I had raised three babies on nearly nothing.
June narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we invite her to Sunday dinner.”
May’s mouth opened. “Here?”
“Yes.”
Rose studied my face. “Are you sure?”
“No,” I said. “But secrets don’t get to grow in this house.”
“What are you saying?”
The girls sent the message.
Lisa accepted within ten minutes.
My stomach only tightened.
***
On Sunday, I cooked pot roast.
At five, Rose set the plates.
At six, May wrapped foil over the dish.
The girls sent the message.
At seven, June looked at the clock and said, “Grandpa, stop reheating it.”
“She said she was coming.”
“Then she can eat it cold,” June said.
I took the pot roast out of the oven and set it on the counter.
***
When Lisa finally knocked, I opened the door.
“Grandpa, stop reheating it.”
She stood there polished, smiling like two hours late was still on time.
