“Gran,” I said. “I’ll get him out tomorrow.”

“Not for too long. Remember, he’s still weak.”

“I can pace things.”

“Okay,” Gran said. “See that you do, Nyle.”

Gran stirred the contents of the pot, now thickening with the addition of the white sauce.

“Do me a favor?” Gran asked. “Watch this sauce a minute, will you?” She crossed the kitchen toward the hall.

I stood by the stove, stirring the blue enamel spoon around in the pot until Gran shut the bathroom door. Then I stretched across and opened the refrigerator.

About half a pumpkin pie remained from Christmas. I pulled the plate out and broke off pieces of crust, remembering to stir the sauce every few seconds. Chewing pie shell, I used my fingers to scoop out an orange knob of pumpkin filling and popped that in my mouth too.

Smoothing all the edges, I fixed the pie, hoping Gran wouldn’t notice my nibbling, and shoved the plate back inside the refrigerator before she came out. I was just swallowing the last of it when Gran entered the kitchen.

She sniffed. “You been into the pie?”

I looked down at my feet. How did she know these things?

She scanned the counter and the table—saw no fork, no plate. “With your fingers?” Gran asked.

I wiped my guilty hand on the back of my jeans.

Gran opened the old refrigerator. Cold air spilled out across the floor. “Nyle Sumner,” Gran said, scowling at me. “Look what you did to this pie.”

I smacked my lips, still tasting pumpkin on my tongue.

Twenty-One

Gran’s rear end filled the small opening to the knee-wall in my room.

“What are you after, Gran?” I asked.

Inside the knee-wall Gran mumbled.

She stored things like old lamps and paraffin and dented pots in the crawl space behind the wall.

“I can’t hear you,” I called.

Gran spoke up. “I’m looking for Gramp’s winter things. Ezra needs warm clothes and boots if he’s tramping along through chores with you this morning.”

I didn’t think Gran had kept Gramp’s winter clothes.

“Gramp’s things won’t fit Ezra,” I said.

“They’ll fit him fine. Been fitting him all along.”

I couldn’t come out and say I didn’t want Ezra wearing Gramp’s things. I still feared the curse of that room. Maybe wearing Gramp’s outdoor clothes would set the jinx back in motion. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to Ezra now.

“I’ve got clothes he can wear,” I said.

Gran backed out of the cramped opening, a dusty, half-collapsed cardboard box in her arms. “Your clothes might fit Mrs. Trent, but they will certainly not fit Ezra.”

Gran put the box down and brushed her hands off on her dress. Dust, like unmelted flakes of snow, sat on her hair. “Are you worried about taking him outside, Nyle?”

I pulled my hair back, then let it go. “I want him to get well—”

Footsteps across the kitchen. Ezra called up. “Nyle?”

“Be down in a second.”