Last night, I left Miss Flora Mae’s and went back to Mom’s, where she and Dad were sitting on the steps to the front porch just like old times.

The two of them scooted apart and made room for me in between them.

“I guess we have to talk,” I said.

They both draped an arm over my shoulder and Dad said, “How about you let me do some talking first? Fair?”

“Fair.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Mom said.

“Sweet Pea,” Dad said, “I’m not moving for good. But I am going back up to Connecticut for the summer.”

“For what?” I asked.

He glanced over my head to Mom and she gave him a nod. “Grandma’s not doing so hot. She’s got dementia.”

That sounded like some kind of awful dementor rock band from Harry Potter. “What’s that mean?”

Mom’s voice was gentle as she said, “It means her brain isn’t what it used to be and that she can’t take care of herself like how she always has. She’ll also have a hard time with her memory and always knowing where she is and when it is.”

“But . . .” My voice cracked a little bit as I tried not to cry. “Will she remember who I am?” I didn’t know Grandma as well as I knew Nana, my mom’s mother, but what I did know about Grandma was that she was bossy and didn’t take nonsense from anyone. I can’t imagine her ever needing help taking care of herself . . . and I felt bad for Dad too. The last few months with my parents had been a lot, but I couldn’t imagine what I’d do if that ever happened to one of them.

“Sometimes,” said Dad. “And other times, she won’t.” His mouth pressed together in a thin line, and I could see this was hard for him to talk about.

“But what about all the mail you’ve been getting? And I heard a voice mail about a loan to open a business?”

“Well, that’s the good news,” said Dad. “When I get home, I’m buying Love’s Hardware.”

“What? No way!” I wiped away the stray tear that had escaped.

His lips split into an uncontainable grin. “And I’ll be selling art supplies too.”

“Will you still be painting?” I asked.

“I’ll do window paintings still, like for Honey’s Diner or the bank and for the car dealerships around town. And I think I’m going to pick back up again with my bowling league when I get back from Connecticut, so maybe you could come with me and hang out at the arcade like old times.”

“But what about, um, Mr. Bryant?”

Dad gave me a look. “I guess you would’ve heard about that.” He nodded. “Sometimes when someone has seen the whole world one way their entire lives, it’s hard for them to come around to different ideas. Especially when the people they think they know best aren’t exactly who they expected.”

“So did Mr. Bryant apologize?” I asked.