We get to the kitchen to find Grandma’s not in the process of cooking. She’s already cooked. She’s also baked bread and set the table. She sits us down and sets about serving the meal. When I try to help, Massimo tells me to sit the fuck down. Grandma doesn’t contradict him verbally, but I get a look.

“It’s so nice to have you both here.” She grabs our hands across the table.

“Thanks, Gram,” Massimo says.

“Even with the mess.” She side-eyes me, then squeezes my hand before letting go of both. I doubt Massimo gets the same signal.

My brother picks up his fork, so Grandma and I can start, but he only pushes around his food.

“Massimo,” she coos. “Eat! Do you want cheese?”

“No thanks.”

She doesn’t extend the offer to me, so I get up to get it myself.

“Ever since your father died,” she says, “it’s been lonely. No one needs cleaning up after.”

She doesn’t ask what we were doing in there—as if the hay we left behind is so much more interesting than the needle we searched the stack for.

“I’ll help you get the office back together,” I say with my head in the fridge.

“Thank you.” She’s already up to get Massimo more water, since he took half a sip. “Oh, the table by the door? There was an envelope.”

“What table?” he asks.

“In the office. The tall table with the curved legs? He left me a yellow envelope in the drawer and with everything going on… I hope you didn’t mix it up.” She looks at me, because if anything got mixed up or went wrong, it’s obviously my fault. It’s the gentlest scold she can manage, but still a scold.

Massimo’s already up. For a guy with a hole in his leg, he gets down the hall lightning fast. I follow, leaving Grandma alone at the table. Massimo holds a manila envelope in his free hand and tries to straighten the metal tabs with his teeth. I snatch it away and open it, sliding out two pages with an index card paper clipped on top.

RED HOOK

It’s another list of names. Two pages’ worth. No date.

“Who are these people for fuck’s sake!” I cry.

“That mouth on you!” Grandma, who’s appeared like a shadow, pinches my arm hard enough to bruise.

“Shit.” Massimo looks over my shoulder. “He was right.”

“What did it mean when he left things here?” I point at the table with its drawer open. “You had to put them away where?”

“Aren’t you a busypants!” She pinches my arm again.

“Answer her.” Massimo’s voice seems to have gotten much deeper since he hobbled down the hall.