My cheeks heat as I scramble to my feet. “Oh. Well. I just hadn’t gotten around to—”
“It’s fine,” Nana says drily, plucking her keys from a board on the wall. “I harbor no illusions about my familiarity with teen fashion. But there’s no reason to let these go to waste when someone else can use them.”
I peer hopefully behind her. “Is Ezra coming with us?”
“He’s out for a walk. Hurry up, I need to get back and make dinner.”
After ten days with my grandmother, there are a few things I know. She’ll drive fifteen miles under the speed limit the entire way to Dalton’s. We’ll get home at least forty minutes before six o’clock, because that’s when we eat and Nana doesn’t like to rush when she cooks. We’ll have a protein, a starch, and a vegetable. And Nana expects us to be in our rooms by ten o’clock. Which we don’t protest, since we have nothing better to do.
It’s weird. I thought I’d chafe under the structure, but there’s something almost soothing about Nana’s routine. Especially in contrast to the past six months with Sadie, after she found a doctor who’d keep refilling her Vicodin prescription and went from distracted and disorganized to full-on erratic. I used to wander around our apartment when she stayed out late, eating microwave mac and cheese and wondering what would happen to us if she didn’t come home.
And then finally one night, she didn’t.
The Subaru crawls at a snail’s pace to Dalton’s, giving me plenty of time to stare out the window at the slender trees lining the road, gold leaves starting to mix with the green. “I didn’t know leaves changed color this early,” I say. It’s September ninth, a week after Labor Day, and the temperature is still warm and almost summery.
“Those are green ash trees,” Nana says in her teacher voice. “They change early. We’re having good weather for peak foliage this year: warm days and cool nights. You’ll see reds and oranges popping up in a few weeks.”
Echo Ridge is by far the prettiest place I’ve ever lived. Nearly every house is spacious and well maintained, with interesting architecture: stately Victorians, gray-shingled Capes, historic Colonials. The lawns are freshly mowed, the flower beds neat and orderly. All the buildings in the town center are red brick and white-windowed, with tasteful signs. There’s not a chain-link fence, a dumpster, or a 7-Eleven in sight. Even the gas station is cute and almost retro-looking.
I can see why Sadie felt hemmed in here, though, and why Mia stalks through school like she’s searching for an escape hatch. Anything different stands out a mile.
My phone buzzes with a text from Lourdes, checking on the luggage situation. When I update her about my newly recovered suitcase, she texts back so many celebratory GIFs that I almost miss my grandmother’s next words. “Your guidance counselor called.”
I stiffen in my seat, trying to imagine what I could’ve done wrong on the first day of school when Nana adds, “She’s been reviewing your transcript and says your grades are excellent, but that there’s no record of you taking the SATs.”
“Oh. Well. That’s because I didn’t.”
“You’ll need to take them this fall, then. Have you prepped?”
“No. I didn’t think … I mean …” I trail off. Sadie doesn’t have a college degree. She’s gotten by on a small inheritance from our grandfather, plus temp work and the occasional acting job. While she’s never discouraged Ezra and me from applying to college, she’s always made it clear that we’d be on our own if we did. Last year I took one look at tuition for the school closest to home, and immediately bounced off their website. I might as well plan a trip to Mars. “I’m not sure I’m going to college.”
Nana brakes well in advance of a stop sign, then inches toward the white line. “No? And here I thought you were a future lawyer.”
Her eyes are fixed firmly on the road, so she doesn’t catch my startled look. Somehow, she managed to land on my one and only career interest—the one I stopped mentioning at home because Sadie would groan ugh, lawyers every time I did. “Why would you think that?”
“Well, you’re interested in criminal justice, aren’t you? You’re analytical and well spoken. Seems like a good fit.” Something light and warm starts spreading through my chest, then stops when I glance down at the wallet sticking out of my messenger bag. Empty, just like my bank account. When I don’t answer right away, Nana adds, “I’ll help you and your brother out, of course. With tuition. As long as you keep your grades up.”
“You will?” I turn and stare at her, the spark of warmth returning and zipping through my veins.
“Yes. I mentioned it to your mother a few months ago, but—well, she wasn’t in the best frame of mind at the time.”
“No. She wasn’t.” My mood deflates, but only for a second. “You’d really do that? You can, um, afford it?” Nana’s house is nice and all, but it’s not exactly a mansion. And she clips coupons, although I have the feeling it’s more of a game with her than a necessity. She was really pleased with herself over the weekend when she scored six free rolls of paper towels.
“State school,” she says crisply. “But you have to take the SATs first. And you need time to prepare, so you should probably sign up for the December session.”
“All right.” My head’s in a whirl, and it takes a minute for me to finish the sentence properly. “Thank you, Nana. That’s seriously awesome of you.”
“Well. It would be nice to have another college graduate in the family.”
I tug at the silver dagger around my neck. I feel … not close to my grandmother, exactly, but like maybe she won’t shoot me down if I ask the question I’ve been holding in since I arrived in Echo Ridge. “Nana,” I say abruptly, before I lose my nerve. “What was Sarah like?”
I can feel my aunt’s absence in this town, even more than my mother’s. When Ezra and I are out running errands with Nana, people have no problem talking to us as though they’ve known us their entire lives. Everyone skirts around Sadie’s rehab, but they have plenty of other things to say; they’ll quote her Defender line, joke about how Sadie must not miss Vermont winters, or marvel at how similar my hair is to hers. But they never mention Sarah—not a memory, an anecdote, or even an acknowledgment. Every once in a while I think I see the flicker of an impulse, but they always pause or look away before changing the subject.
Nana is silent for so long that I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. Maybe we can both spend the next four months pretending I did. But when she finally speaks, her tone is calm and even. “Why do you ask?”
“Sa—my mom doesn’t talk about her.” Nana’s never said anything when we call our mother by her first name, but I can tell she doesn’t like it. Now isn’t the time to annoy her. “I’ve always wondered.”