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  “When she decided not to go for chemo, we thought it would be over much sooner.” Donna’s eyes welled with tears. Her grip tightened on Janelle’s, almost too hard. “Bobby’s been beside himself. Well, we all have. Your Nan’s such an amazing woman. What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to love her as much as we can until it’s time for her to go,” Janelle said, her own throat closing. She untangled her fingers from Donna’s, but gently. “That’s all we can do.”

  Everyone had pitched in for the dinner cleanup, so Janelle didn’t have that to deal with. Bennett sprawled in the recliner, ostensibly watching some adult cartoon program his older cousins had put on, but his eyes were at half-mast. Janelle nudged him.

  “Go to bed.”

  Nan had begged off at the end of the visit, later than her normal bedtime, but still early. By now she’d been in bed for an hour or so. Janelle assumed she’d be asleep, but she peeked in the door, anyway.

  “Who’s that?”

  “It’s me, Nan. Janelle,” she added, in case for some reason Nan didn’t know or didn’t remember.

  “Oh, honey. Come in. Did everyone leave? Did you tell them I was sorry, but I just had to get to bed?”

  “They understood. It’s okay.” Janelle sat on the edge of the bed. “You need anything?”

  “No, I’m fine.” Nan gave a long, deep sigh. Her fingers tangled together on top of her coverlet, beneath which she barely made a bump. “How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  “You don’t look fine,” Nan said. “You look terrible. Where’s that Gabe Tierney been? Does that have something to do with it?”

  That did it. Janelle opened her mouth to brush off Nan’s concerns, and let out a huge, braying sob instead. The tears gushed forth, hot as a geyser. There was no holding them back, restraint not within the realm of possibility. Janelle let it all go, up and out of her like squeezing a blister until it popped. There were words, a scramble of them, muffled and incoherent but mostly about Gabe and how stupid she’d been to think it might mean something, how she ought to have known better. How nothing ever turns out the way you think it will.

  Through it all, Nan said nothing, just made soothing noises as she patted Janelle’s back and handed her tissue after tissue until the box was mostly empty.

  “I’m sorry,” Janelle said. “I got carried away.”

  Nan laughed softly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here for you.”

  This made her want to cry all over again, and Nan must’ve seen it because she reached for her hand. “Don’t start again. Not about that.”

  “I’m going to miss you so much, Nan.”

  “I’ll still be with you, honey. I believe that. Don’t you?”

  Janelle wasn’t sure what she believed about life after death, but knew at least the memories of Nan would be with her. The lessons she’d taught. The color of her eyes. “Yes. I believe it.”

  “Then there’s no point in being sad.” Nan’s eyes glittered. “But I’m glad you told me.”

  Janelle reached for another tissue and wiped at her face. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh. Everyone just tippy-toes around it, that’s all. They don’t want to talk about it. They don’t want to hear about it. They wouldn’t hear about it,” Nan added. “That’s why I made them get you to come here, honey. I needed someone who’d be able to handle things, you know.”

  “And you thought that would be me? Why?”

  “Because you’ve always been a little like your dad. He could be a hard case, your dad.”

  Janelle frowned. “You think I’m...a hard case?”

  “I think you know what needs to be done and you do it, even if it’s hard, that’s what I think. No,” Nan amended. “I don’t think it. I know it. Now, your dad, he was also stubborn as heck and a more than a little reckless. But he also knew how to do the right thing, even when it was hard, and he was an honest man when he had to be. You have that honesty in you, Janelle.”

  It was nice to hear Nan thought so, but it didn’t make Janelle feel any better. She thought about her dad. “I have my share of secrets, Nan. Things I’m not proud of.”

  “We all do, honey. We all do.” Her grandma’s hands moved restlessly on the comforter. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean that you don’t tiptoe around things, even if it’s hard for you. You know I’m going to die.”

  Janelle didn’t protest this, and Nan smiled.

  “Any of the rest of them would be telling me to hush, or poo-pooing. But you know it’s true, honey. Don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Janelle fought more tears. “I know.”

  “Well, I’m ready to go.” Nan nodded firmly. “I’ve made my peace with things, I’ve taken care of everything that needs to be taken care of, or made sure someone else will be able to do it. I’ve had a long, good life, not without its share of sadness, but we all have that. I’ve had a lot of happy times, too. And so it’s my time, and God willing, I’ll go soon and not linger any longer than I have to.”

  “I hope so, too,” Janelle said.

  Nan smiled. “Good. That’s good, honey. I appreciate you saying it. Are you going to bed now?”

  Janelle looked at the clock. It wasn’t late, not for a Saturday night, but it wasn’t early, either. “I might read for a while. Maybe watch a movie. Why?”

  “Because,” Nan said, as she slowly pulled off the comforter and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, “I b’lieve I’d like a piece of that pineapple cake now.”

  Janelle grinned and helped her stand, then handed her her dressing gown. “You know what? Me, too.”

  FORTY-EIGHT

  Then

  THE OLD MAN is AT it again. Drinking. Chain-smoking until the smoke hangs so thick in the kitchen it’s like walking through fog. He stares nonstop at Andy all through the shitty dinner Mike managed to throw together from whatever he could find in the fridge and cupboards. He makes snide and sideways comments about the food and doesn’t eat any. None of them do.

  As always, Gabe lies in his bed with his hands tucked under his head and stares up at the ceiling. Counting sheep is shit, even when he tries to start from one hundred and go backward. He can’t sleep. His stomach, empty, tries to eat itself. If he turns on his side, he’ll be able to look out his window and into hers, but he already knows her blinds are drawn and her light’s off. She’s shut him out, and he can’t blame her.

  He lies in his bed listening to the creak of his old man pacing downstairs. The low mutters become profanity-laced shouts. Gabe waits for his father to climb the steep and narrow stairs. Across the hall, he knows his brothers are waiting, too.

  A figure appears in the doorway, and Gabe pushes up onto his elbows. “What do you want?”

  “Can I come in for a while?”

  “Where’s Andy?” Gabe says, not refusing his brother permission, but not giving it outright.

  Michael sidles into the room, his hair slick from the shower he spent half an hour taking. Cold water, like a punishment. His fists clench at his sides before he notices and makes an obvious effort to relax them. “He’s in our room.”

  Downstairs, the old man hollers something about whores. Michael flinches. Gabe sits up and swings his legs over the bed.

  “Tell him to come in here.”

  Michael hesitates, then shakes his head. “You know that won’t help.”

  Gabe stands as the first footstep creaks on the bottom stair. Michael doesn’t wait for his brother to say it’s okay; he steps inside the room and shuts the door behind him. Then he presses his back against it.

  “Open the door, Mikey.”

  Michael shakes his head.

  Gabe can’t think. Doesn’t want to think. Or feel. He wants to get back into his bed and pull the blankets up over his head so he can’t see or hear anything, either. But this can’t go on.

  It just can’t.

  He moves to the door, expecting his brother to step out of the way. When he doesn’t, Gabe grabs him by