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"I don't know. I'm not thinking that far ahead. But Megan is a great kid."
"I'm sure she is. And I'm sure you'd make a great father figure, if that's what you want. It would certainly be a different life than the one you've been living."
"Change is good, right?"
"Yes, just be careful. I don't want you to get hurt, Drew."
"I know you don't. You hate to see anyone in the family hurt."
"And you're the same way with your friends. I know you want to protect Ria and Megan, but if they have any kind of relationship with an international criminal, I think you're out of your league."
"That's why I came here for help."
"I'm glad you did. Don't do anything else until Max gets back to you. I know you don't like to be patient, but try."
"I will," he said. "Anyway, I have to stop by Grandpa's house, so I should go."
"What are you doing over there? Talking about the boat?"
"No, he's having some car trouble. I said I'd take a look. With all his problems with Grandma, the last thing he needs is a car that's not working."
* * *
His grandfather was in the driveway in front of his garage, his head under the hood of his 1999 BMW when Drew arrived.
"Find the problem?" Drew asked.
His grandfather started, pulled his head out from under the hood and gave him an annoyed look. "You're late."
"Ten minutes."
"Late is late," Patrick said, never one to tolerate errors of any kind.
"I'm here now. Can I take a look?"
"It's the starter. It has to be."
"Do you mind?" he asked, coming up next to him.
"Suit yourself. I have to get back inside anyway. Ellie will be wanting her lunch."
"Go ahead. I'll check things out."
As his grandfather left, Drew examined the engine. He'd always enjoyed working on engines, whether they belonged to cars or planes. After a few minutes, he found the problem, and it was not the starter.
He walked into the house and found his grandfather in the kitchen—a room that looked like it had been hit by a tornado. There were pots and pans on all the burners, as well as on the counters. There were half-eaten plates of food heaped on top of each other, glasses filled with an assortment of liquids. Most of the cupboard doors were open, as if someone had just ransacked them.
"Don't just stand there," his grandfather said gruffly. "Help me." Patrick began rinsing dishes and putting them in the dishwasher.
Drew moved over to the kitchen table and grabbed a couple of dishes, taking them over to the sink. "How long has it been since you cleaned up?" he couldn't help asking.
"About an hour."
"What?" he asked in disbelief. "All this in an hour?"
"That's how long I was outside trying to get the car to start. Now you know why late is late."
"Sorry," he muttered. "So this is Grandma's handiwork."
"She forgets where she is, what she's doing. And some days she's filled with this almost frenetic energy. She's moving fast, trying to do a thousand things at once, like she's afraid if she doesn't get them done right away, she'll forget. Only she does forget, and then there's a thousand things all undone."
"I didn't know it was this bad," he said slowly. "But you have some help, right?"
"Sure, we have help, but it's impossible and ridiculously expensive to have anyone else here twenty-four hours a day." He paused, his eyes filling with pain. "Do you think I want to put her in a home?" He shook his head, biting down on his bottom lip. "I have loved that woman for almost sixty years of my life. I have lived with her, slept with her, eaten with her, bathed with her. I know her better than I know myself. And she used to know me." His jaw tightened. "She used to know me," he repeated, then tossed the sponge into the sink and walked out of the room.
Drew felt like he'd just been hit by a train. He didn't know what was more disturbing—that his grandmother was losing her mind, or that his gruff grandfather was capable of breaking down and being very, very human.
He let out a sigh and then finished cleaning the kitchen. He was just starting the dishwasher when his grandmother wandered into the room.
