chapter Thirteen
“Are we having a party?” Ian stopped to wipe his feet on the doormat, and his eyes danced around the room, taking in his uncle Frankie by the fire and Grandpa Frank opposite him, the two of them whispering conspiratorially.
Grandma Jen drew him in for a hug and lingered. “No, sweetheart. Your uncle Frankie just stopped by to check in. Come in from the cold. You look hungry. Can I make you something to eat?”
Ian unwound his scarf and left his boots by the door. “It’s okay, Grandma. I had a big breakfast at the station. I just thought I’d stop by on my way home from work.”
Grandma Jen patted his head and smiled. “There’s no need to trouble yourself, dear. I know how tired and busy you can get.”
Ian hung up his coat on the back of the door and turned to face his grandma with a smile. “I’m never too tired or busy for you, Grandma.”
Grandma Jen waved his comment away and ambled into the kitchen, her skirt swishing with every movement. In the kitchen, he watched her measure out some tea and coffee beforerummaging through the fridge. Her weathered face was all smiles when she reemerged, a strange twinkle in her eyes.
“Why don’t you join your grandpa and uncle in the living room? I’ll be right out.”
“Are you sure you don’t need my help?”
“I’ll call you if I need you.” Grandma Jen offered him an indulgent smile, and gnarled hands waved him off. “Go on now.”
With one last smile in her direction, Ian stepped into the living room overlooking the kitchen and paused to scratch the back of his neck. Grandpa Frank and Uncle Frankie were sitting in armchairs opposite the fire, discussing the latest news. As one, the two of them trailed off when they noticed him and offered cryptic smiles.
“Don’t stop on my account.” Ian sank onto the brown leather couch and stretched his legs out in front of him. “But I hope you’re not expecting me to contribute to the conversation. I barely keep track of current events.”
Grandpa Frank sat up straighter and linked his fingers together. “Frankie was just telling me about the trip you took to meet with the PI’s son.”
Ian averted his gaze and folded his hands in his lap. “Yeah, it’s a shame it didn’t work out.”
Grandpa Frank pursed his lips together. “E, you know we don’t like to get involved in your personal life, but what, exactly, are you doing with your life?”
Ian glanced between the two of them and blinked. “I don’t understand.”
“We know you’re not studying for the detective exam, even though you spent the past few months talking about it,” Frankie said with a lift of his chin. “You’re spending too many nights at the police station, even when you don’t have a shift.”
“I wasn’t aware people were keeping tabs on me.”
Grandpa Frank leaned forward, and his eyes were tight. “We’re just worried about you, son. You can’t let your mom’s case take over your entire life like this. You need to remember you’ve got things worth living for.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” Grandpa Frank searched his face, his dark eyes surprisingly bright and alert, but the corners of his mouth were still turned down. “Because it looks like you’re putting things on the back burner and chasing after ghosts.”
Ian cleared his throat. “They’re not ghosts.”
Grandma Jen materialized, carrying a tray of sandwiches and iced tea. She set it down and took a seat opposite Ian. Then she leaned forward and prepared one of the plates. “Frank, don’t be so hard on him. He’s trying to find answers. He deserves closure.”
“We all want closure, but not like this.” Uncle Frankie shook his head, a wisp of thinning hair falling over his forehead. “You can’t let it consume you.”
Ian busied himself with the tray, his mind racing with ways to respond. “I don’t need an intervention, okay? I’m fine—really.”
Except everyone in the room, including Ian himself, knew he was lying. But he didn’t want to admit how rattled he was by the talk or how uncomfortable he felt sitting there while his grandparents and uncle held a mirror up to his face.
But he made himself sit still while they unburdened themselves and gave him advice. When they were done, he stayed a while longer, sipping on the now lukewarm tea and nibbling on a cookie that tasted like ash.
Grandma Jen reached across the couch and took his hand in hers.
She said nothing as she chewed on a small sandwich.
When Ian got up to leave, his grandma walked him to the door and pulled him in for a hug, her frail and petite form stillretaining some of its strength and grace. He patted her on the back, inhaled the smell of sugar and flour, and sighed. Then he was waving goodbye and getting into his car.
