Grandma hummed to herself, leaning on the kitchen counter. “I’m in no position to diagnose anybody and neither are you, but it does sound like someone needs to check on him.” She pulled out her phone and scrolled through the numbers. “Okay. Do you want me to call Helen or will you?”
I raised an eyebrow at her. Did Ilooklike I wanted to call a someone and tell them their father’s cheese was sliding off his cracker?
Luckily, Grandma always could read me like a book. She gave me a wry smile. “Fine. I know Helen, so it might be better if she hears it from me anyway. You can fill her in on the details later.”
“Thanks, Grandma.”
“Why don’t you make us some coffee while I call her?” she suggested and made her way to the living room and settled in her armchair.
I took my time brewing in the kitchen while she made the call, and by the time I emerged with two mugs and set them on coasters—Grandma hadstandards, thank you—she was off the phone.
“Did you get hold of her?” I asked, taking a seat on the couch.
She picked up her mug and let out a sigh. “Yes. Helen wasn’t all that surprised. She said there have been a few times recently when she’s called that Harlan hasn’t made sense. She was already planning a visit for later this month, but she’s going to get in touch with his doctor, then try to get a flight this afternoon.”
Relief flooded through me. Partly because I was glad Harlan had someone to step up to the plate for him and partly because I had enough of my own shit to deal with.
“Of course, if Harlan can’t be held responsible for his actions, that does leave the question of the lawsuit,” Grandma said, sipping her coffee and waiting patiently for me to catch up.
When I did, my heart sank. If Harlan had some kind of dementia, there was no way we were going to take him to court. Which meant no payout. And no loan. And no community college.
A tight ball of resentment gathered in my gut. Like, Harlan couldn’t be blamed for something he’d done while he wasn’t in his right mind. It was just that I’d made the mistake of allowing myself to hope, and watching my dreams die—again—fuckinghurt.
Grandma was still watching me over the rim of her coffee mug, and I realized I hadn’t answered her.
“I mean, obviously we’re dropping the case,” I said.
She gave me an approving smile. “Obviously. You can let your young man know next time you see him.”
The ball of misery grew, expanding until it was hard to breathe, and some of what I was feeling must have shown on my face. Grandma put her mug down and moved to sit next to me, rubbing a soothing hand up and down my back. “Danny, honey? What did Miller do? Do I have to send Wilder to kick your boy’s ass?”
I let out a wet, hitching laugh. “He already offered. But no, Miller didn’t do anything wrong. He’s leaving. Moving to New York for work.”
“Oh,” she said.
“Yeah.” And really, what else was there to say? Miller was following his dream, and I couldn’t even be mad at him about it. But it still sucked that he was going. I already missed him, and he hadn’t even technically left yet.
And maybe I didn’t have a right to miss him, since he wasn’t mine or anything, but since when did logic count for shit when it came to feelings?
Helen Whittaker didn’t look muchlike I remembered, but maybe I was getting her mixed up with her sister. My earliest memories of the Whittaker girls had been when they’d both already been at college, and after they’d graduated they only really came back to Goose Run for holidays. Anyhow, I was expecting a redhead, but Helen was blonde and she was wearing mom jeans and a pastel pink sweater, and that wasn’t how I remembered either of the Whittaker girls at all.
“Oh my lord,” she said. “Little Danny Hall!”
I guessed I wasn’t exactly how she remembered me either.
“Hi, Helen,” I said and shook her hand as she stepped up onto the porch. “Do you want a drink? I can make up some iced tea.”
She put her hands on her hips and let out a sigh. “I don’t suppose you have a beer, do you? Wait, are you old enough to have beer?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “On both counts.”
Helen took a seat on the old couch on the porch, and I went and grabbed the last two beers from the refrigerator. Technically they were Wilder’s, but I figured Helen and I needed them more right now. When I came back outside, she was looking through some official-looking pages.
“I found this in Dad’s kitchen drawer,” she said. “You’re really suing him?”
I looked out at the ugly stump where the tree had been. “He cut down our tree.”
“I loved that tree. Your grandparents let us put a swing in it when we were kids.” She sighed again. “I asked him about it. He doesn’t remember doing it. He’s… well, I don’t know. He was getting more and more vague on the phone, so I knew he wasn’t in great shape, but I didn’t think it was this bad. Have you seen inside the house?”
