Page 5

Reverend Tom wanders out of the house dressed in casual Dockers and a Mister Rogers sweater. Without his church uniform, he looks more like a substitute math teacher than a preacher.

His gaze skips over me, drifting from Jeanie to G-Lo, and he offers a consoling smile. “I’m guessing you’re Vida’s mother. I was quite fond of your daughter. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Grandma releases Jeanie and stalks forward, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as she holds out her hand. “Lola Stone.” She studies the man as if planning to cook him and eat him. “And you must be Reverend Tom.”

“Uh, yes. Tom Randall. I’ve, uh, heard a lot about you. Wish we could’ve met under different circumstances.”

“Guess we’ll have to make up for lost time then, won’t we?” she purrs.

Reverend Tom backs away slowly, turning as red as Grandma’s lips. “I really should be going. I’m sure you’d like some time to catch up with the girls.”

“See you around, Reverend.” She wiggles her fingers in a flirty wave as he stumbles the last few feet to his car and slips behind the wheel. As he pulls away from the curb, she turns to us and releases a whoosh of air. “I thought he’d never leave.”

“He’s gonna be absolving himself all night long after that little exchange.” Jeanie’s eyes sparkle with amusement.

I’d sooner gouge out my eyes than imagine anything Reverend Tom does under cover of night. “We probably should’ve been nicer to him. He was really good to Mom.”

“Your mother was always drawn to complicated relationships.” Grandma wraps her arm around Jeanie’s shoulders. “But let’s not talk about men. I’ve driven halfway across the country to see you girls.” She pins me under her knowing gaze. “I understand we have things to discuss, so we should probably get right to it.”

Jeanie eyes the urn in my arms.

I shift my weight, balancing Mom’s ashes on my hip. “You can stop pretending you haven’t been talking behind my back. It won’t change how I feel about Mom’s crazy request.”

“It’s not so crazy when you understand her reasons. May I?” Grandma nods toward the urn and holds out her hands. “Let’s take her inside so we can talk.”

I reluctantly surrender Mom’s ashes and follow my sister and grandmother into the house.

2

Ziggy Stardust

Our kitchen looks like Paula Deen exploded. From the doorway, I count at least three homemade pies resting on the glass cooktop. Assorted casserole dishes litter every available flat surface, and the light reflecting off the aluminum foil is blinding. Stacked around the Pyrex graveyard are plastic containers in nearly every color of the rainbow, as if our house is where Tupperware came to die. The church ladies thought of everything—right down to the tub of whipped I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter! nestled in a basket of freshly baked brown ’n serve rolls.

“Hungry?” Jeanie holds out an oval dish filled with what looks like regurgitated dog food.

The stench of boiled cabbage and scalloped potatoes slaps me in the face like a wet sneaker, making my stomach roll over and play dead. “I’d rather starve.”

“Suit yourself.” Jeanie shoves the dish into the overcrowded refrigerator before taking a seat next to Grandma. She taps a shimmery pink fingernail on the table in a quick staccato, mimicking my erratic heartbeat, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I alternate my gaze between Jeanie and Grandma Lola. “Is this an intervention?”

Instead of answering, Grandma gives me a syrupy smile that all but confirms my suspicions.

I pivot on my heel, ready to march back the way I came. “If you need me, I’ll be in my room yanking out my fingernails, one at a time.”

“Sit!” Jeanie points at the open seat across from her.

“Fine.” I scrape my chair across the floor before falling into it with a grunt.

The two of them share covert glances, speaking in code with their eyes.

“Sooo . . .” I drag out the word, filling the uncomfortable silence. “What’s the mysterious reason Mom wants us to spread her ashes between Cleveland and Santa Monica?”

Grandma finally releases her stranglehold on the urn and sets it in the center of the table. “It’s a long story.”

“It’s not like I have anything better to do.” I cross my arms and straighten my spine. If I miss the rapidly closing window to register for classes, I’ll have nothing but time.

“As you both know, I haven’t exactly lived a conventional life,” Grandma starts.