Eve came into the kitchen where Max was sitting at the table slicing apples for a pie. They were eating at Brooks’s house for Thanksgiving; Max was not happy about it, but she wasn’t going to force the point when Eleanor was in no shape to entertain.

“Where’s Ryan?”

“Making Grandma laugh.”

Eve called Eleanor Grandma. It was cute, endearing, and foreign to Max, who had always called her Grandmother or Eleanor.

Eve ate an apple slice as she sat next to Max. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing.”

Eve snorted. “What happened to your pledge never to lie to me?”

“You’ve become a brat.”

“Did you actually think Grandma wouldn’t like Ryan? Everyone loves Ryan.”

“That’s true.” She slid the apples into a clear bowl and tossed in sugar, nutmeg, and cinnamon. “I suppose I thought all this would be overwhelming for Ryan.”

“Hardly. He’s happy eating hamburgers in a diner or a five-course meal at a fancy hotel. He fits in everywhere.”

“You’re a brat and smart.”

“Grandma said I’m just like you were without attitude or sarcasm.”

“We can thank Gabriel for your upbringing then.” She shouldn’t have said that. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. It’s okay. I miss him a lot. But I’m okay.” She put her hand on Max’s arm. “Really, I’m okay.”

Ryan walked in, all smiles. “Eleanor is a hoot.”

“A hoot,” Max said, then burst out laughing. Never in a million years would a normal person call her regal grandmother a hoot.

“I see why you admire her so much. She’s smart, savvy, with exquisite taste in art.”

“That is true.”

“And a wicked sense of humor.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You do.” Ryan kissed her.

Max poured the apple mixture into the two piecrusts she’d prepared earlier, then instructed Eve to put the pies in the preheated oven. “Forty minutes, then it’s off to the morgue.”

“Excuse me?”

“My uncle Brooks. And trust me, he’s nothing like my grandmother.”

Ryan handed Max her crutches and helped her up. “Eve, I’m taking your sister outside for a minute.”

“I’ll see if Grandma needs any help getting ready.”

“It’s cold.”

“It’s beautiful.”

They stepped out into the rose garden, where the rosebushes had been trimmed and gone dormant for the winter. Still, the calendulas and pansies were thriving in the mild, moist Northern California weather. Eleanor loved her rose garden, but she wanted flowers year round and paid well for a gardener to tend to them. Max sat on the bench that her grandmother had imported from France. It fit here, among the roses.

“You’ve been apprehensive about this trip,” Ryan said, taking her crutches and sitting next to her. “Why? You’re not embarrassed to show me off to your family? Tell them we’re living together?”

“Of course not.”

“Then?”