When I first looked through the telescope, I expected to see something right away—red Mars or the rings of Saturn. I had thought the telescope was like a television: You looked through it and the image would instantly appear. Grandpa told me I could see big things quickly—the moon and some nearby planets—but if I wanted to see something farther away, stars that were older and bigger than our own sun, I had to wait for a moment of what he called good seeing. I had to let my eyes adapt to the darkness. I had to relax the muscles of my face. I had to wait for the turbulence in the air to settle, and finally when everything in motion was in motion together, I might see something amazing.

Chapter 38

Late Tuesday afternoon, Joan and I made sauce from a bunch of tomatoes that Tony brought over. I blanched and peeled them; then Joan seeded them over the sink and tossed them into a big pot. While I peeled, I imagined where Steph and I would go tomorrow night. We had plans to meet up because Lisa had to work late. Maybe we’d drive down to San Francisco and get tacos in the Mission. Or we could go the other direction to Bolinas and watch the sunset. Maybe people would look at us and know that we were together. I wanted it to be so obvious from the outside that nobody would question what we were doing.

I’d finished peeling the last tomato and was washing up when the sound of a crash made me spin around. Joan was standing next to the stove with empty hands outstretched, a dazed expression on her face. At her feet the pot of tomatoes was overturned on the floor, red pulp splattered everywhere in a parody of a horror movie.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

I didn’t understand at first. I thought she had just dropped the pot with slippery hands. But my grandmother’s face looked strange; half of it seemed frozen. Her mouth opened as if she was trying to speak, but the sound that came out was an incoherent moan. The right side of her body drooped toward the floor, and I rushed to her as she collapsed, her hip bumping against the kitchen counter, sliding down into the smashed tomatoes.

“Joan!” I tried to pull her out of the red mess, but her body was heavy and unresponsive. Analemma ran to her and licked her face. Joan was still trying to speak, but her mouth didn’t move correctly and I couldn’t understand her. Her eyelids fluttered closed and a second later she went entirely limp in my arms. “Joan?” I repeated, but she didn’t respond. My brain was clogged by a growing panic. Analemma started to whine. I needed to call 911, but I was pinned beneath Joan’s body.