Slow the train a little.” She laughs, getting down, and disappears into my house.
Her phone dings and I pick it up from the center console. It’s an email alert and her screen lights up, popping up the thread. I glance at the garage door into the house and click on the message from her landlord. He states that he cannot give her any more time. The rent is due by this Friday; otherwise he’ll be closing her office Saturday.
My head falls back to the headrest and I close my eyes. How did I not see she was in trouble before now?
I turn off her phone and pull out mine, messaging Mario to find out the stipulations of my loan and do I have to use it for Four Paws.
Twenty-Six
Juno
Friday morning, I knock on Grandma Dori’s apartment door in Northern Lights Assisted Living and wait for her to answer. Going to her is really a Hail Mary. I hate asking her for money.
“Juno,” she says when she opens the door, her bluish-tinted hair in curlers. “Come in.”
I walk in to see a hairdresser from Clip and Dish cleaning up some things in Grandma’s kitchen sink.
“Since when do you not go to the salon?” I ask, and the hairdresser smiles at me.
“Mila didn’t mind coming here this time. Something is up with my knee.” She sits down on the couch, massaging it.
My entire life, I’ve never seen Grandma even sick. The woman is unstoppable. “Are you okay?”
She waves off my concern. “Stop it. Why are you here?”
I know Grandma Dori has some money, but I cannot just take her money to save a company I’m not sure I love anymore. I change my mind—I won’t even ask. “Just wanted to say hi.”
“Hmm… what’s the real reason?” I glance back at Mila at the kitchen sink, and Grandma follows my movements. “Mila, you should go to the cafeteria and get some of the custard they have today. If anyone gives you trouble, you tell them you’re my girl.”
Mila either takes the hint or she loves custard because Grandma’s door shuts a minute later.
“What’s really going on, sweetie?” Grandma asks me, and I release a breath.
“Do you think Aunt Etta is real?”
“You mean did your mother make her up?”
I nod.
“Why would your mom do that?”
“Because I was an eleven-year-old who felt like I didn’t belong. Because my siblings were making fun of me, as were the kids at school. Hank Billings told me they bought me at a pawn shop on one of Mom’s trips.”
“The Billings are assholes, you know that.”
I nod. “I’m just not sure I’m really matchmaker material.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why on Earth would you think that? You’ve never once doubted yourself. Why now? Especially when your own love life is going so well.”
I smile, thinking about Colton. I should never have waited as long as I did to face how I feel about him. Although the fear that I’m going to lose him still lives just beneath that layer of love, I’ve done a really good job of pushing it as far down as I can. “I don’t know. I’m just wondering.”
“First of all, that’s your mom’s family, so I only really know what your mom told you and whatever you dug up.”
“Etta could be some random picture that means nothing, and I’ve clung to this belief my entire life for what? To feel like I somehow belong to my siblings even if I don’t look like them?”
“Look like them? Have you seen Holly?”
Has she really gotten so old she doesn’t remember who is actually her actual grandchild?
“Holly isn’t blood,” I say.
Grandma waves me off like she does when she knows someone else is right, but she’s older and wiser and we should just believe her. “The only ones who actually look alike are Phoenix and Sedona and Rome and Denver. The rest of you all—”
“Brooklyn and Savannah are both blonde.”
“Well, what about Austin? He doesn’t look like anyone.”
“He looks like his brothers. I have this red hair.”
“Well, sweetie, I’d describe your hair more as auburn with some dark undercurrents. Not to mention, what does hair color really prove?”
“It’s also my pale skin. No one has pale skin like me.”
“All of these silly things could be solved with hair dye and a fake tan. I was there when you were born, Juno. You’re a Bailey.”
I sulk in the chair. “I didn’t really believe Hank Billings. I didn’t think I was bought at a pawn shop or flea market.” I shrug. “I