“Me?”

“You and your mother.”

“But … where will you go?”

“I bought a condo before we left for Nepal.” She points over the railing, down toward the main pier. There’s a little white building past the yacht club. “See that? Robin’s Nest Condos. Nick Karras’s parents have one there too, which is how I found out about it, at one of Kat’s backyard barbecues after church on Sundays—”

What. Is. Happening.

“They’ve got stair access to the Harborwalk,” she says, “and I can walk anywhere, including the Shanty Pub, where there’s a group called Yankee Fiddler that plays live traditional New England music every weekend through the fall, and they serve spiked iced lemonade on the patio.”

That sounds like a waking nightmare.

“Also,” she says brightly, “I can bike to the Nook. Or walk. It’s less than a mile. Or I could buy a little boat and dock it at Nick and Kat’s, who knows. Maybe I don’t need to work as much, anyway. Once a week? I like storytime on Saturdays.” She shrugs. “Your mother and I can work out something, I’m sure. And you can keep your darkroom where it’s at—as long as you aren’t taking nudies like your mother. That’s where I put my foot down.”

Ugh. Hearing this now makes me ashamed. Why was I so quick to believe Henry Zabka, a man I didn’t know, over my own mother? My grandmother did the same thing, believing Adrian Summers to be a perfect golden boy who could do no wrong. Seems as if a lot of women are quick to judge other women, and quicker to forgive men.

“You’ll like my condo, though,” Grandma says, as if we’re making casual conversation and not changing lives. “It’s got three bedrooms, and I already furnished it with the basics, so if Franny and Evie need to live with me until we can kick their tenants out, we’ll do that.”

Aunt Franny won’t like that. Doubt Evie will be all that keen on it either.

My head is reeling. Too much information. Too good to be true. Something feels off.

“Now, as far as this situation you’ve gotten yourself in … ,” she says.

Okay, I should have known. This is it; the trap is set. My twisting stomach drops to the bottom of the porch and falls into the harbor.

“Grandma—” I start, but she cuts me off with a wave of her hand.