“How convenient,” joked her grandma. Laura heard the sound of a kitchen chair being pulled back, and the satisfying sigh her grandmother gave as she sat down. A fork rattled on a plate, and Laura wondered if Grandma had cake or pie. There was always one or the other, under a big glass dome on her kitchen counter. Laura was suddenly overwhelmed with homesickness and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and, she hoped, silently.

“Don’t freak out,” said her grandmother, apparently having developed bat-like hearing. “She didn’t literally imply you’d become a fire starter.” The fork noise came again. “You know, I made a peach pie and you’re not here to help me with it.” She chewed and added, “Your mother is sending you a box of clothes, by the way.”

Laura frowned. “Why?” She shook her head. “Because of the fire, you mean?”

“Exactly. I pointed out these were clothes you’d chosen to leave behind, but presumably she thought something was better than nothing.”

“Does she think I’m walking around Los Angeles naked?”

Her grandmother coughed on a crumb, then said dryly, “Your mother has been married to my son for nearly forty years and I’m still not completely sure what she thinks about anything. She’s not exactly forthcoming.”

Laura changed the subject. “I spoke to Jake yesterday, he seemed good. How’s Marc?” she asked, referring to her other brother.

“Marc and your mother are feuding,” replied her grandmother breezily, “although as of this morning no one else has been dragged into it.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “I’m scared to ask . . .”

“Marc suggested crows were more skilled than pigeons at facial recognition.”

Laura’s jaw dropped open. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” her grandmother sighed. “Corvidae versus Columbidae, will the madness ever end?”

Laura shrugged. “Well, other families probably draw swords over sports teams.” Then she made a face at herself; this was a sore topic, as Laura and her grandmother were the only sports fans in the family.

“Well, you ran away to the circus and left me on my own,” said her grandmother. “If the Knicks don’t make the playoffs, I know who I’m going to blame.”

“They haven’t made it since 2013, so that’s really not fair. Maybe I’ll start supporting the Lakers, they’re far more successful.”

“Huh,” grunted her grandmother. “Do so, and it will be good you’re on the other side of the country.” She’d been born in 1946, the year the New York Knicks came into existence. Laura’s great-grandparents had taken that coincidence seriously and run a strict local-teams-only household. Knicks. Yankees. Jets. Rangers. End of story.