I felt like shit when she was through talking, but had to hide my smile at her subtle guilt trip. Sneaky old lady. I forced my achy body into a sitting position and wrapped my arms around her waist, cuddling up to her as I apologized. “I’m sorry, Gram. I won’t ever do something like that again. I don’t want to get you in trouble with Dad.”

She wrapped her arms around me and rubbed my back for a minute while I relaxed into her, knowing I was forgiven. It was amazing what one simple hug could do to soothe us both. Before I could grow too comfortable or fall back asleep, she pulled back, jarring my throbbing head that was resting on her shoulder.

“Callie, I love you, baby, and we’re fine … but your breath smells like shit. Go brush your teeth,” she grumbled with a wrinkled nose and a smile.

I loved my Gram.

I pulled myself out of bed and went to brush my teeth, sliding by Gram at the kitchen counter and rubbing her back lightly as I went. She was making sure her “billfold” and keys were in her purse, just like she’d done every single time we’d left the house for as long as I could remember. She always checked and re-checked her purse for everything she needed and it had been like a treasure trove of goodies when I was younger. There was always a little notebook and pen if I was bored at the grocery store, a hair tie if she needed to pull back my hair, or a Band-Aid if I scraped my knee. Gram’s purse could solve any problem, no matter where we were.

As soon as she made sure she had everything she could possibly need, we climbed in the car and took off for my house. We didn’t usually chatter much in the car, but that ride was significantly quieter as I thought about the night before. I was so relieved that my little ordeal was over. I was lucky—I was going home safe and sound, when I could’ve been dead. The thought of that man touching me, or the way the gunshots sounded in the entryway of that house had me shuddering in fear, and I quickly turned my mind to my parents and what I’d be facing when I got home.

I wasn’t sure what Gram told my parents, but whatever it was had calmed them down enough that they weren’t calling my phone over and over like I’d been expecting. I was glad for the reprieve, but I knew it wouldn’t last long. I’d been missing for hours between the time when they would’ve been home for dinner and when Gram called them at 3 am. They were going to be livid—especially my dad.

Gram was my dad’s mom. She’d raised three boys with a drunk for a husband, and she’d pretty much seen it all. Unfortunately for my brother and me, my dad knew every trick in the book because he’d used them, which meant we rarely got away with anything. All of Gram’s sons were hellions while growing up, but somehow my dad had pulled himself off the road they’d been on and was living on the straight and narrow. My uncles hadn’t been so lucky.

I remembered my uncles as fun and a little crazy, but I’d only seen them once a week for the family dinners that Gram had established to keep us all connected. They would tease me constantly by pulling my braid and calling me ‘little senorita’, and I’d loved the attention even though my mom’s mouth would tighten every time they did it. I hadn’t understood until a few years later that my parents saw it as a dig at my dad for marrying a Mexican woman. I didn’t know if I agreed with my parents’ assessment, but soon it hadn’t mattered anyway.

I’d viewed them with a sort of hero worship, never understanding why we saw them only at my grandmother’s and only for a couple of hours at a time. My parents had kept me out of the day to day drama, but when I was ten they’d been unable to shield me and my brother Cody any longer when both uncles were killed in a bar fight in Los Angeles.

I’d been too young to understand the implications of their deaths; I just knew that I’d lost two people who I thought had hung the moon especially for me. My parents, however, saw all too clearly that my dad’s brothers had died the way they lived—with a blatant disregard for the law and a recklessness that they’d wanted no part of. I’m not sure what happened—my mother must have said or done something during those few weeks after Gram lost her boys—because we never again went to family dinners and my mother and Gram never spoke again.

When we pulled up to my house, I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned toward Gram whose hands were tense at ten and two on the steering wheel. She didn’t put the car in park, just sat there with her foot on the brake, waiting for me to hop out. It didn’t surprise me, though, I knew she’d never step foot in our house if she could help it—not even if I needed her to run interference.

“Thanks, Gram!” I told her with a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll call you this week—I have Thursday and Friday off from school so maybe I can come spend the night.”

“Sounds good, baby girl,” she replied with a tight smile. She was anxious to leave, nervous that she’d have to interact with my mom if she came out of the house.

I pushed open my door and climbed out, leaning back in to give her one more smile. I hated leaving her even though I knew I’d see her again soon.

“Love you!”

“Love you, too. Get on inside,” she ordered with a nod as I shut the door behind me.

I knew Gram wouldn’t pull away from the curb until I’d walked in the front door, so I jogged to the front of our two-story house and let myself inside. It was quiet, almost eerily so.  I slid my shoes off and dropped them into a basket by the front door and walked further into the house, finding my parents sitting in the living room waiting for me. My mom was on the couch facing the wide doorway, and when I met her eyes, she stood up and started toward me.