trying to juggle grief and Mom, and an entirely different culture, and now …” She shakes her head. “Now I think I need a dewormer, because our cheapskate mother forced me to eat some bargain biscuits from the Beauty Supersaver Market that she’d been hoarding in her luggage, and they smelled a little off—and now my stomach hasn’t been right for months.”
“Wow,” Mom says. “We’ll take you to a vet today.”
“Thanks,” Aunt Franny says, smiling for the first time since last night. “I’m okay right now. I’ve always loved this resort. Softest beds in town. I could live here.…”
“You know who owns it now, right?” Evie says, glancing at me. “Bunny Perera’s father.”
“Seriously?” I say. “This town is small.”
“And that family knows their way around some fine, luxury linen,” Aunt Franny purrs, pulling her robe around her.
“Hey, Mom?” Evie asks. “Hate to spoil your hotel fantasy vibes, but I’m just wondering.… Where are we going to live?”
“No fair,” I say. “I was going to ask that first. Aren’t we all sort of homeless now?”
Mom sighs heavily. “Yeah, Franny. Glad to see you, but we’ve got to iron out some kinks. Because Josie and I cannot live with the old bat.”
Three quick raps sound on our suite’s door. We all turn our heads, and as if summoned by magic, my grandmother’s voice slithers through the wood. “Girls? It’s Diedre. Are you up? I brought a late breakfast.”
Frantic and wide-eyed, Mom motions for everyone to stay silent, but Franny shakes her head. “She knows we’re here, sis. The jig is up.”
Evie opens the door, and in sashays my grandmother … along with three golden carts of breakfast foods, ferried by uniformed servers. I keep my robe pulled closed, watching as a series of cloches are uncovered and fragrant steam fills up the small suite.
Seduction through freshly made patisserie and hot coffee?
This smells like a big old stinkin’ trap. I don’t trust it.
Mom doesn’t either. The entire room is tense. I don’t want a fight. I don’t want the time bomb to start ticking again in the middle of the pastries and freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Mother … what are you doing here?” Mom asks my grandmother in a strained voice. “It’s ten-thirty. Don’t you have a store to run? Or have you come to ask for my keys back?”
Grandma swings a single gray braid over one shoulder. I need to stop wearing my hair the same way. Seriously. It’s giving me the creeps. “Why would I do that? Sales are sky-high since you took over. I’m old, but I’m not a half-wit. I’ve been looking at the P&L reports, Winnie. You’re better at managing inventory than I am.”
“Did we just enter the Twilight Zone?” Mom asks, looking around the room, squinting. “I didn’t see a logo or a sign.…”
“I’m closing the shop today,” Grandma informs us.
A collective gasp circles the room.
The Nook doesn’t close. Ever. Only on holidays. Only when it’s supposed to. The Nook doesn’t close unexpectedly.
“Until I can get some things squared away. Beauty can survive one day without books. We’ll reopen tomorrow … if we feel like it.” Then she inspects her nails and adds, “I put an announcement sign on the door over the nudie of Winnie. Bucky at the art gallery says there’s an industrial-strength solvent he’ll loan us to get that off later today, by the way.”
“Lord, give me strength,” Mom says to the ceiling.
Grandma turns to me. “Josephine, do you have something decent to wear? I need you to walk me to my taxi.”
I look around, as if there might be another Josephine in the room. “Me?”
“Mother, no,” my mom says sharply.
No fighting, no fighting …
“I just need to speak with my granddaughter in private for five minutes. I don’t bite, and she doesn’t look breakable.”
My mom starts to protest, but I speak up. “Let me put on my jeans. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
After I hurriedly yank on yesterday’s clothes, listening through a cracked bathroom door to make sure no spats are breaking out in my absence, I jog through the suite, and Aunt Franny says, “Don’t be ashamed to use the panic button on your phone. I used it in Kathmandu. Zero regrets.”
Think that’s the jet lag talking.
“Be careful” is all Mom warns me, very seriously.
I’ve got this. It’s only a grandmother. Not an actual weapon of war.
That’s what I repeat over and over as I stride across plush hotel carpet and head down an elevator to the lobby, which is covered in