Page 12 of Writing On The Wall

“That’s how it starts.” He nods absently.

Definitely some wounds there.

“Hey, any luck with the?—”

“Nope,” I respond before he can remind me I’m still homeless.

“Well, you just let me know when you’re ready.”

“I will.” I smile gratefully.

“Word is your Gran was on another one of her Bingo streaks.”

“You sure she wasn’t cheating again?”

“You never know with that one,” he replies with amusement.

“Thanks, Carl.” I laugh and return the clipboard.

Once I reach Gran’s apartment, I shake my head at her name printed in swirling letters on her door.

Agnes Christine Marsh

Opal and Gail might actually bury me alive when they find out my Gran is the “old bat” who keeps stealing their flowers. I should talk to her about that.

She seemed unaware of her crimes when I last mentioned it, which makes me question whether she requires more extensive care. What if she’s experiencing cognitive decline? My parents areoff on their travels again, building clean water sources in Nepal or wherever they’ve ended up this time, while I’m left holding our family together—and not very well. I don’t know if I have the strength to continue shouldering this much responsibility.

I’m clearly failing with Ross…and myself.

I knock and enter to find Gran reclining in a wingback chair and paging through a gardening magazine. A vase of azaleas rests on the table beside her.

“My Ivy!” she croons when she spots me. I smile at the familiar eyes that disappear when she laughs and the hairstyle that’s remained unchanged since the seventies.

“Hey Gran. I missed you!”

“Oh, I missed you too, honey. So sweet of you and Ross to visit on the same day.”

I blink. “Wh—uh—Ross visited you?”

“He brought me a picture. Oh, where did I put that thing now?” She rises and shuffles around the room, searching through various bits of clutter.

Frik.My fingers trace the edge of my lips. It’s worse than I thought. She thinks Ross is still a child. I need to tell Mom and Dad. I can’t be the only one dealing with this.

“It’s okay, Gran, you can show me later. Why don’t you sit, and I’ll get us some water?”

She straightens, turning to me with a hand on her hip. “Ivy June. Don’t patronize me just because I have to eat extra fiber every day.”

She smiles softly and holds out a folded piece of paper, and I hesitate to take it.

“Why would Ross bring you a photo of this?” I frown, staring at the image of a music box—my favorite music box. The one I spent hours winding up and listening to as a child. I’d curl up next to the side table where it resided, watching inwonder while the mechanism turned and the little bird inside flapped its wings and sang along with the music.

“Oh, I imagine he’s figured out it’s valuable.” She straightens some of the clutter before pausing for a few seconds, a small sigh making her chest rise and fall. Then her head snaps up sharply as something like hope sparks in her eyes. “You didn’t find it, did you?”

I frown. “I haven’t seen it in years. You don’t know where it is?”

“Oh, it’s a long story.” She bats a hand dismissively. “But no, I don’t know where it is. I’ve been hoping it’ll show up somewhere. But don’t you tell that brother of yours anything about it,” she adds sternly. “That boy is up to no good.”

I may be the lone member onTeam Rossthese days,but knowing he’d probably sell the heirloom makes me determined not to mention it. Even if I haven’t thought about the music box in years, the happy memories it evokes make it priceless.

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