The Favor Read online

  The back door opens. Andy’s there, his hair standing on end with sweat, his eyes wide. Mikey behind him.

  “What the hell?” Andy says, but Gabe finds no words, only laughter, and it feels so good he doesn’t want to stop.

  “Andy, Andy, Andy,” Janelle says, drawing him out onto the porch, knuckling his head fondly. “What’s happening, brother? Want to hear a joke?”

  Somehow, she gets Andy laughing, too, though the next joke she tells is just raunchy enough to make Mikey frown. The four of them stand on the back porch, giggling and sharing the cigarettes Andy goes inside to pinch from the old man’s drawer. They stand there for an hour or more, until Mrs. Decker flicks the back porch light and Janelle has to go inside.

  “She makes everything seem like not such a big deal,” Andy says when they face the last bit of mess inside. “Doesn’t she?”

  Gabe doesn’t reply, just gets out a broom and dustpan and starts sweeping. It’s a question that doesn’t need an answer, as if somehow admitting it aloud would change it or make him have to own up to something he doesn’t want to. It’s true, though, he thinks as they work together to put the kitchen back into shape.

  Janelle always makes everything seem as if it will be okay.

  EIGHTEEN

  JANELLE HAD DROPPED a stitch somewhere along the way. Probably more than one. Consequently, her afghan was lopsided and narrowing with every row.

  “By the time I’m done, it will be a scarf.”

  Nan laughed, pushing a tissue against her mouth to shield a cough. It took her a few minutes to recover, and her eyes were watery by the time she did. She wiped her mouth and crumpled the tissue before tucking it into the plastic shopping bag she hung from her walker and used for trash.

  “Rip it out and start over,” she said.

  Janelle sighed. “But I’ve been working on it for, like, two days. That’s two days lost.”

  “Not lost,” Nan said. “Just think of it as practice.”

  “Practice,” Janelle said doubtfully, and held up the mass of yarn she was trying to make into something pretty.

  “You can’t get anything right if you don’t practice.” Nan coughed again, then gestured. “Let me see that.”

  In minutes she’d plucked out the last few rows. Her knitting needles clacked slowly, but carefully. Janelle could remember a time when her grandmother could finish an entire baby blanket over the course of a few nights’ TV watching. She’d knitted them for friends, family, children in the hospital. Skeins and skeins of yarn in every color. Janelle had often done her homework to the sound of those needles clackity-clacking. It was painful to watch how difficult it was now for Nan to knit.

  Nan held up the blanket. “See? There.”

  Janelle took the needles and yarn. “Thanks, Nan.”

  “You just need to take your time. Pay attention. That’s all.” Nan coughed again and lay back against the couch. Her cheeks were too pink, her eyes too bright. She didn’t have a fever; Janelle had checked for that. And it was better than her looking wan and lethargic. Still, she didn’t look like herself.

  “Bennett! Let’s go, you’re going to miss the bus!”

  Backpack slung over his shoulder, Bennett pushed past her, heading for the back door. “Bye.”

  “Where’s your hat?” Janelle asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I lost it.”

  “Oh, Bennett.” Janelle sighed and looked him over, noting a bruise on his chin. “What happened to your face? And how do you keep losing your hats?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Janelle considered calling him on the sullen tone, but then looked at the clock. “Go to school.”

  She watched until he’d left the room, then studied the tangle of yarn in her hands. “Maybe I’d be better off knitting him a bunch of hats.”

  “He doesn’t lose them, you know.”

  Janelle looked at her grandmother. “What do you mean?”

  Nan laughed. “He hides them. Because he doesn’t want to wear them. The other children probably don’t wear hats.”

  “Yeah, and they’re probably more used to the cold,” Janelle said. “But that makes sense. I’ll talk to him about it.”

  “Your daddy always refused to wear a hat. He’d just throw them down, right in front of me, when he was small. Stomp his feet. Oh, he was stubborn. When he got older, he’d just say to me, ‘Mom, I’m not wearing a hat, and you can’t make me.’ And you know what? I couldn’t.”

  Janelle had no trouble imagining her dad as a rebel. “Did he give you lots of trouble, Nan?”

  “Oh, yes. He was the first one, you know. I made all my mistakes with him.” Nan shook her head. “But by the time the youngest came along, well, I guess I’d had enough practice.”

  “I feel bad, sometimes....”

  Nan looked up, though Janelle had stopped herself. “About Benny? Being your only? Or about him not having a daddy?”

  There was no point in pretending to be offended. In California it had never seemed to matter there was only a mother. Here it was different. “Yes. That. Both.”

  Nan waved a hand. “So get him a brother or a sister.”

  “The no-daddy thing sort of makes that hard, Nan.”

  Her grandma snorted softly. “You found one the first time, didn’t you? You really think you couldn’t go out and find another one, if you tried a little?”

  From anyone else in the world, that would’ve sounded like an insult. From Nan it just sounded like good advice. Janelle shrugged. “Not sure I’m interested.”

  “In another baby? Or a man?”

  “Both.” Janelle focused narrowly on the afghan, making sure to count her stitches. Taking her time. She looked up to see Nan giving her a serious look. “What?”

  “Just because you make a mistake once doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try again, Janelle. I mean, look at your mother. She moved on, didn’t she?”

  Janelle let her blanket project settle into her lap. “You think my mom made a mistake with my dad?”

  “Oh, I don’t mean you, honey. But...I think she made a mistake in loving him so hard. She should’ve given up on him long before she did. Hand me another tissue, honey.” Nan wiped her mouth with the one Janelle passed her, then grimaced as she spit into it. She screwed up the tissue and put it in her trash bag.

  Janelle watched in silence at first, not sure what to think. “But...he’s your son.”

  “I know that. And I already told you what sort of boy he’d been, didn’t I? You think I didn’t know what kind of man he grew into? Maybe I should’ve remarried after Dick died. Maybe it was because your dad missed his father, I don’t know. Or sometimes, some people just have trouble their whole lives.” Nan shook her head. “That Gabe Tierney, for example.”

  Uneasily, Janelle glanced out the window, though of course, she could only glimpse the Tierneys’ house and no sign of Gabe himself. “Oh, Nan. C’mon.”

  “He shot his own brother in the head, for goodness’ sakes. And that business with his mother. And his father, that old grump....” Nan sighed. “I’m just saying that Gabe Tierney’s had trouble his whole life, and probably always will.”

  “That’s not a nice thing to say.”

  “Well,” Nan said stubbornly, “it’s true. And his brothers, nice as can be. Father Michael’s a priest—you can’t get much nicer than that. And Andrew, that poor boy. Well, he’s had to make a life out of something terrible, and it’s a struggle, but he makes it.”

  “You don’t give Gabe enough credit.”

  Nan smiled. “Ahhh. So you do like him.”

  Janelle couldn’t deny that, but wouldn’t admit it. “Why didn’t you ever get married again?”

  “Oh...” Nan thought about it for a few seconds. “Because I loved your grandpa too much, I guess. Dick was my high school sweetheart, you know.”

  “I can’t imagine that. Marrying the person you dated in high school.”

  “Can’t you?” Nan asked, a little t