I unleash on her immediately without even trying to temper my response. “Don’t you dare talk about Ches like you have a clue what’s going on. Ches has more loyalty and character in her pinky than you have in your whole body. Maybe if you didn’t spend all your time gossiping and speculating about other people, you’d have an actual life of your own to concern yourself with.”
“Faith,” Grandma Lou says gently.
Miss Ella stands, her lips pursed, and clears her throat. “I’ll see myself out. Talk to you tomorrow, Lou.”
The next morning, I leave a sticky note on Miss Ella’s door with a short apology. Honestly, I’m not one for grudges, but that’s the best she’s getting out of me after what she said about Ches.
Over the weekend, I hang out at Matt’s for a few hours, but nothing is the same. We awkwardly trip over each other’s words and can’t find anything on TV that doesn’t remind us of Ches, so eventually I head home. I want to tell Matt what I’m working on and include him, but I’ve already got one friend in danger. I can’t risk Matt getting hurt too.
The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I drive Grandma Lou and Miss Ella to the grocery store. Miss Ella normally flies out to spend the holiday with her son’s family in Arizona, but this year she said she’s not up for having it out with her daughter-in-law over the correct way to make stuffing. Really, I think she just wants to spend the time with Grandma Lou while she still can, even if she’s not willing to admit it.
That night, with her arm elbow deep up a turkey’s ass while she looks out through her kitchen window into the dark backyard, Grandma Lou says in a matter-of-fact voice, “I’ve put some thought to it. Faith, you turn eighteen in February. I don’t feel right leaving you until after you’re done with school in May. I’ve looked at a few assisted living places around town, and not all of them are that bad.”
I look to Miss Ella, but she trains her eyes on the linoleum floor, and it’s pretty clear that Grandma Lou didn’t do this on her own.
“Starting in December, I’ll hire a home care nurse, who will spend some time with me every day. I don’t want you worrying at school or work. In fact, I’d like it if nothing about your life had to change.”
Miss Ella grunts. “Well, if I’d known you were hiring someone, I would’ve taken the job.”
Grandma Lou chuckles. “Ella, you couldn’t pay me to hire you as my caretaker.”
“Well, I’ll remember that next time you need a ride to the grocery store,” says Miss Ella, a smile curling her wrinkled lips.
Their banter does nothing to distract me. “Grandma Lou, we don’t have to do all that. I’m happy to check on you. And I know Miss Ella is too.”
Grandma Lou shakes her head firmly. “It’s important that I make decisions while they’re still mine to make. Don’t you take that away from me.” She looks over her shoulder. “But for now, let’s just be thankful for what we’ve got, and what we’ve got is today.”
I want to fight, but I’ve got no argument. I can’t imagine how powerless she feels in all of this. I’ll give her as many chances to make her own decisions as I can. That’s the least I can do.
The next morning, I wake up later than I’d hoped for, and already Grandma Lou and Miss Ella are clamoring around in the kitchen, getting a start on our Thanksgiving feast. Miss Ella has made it perfectly clear that she expects to eat around noon, because she hopes to have an appetite for a turkey sandwich nightcap, and the only way that will happen is if she starts early.
After a quick shower, I let my hair air-dry and as I’m pulling a sweatshirt over my head, my phone rings.
“Hello,” I answer, using speakerphone while I shimmy into a pair of leggings.
“Faith,” says Matt, and he almost sounds like his normal self. “I was thinking we could go over and see Ches’s mom tonight.”
I plop down and take the phone off speaker. “Tonight?”
“Yeah. Sounds like the cops haven’t made any headway on her whereabouts, and my mom wants me to bring a pie over, like this will all be fixed somehow with a sweet potato pie.”
If only it were that simple. “What time?” I ask.
“Maybe like five?”
“Oh, um, I’m really not sure. Can I call you later this afternoon?”
He groans. “I guess so.”
I have to remind myself that there are so many things he doesn’t know. Heck, I haven’t even found the time to tell him about Grandma Lou. “I really want to go,” I tell him. “I’ve got to find out what Grandma Lou has planned for Thanksgiving dinner first.” I swallow. That last part wasn’t entirely true, and I’m finding myself lying enough that it’s hard for even me to remember what’s real and what’s not.
“Whatever,” he says. “I guess just text me when you figure out if you have time to visit our missing best friend’s mom.”
“Matt, you know I—” But he hangs up before I can finish, and at this rate, that’s probably for the best.
I’m probably definitely the worst friend ever.
For a moment, I close my eyes and remind myself of all the facts I know to be true and how sometimes being the good guy doesn’t leave much room for being the best person. At least, that’s what I tell myself in an attempt to feel better. When I open my eyes, I find that I’m floating a few feet off the floor and that my hair is dangerously close to my ceiling fan. Talk about a hazard of the job. I haven’t really figured out the exact rules of my abilities, but I’m starting to think that maybe the state I’m most comfortable in is not quite flying and not quite firmly planted on the ground, like the way it’s so simple to let your body just float in a pool.
Downstairs, Miss Ella is quick to put me to work and has me peeling potatoes. She fusses at Grandma Lou, because Miss Ella has an actual formal dining room with fancier china and silverware. Grandma Lou takes it all in stride with smiles and chuckles, and I try not to concentrate on the fact that Grandma Lou is letting Miss Ella verbally trample her, because her lucid days are numbered and even Miss Ella’s tiresome grumbling is something to be treasured. At least she’s not trash-talking Ches.
It’s a little ridiculous how much effort we’re all putting into this one single meal. Grandma Lou and I don’t normally go all out like this, but when we sit down at the kitchen table, cloaked in an orange plastic tablecloth and lit with candlesticks Miss Ella insisted on bringing over, there is something incredibly satisfying about it all. (If you can bring yourself to ignore the piles of dishes on the counters and in the sink and even the splash of mashed potatoes I managed to get on the wall—too high for me to clean without a step stool.)
Miss Ella holds her hands out for us both to take, and in a way, it reminds me of the time I played light as a feather, stiff as a board with Matt and Ches. There’s something almost ceremonial about this meal and this moment.
“Lou, would you like to say grace?” Miss Ella asks.
Grandma Lou nods, even though I’ve never even heard the woman utter a word about her religious preferences. (Mom always said that was a result of Grandma Lou having a Catholic mother and a Jewish father, neither of whom were committed enough to either for anything to stick.)