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“I believe that,” replies… not Cass.
Spinning around, I blanch at the sight of Lynn Morgan standing in the archway, the picture of amusement.
“Grandma!” Rory shrieks, dropping the broom in her hand and taking off at what I’m starting to think is her only speed—breakneck. She’s surprisingly gentle, though, as she hugs her grandmother, gazing up at the older woman with sheepish innocence. “We tried to make breakfast.”
“Let me guess.” Lynn smooths a hand over her granddaughter’s curls. “Izzy’s here?”
At the sound of his name, the boy in question reappears. “Hi, Grandma Lynn.”
Lynn holds a welcoming arm out towards him. “Hi, honey.”
Isaac obliges her request for a hug, and as she stoops to kiss the top of her grandkids’ heads, her gaze flits to my kid. “Hi, August. Remember me?”
August stands ramrod straight. “Yes, ma’am.”
Cass’ mother kisses her teeth, slashing a hand through the air. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t call me ‘ma’am’ again. You too,” she adds with a wink in my direction. “It’s Lynn or it’s nothing.”
My poor, proper boy, raised withma’amandsirin place ofgrandmaorgrandpa, doesn’t know what to do with that. Honestly, I don’t either. Kind elders are not our normal, and it’s painfully obvious by the mystified look we share before nodding mutely.
“Are Gramps and Grandpa here?”
“They’re getting the bags out of the car with James.” Rory’s excited question draws Lynn’s attention back to her. Poking her cheek, she wriggles her brows. “There might be some presents in there somewhere.”
Unsurprisingly, as soon as presents are mentioned, Grandma loses her shine. As Izzy and Rory fight their way out the front door, Lynn quirks a brow at August. “There might be something for you too.”
The entire spectrum of emotions smacks me in the face as I watch August light up with hopeful shock. Eyes and mouth wide open, he requires another encouraging nod before scurrying after his friends, a little more pep in his step than there was a moment ago.
I wonder if it’ll ever stop hurting, seeing him react to normal things so abnormally. Think about all the love and affection and attention he should’ve had, the extra kind I couldn’t give him.
The kind Lynn wraps me in with a girlish squeal and a warm embrace.
“Look at you,” she coos, holding me at arm’s length. “Just gorgeous. How’re you feeling? Cass has been taking care of you?” Without letting me answer, she shakes her head at herself. “Of course he is. I know my boy. He takes care of his own.”
A gargled squeak is the only reply I manage, but Lynn doesn’t seem to mind, or notice.
“I brought you something.”
“You—”
“I did have to.” Lynn tuts, rummaging around in the large grocery bag hanging off her shoulder. “It’s tradition.”
Tradition, I soon learn, is a knitted blanket. Handmade, woven with lilac wool, so soft that when Lynn hands it over, I long for tonight to come so I can snuggle up with it on the sofa. “Did you make this?”
She nods. “All my babies have one. All my babies’ babies too.”
My smile is already tight. My eyes are already wet. My lungs are already struggling. But it all gets worse when I find the name stitching along the edge of the blanket. I look up with a frown. “August?”
Soft and quiet, Lynn simultaneously breaks my heart and puts it back together again, “We don’t care much about blood in this family. As far as I’m concerned, any child of yours is a grandbaby of mine.”
30
CASS
“I like her.”
I shoot my mom a wry grin. “I can tell.”
She’s not exactly being subtle about it; she’s spent the entire morning fawning over Sunday, doting on her affectionately. Sunday’s been good with her, tolerating it well, even if it clearly makes her a little… not uncomfortable, exactly. Uneasy, maybe. Like she doesn’t quite know what to do with her.
