We go the park with Grams huddled under layers of blankets. I push her chair while Sadie follows a few steps behind with a paper bag full of groceries. Apparently, Grams has been doing this most of her life since she moved into her house—going to the park and handing out food to the few homeless. Strange I wasn’t made aware of it during the almost eight or so months I spent with her, but then again, she’d disappear for hours at a time, telling me she had errands to run and I chose not to tag along, finding it more important to dwell on my past or, later, spend time with Tommy. It dawns on me that I know very little about my grandmother. Besides the fact she goes to church and had my father at sixteen, I don’t really know her at all. And now, it might be too late to ask.

“Stop, Sadie,” Grams says. I don’t correct her. She points over at a couple of people sitting in front of a bush, their few possessions in a garbage bag settled next to them. Grams waves and shouts, “Good morning, Johnny!”

I wheel her over to them while Johnny smiles at her. “Our angel of hope,” he sings.

Sadie hands them a loaf of bread, a large bottle of water, and jars of peanut butter and jelly. Grams spends a good fifteen minutes with them, talking about anything and everything. She asks the same questions a couple of times, but the couple continues to smile, repeating the same words already spoken. They seem to understand Grams’s illness. Heck, they probably understand it more than I do. And if what Sadie said is right—that Grams has been doing this a while—they probably see her decline as “progressive” just like Josh said. The couple pushes aside the worn-out blanket covering their legs so they can stand and hug Grams goodbye, and when they do I notice the plastic bags surrounding their feet. Grams must see it, too, because she gasps. “What happened to your shoes?” she says, her voice laced with sympathy.

Johnny shrugs. “No big deal, angel,” he says, waving a hand in front of him. “Someone obviously needed them more than we do.”

My heart tightens at his words.

The lady with Johnny must see my reaction because she smiles and pats my arm. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she coos.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, type out a message and have Cordy say, “Grams… you know who has a garage full of shoes?”

28

—Becca—

Grams goes back to sleep after our outing, and I go back to my room. I’m in the middle of editing the photographs I’d taken last night and earlier today when I hear a knock on my door that has my breath halting and my stomach flipping. The knocking sounds again, fast and light, letting me know exactly who it is even before I answer it.

Tommy’s grin is all consuming. I fall to my knees, my arms wide and ready for him. He barrels into me, holding my neck tight to his chest as he sways from side to side. “I missed you,” he whispers, and I swear, my heart physically expands, escapes from my chest and falls right into his little hands.

He pulls back, his eyes on mine. “Nanni’s at Dad’s making dinner. You want to come over and play with me?”

I nod, standing slowly and taking his hand.

“We have to be really quiet. Ma’am’s sleeping.”

“Okay,” I mouth.

“Follow me.” Tommy releases my hand so he can tiptoe down the stairs, using the rail to help him. As soon as he’s off the steps, he lays flat on his stomach and looks up at me, holding a finger to his mouth. After I nod, he waves for me to join him on the floor, and I do, because who the hell can say no to a Warden boy?

As silently as possible, we army crawl past the kitchen, into the living room, and toward the front door. Tommy points to the doorknob above us, and I reach up and turn it as slowly as possible. Once outside Tommy says, his voice back to normal, “Ma’am sleeps a lot now. She doesn’t play like she used to.” He picks up a skateboard leaning against the house, flies down the porch steps, jumps on the board and kicks, then pushes, off the ground. He rolls the ten feet toward the bottom of the apartment stairs before jumping off and turning back to me. “You coming?” he asks.

I realize I’m still standing on the porch, too fascinated with watching him that I haven’t even began to move. I put one foot in front of the other, my movements slow, my fascination increasing. Tommy waits at the bottom of the stairs, holding the skateboard under his arm. He’s wearing a backwards cap, a gray Globe shirt, dark skinny jeans and a pair of Globe shoes that look way too big for his feet.

He looks so much like Josh it’s scary.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.