Dani felt fortunate that her parents knew themselves well enough to leave Dani with the Nilssons for most of her childhood. Her mother, Susan, was certainly more financially responsible than Journey, but her academic research meant a lot more to her than parenting. Oh, sure, they took Dani on summer jaunts across Asia or northern California or Bolivia, but as soon it was inconvenient to have a minor around, Dani was sent right back to Wisconsin. It could have been worse, she realized. Her grandparents made sure she went to school, got braces, went to the prom, and did all of the things that normal teenagers with involved parents got to do.

It was when she was in college that everything started to fall apart. Trudy had married the nicest cranberry farmer you could ever meet and moved to his bog. Grandad and Gramma seemed fine at first, tending to their empty nest. When Dani called from school, Grandad told her everything was “peachy keen, jelly bean.” Sure, Gramma was getting a little more confused as she got older, and lost her keys more often, but little old ladies earned a bit of dottiness in their later years. Other than that, Grandad insisted they were the picture of health.

Grandad didn’t mention that her father was visiting the farm more frequently; or that, on more than one occasion, Grandad had walked into the kitchen to find Journey sweeping paperwork into his backpack. Oh, sure, Grandad knew that Gramma was slipping some cash into Journey’s pockets. Living a nomadic life was surprisingly expensive. Love and peace didn’t pay for food or laundry or hostel stays. Or the child support from the handful of Dani’s half-siblings whose mothers were smart enough not to let them near Journey.

Grandad had known that Gramma had been wiring him money for years. Grandad didn’t know that now that Dani was “grown,” (at thirteen), Journey decided he was no longer content to drift around. He wanted to feel a “part” of something bigger than himself so over the years, he decided to invest in an artist commune in Oregon, an alpaca farm in Texas, an organic carrot cooperative in Georgia. The problem being that he had no funds to contribute, so of course, every time he came across an opportunity, he went to Gramma for a “loan.”

Journey’s investments never prospered. Well, except for maybe the alpaca farm, which had looked promising until an infestation of llama mange had taken out the herd’s wool yield.