It was the best peanut butter sandwich I’ve ever had. Because I was making a plan while I ate it.
That night, I didn’t sleep much.
I lay on the cot looking at the beams and thinking about my grandfather.
I thought about a summer when I was fifteen. My parents had gone on a cruise with Chloe and left me with Grandpa for two weeks. They said it was because I’d get seasick. I found out later it was because the cruise was cheaper for three.
I was sitting on the porch that first night, feeling sorry for myself, when my grandfather came out with two bottles of root beer.
“You know what I noticed about you?” he said, handing me one.
“What?”
“You never ask for anything.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Your sister asks for everything,” he said. “And she gets most of it. You ask for nothing. And you get about that much.” He tipped his root beer at me. “That’s not fair, Katie. And it’s not your fault. But it’s going to be your problem someday, if you’re not careful.”
“What do you mean?”
“People like your parents,” he said, and then he stopped. He took a long drink. He looked out at his pine trees.
“My son is a good talker,” he finally said. “Always has been. He can make anything sound like it’s for your own good. You remember that. When somebody tells you something’s for your own good, you check their pockets.”
I laughed. I thought he was joking.
He wasn’t.
The next afternoon, my father threw a barbecue.
He’d planned it weeks before, apparently. My mother told me about it at breakfast, like she was letting me in on a secret.
