The Favour. Megan Hart

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      ELEVEN

      THEY’D MADE IT through the first couple weeks of the new school and new routines. Bennett was testing out of some of his classes but woefully behind in others. Apparently the academy had been great with providing plenty of alternative and arts education, but not so helpful when it came to standardized tests. Sure, her kid could identify a Van Gogh, a Dali and a Warhol, but he couldn’t figure out a word problem.

      Nan had been in good spirits and perky, for the most part, but she insisted on doing so much for herself that Janelle felt run more ragged than if her grandma simply stayed on the couch and allowed herself to be waited on. If she wasn’t trying to cook something, setting off the smoke alarm, she was up at all hours of the night trying to run the washing machine or watching television with the volume set too loud. She’d lived alone too long, was Nan’s explanation, and she was used to doing for herself. At least as long as she could, anyway.

      It would take some time to fully settle in. Janelle had expected that. She hadn’t imagined how exhausting it would be just trying to get into a routine that worked for all of them.

      Tonight, Bennett’s own weariness showed in the faint circles below his eyes and the way he picked at his dinner. She’d ordered pizza, along with hot wings and garlic sticks and a two-liter bottle of soda. Friday night had always been pizza night at Nan’s house.

      “How was school?”

      He shrugged, silent.

      It wasn’t an answer, but Janelle was too tired to push. She folded her slice in half to keep all the good grease from dripping out. “Nan, is anyone coming over?”

      Nan had taken only a bread stick to start. She looked faintly surprised. “Who’d come over?”

      “Betsy and the kids? Uncle Joey and Aunt Deb?” Janelle licked orange grease from the heel of her hand and gave a little moan of appreciation. Pizza in California was just not the same. On the other hand, she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to find any decent sushi in St. Marys.

      “Why would they come over?”

      “To visit?” Everyone had always gone to Nan’s house on Friday nights to play cards, eat pizza. Later, to watch rented movies on the VCR. The kids would play while the adults talked and drank beer. When Janelle was older, Friday night had still been pizza night, only the Tierney boys had usually come over for cards and late-night TV.

      “Oh, honey, they’re all busy.”

      “Too busy to visit you?” Janelle frowned.

      Nan shrugged. “They have families of their own. It’s really too far to drive in just for the evening.”

      Of course, Janelle had known that, but she’d forgotten what that really meant. St. Marys was at least an hour’s drive from Dubois, more on snowy, icy roads. But Betsy lived in Kersey. That wasn’t so far.

      Nan picked apart the bread stick with shaky hands and put the pieces on her plate. She dabbed some marinara sauce next to them, but didn’t eat anything. She took a slice of pizza and began dissecting it the same way.

      Janelle watched this carefully. She’d had a friend in high school who’d practiced the same sort of deception to hide an eating disorder. “Nan, if you don’t want pizza, I can make you something else.”

      Nan frowned. “Don’t be silly. I love pizza.”

      “Not enough to eat it,” Janelle pointed out.

      Bennett, God love him, rallied and reached for another slice. “It’s good, Nan. This is the best pizza I ever ate.”

      Both women looked at him. Bennett, unselfconscious, bit into the slice and tore the cheese from it in a huge, gloppy string that splashed sauce all over his shirt. He chewed, making snuffling sounds Janelle reprimanded with a look.

      “Nan, let me make you some toast or something. I could heat up some soup. I have chicken noodle or tomato.”

      Her grandmother shook her head, then covered her eyes with her hand, leaving her trembling mouth to show she fought tears. “I don’t want anything, honey, I just need to go to bed.”

      Janelle’s stomach tightened. “Don’t you feel good?”

      Stupid question—the woman was eighty-three years old, suffering from high blood pressure, anemia and a brain tumor. Chances were she never felt good. Nan shrugged without taking her hand away from her eyes.

      Janelle got up and put a hand on her shoulder. “Let me help you to bed. I can bring you something in a little while, if you want. Bennett, finish up and then clear the table.”

      Nan didn’t protest when Janelle hooked a hand under her elbow to help her up, proof of how bad she really felt. Janelle guided her grandma through the kitchen and to the hall, though Nan paused at the bathroom.

      “I need to go.”

      “Okay. I can help you.”