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James frowned. “But she said I could call her Little Grandma, so that means she’s my grandma.”

Adam wiped his hand over his face. “You’re right, she did.”

“James, I’m your pretend grandma while you live in Jasper Creek. So, the next time you want to bake brownies, you can come to my house. Wouldn’t that be nice?” Little Grandma asked.

“Pretend?”

“Just here in Jasper Creek. But your Grandma Alice and Grandma Sharon are your always grandmas.”

He brightened. “Can we bake brownies today?”

“You’re talking about dinosaurs today, Buddy. And we’re eating whatever these nice ladies cooked for us.”

James assessed his father, and decided to agree. “Okey-doke.”

Little Grandma and James went back to the book, and James was soon making up elaborate stories about each dinosaur, while the four of us did our best not to laugh.

When we eventually made it to the dining room, there were things on that table that Miss Gladiola introduced as family recipes. There was so much food, I thought they must have invited more guests.

“Who else is coming?” Adam asked, reading my mind.

“Oh, this is just for us. We know that a man eats a lot, and that James is a growing boy. And if there is anything left over, we’ll just pack it up for you to take back to the hotel.”

After Miss Gladiola said grace, we dug in. Damn, it was good. I went back for seconds on most everything, and James had three biscuits. Adam was the only one who showed restraint.

At some point, Miss Gladiola looked across the table at Adam, who had been quietly charming all evening in the way that still surprised me a little, and she said, "So. You're the one who was with our Zoe that night."

It wasn't a question.

Adam met her eyes. "Yes, Ma'am."

Miss Gladiola studied him for a long moment. She was clearly assessing him. "Good," she said simply, and passed him the basket of biscuits. He plucked his fourth one out of the basket. Apparently his restraint was gone.

“I was there, too!” James said quickly.

Little Grandma, refilling James's milk, said without looking up, "The people who show up when it matters—those are the ones worth keeping."

I didn't say anything. Neither did Adam. But I felt him shift slightly beside me, not away, actually closer. It felt good.

We said our goodbyes on the front porch under the early stars, James clutching a small illustration Little Grandma had found in a magazine and torn out for him. He knew it was a Spinosaurus and explained how it would spin around and it’s tail would hit all the other dinosaurs and knock them down so he could get away.

We all agreed that sounded very logical. James hugged Miss Gladiola, then turned to Little Grandma. “I like having you as a pretend Grandma.”

“Thank you, honey. I like having a dinosaur expert I can talk to. Be sure to come on back and visit real soon, you hear?”

“I will.”

Adam picked up a tired James and started down the stairs, and Little Grandma took the opportunity to cup my face in her hands. "Pay attention, Sugar. The good ones… The ones that bring you joy… They don't announce themselves with a bang. Sometimes they’re just a steady presence."

“I understand,” I whispered.

On the drive home, James fell asleep before we'd cleared Elm Street, the stegosaurus backpack slumped against his side, the Spinosaurus illustration folded carefully in his hand. Adam drove, and I looked out the passenger window at Jasper Creek going by in the dark—the hardware store, the old bank building, the light still on at Java Jolt.

"Thank you for taking us," I said.

Adam was quiet for a moment. "Thank you. I don't know how to describe what that was."

"Little Grandma and Miss Gladiola," I said. "That's just what they are."