I bounce on the balls of my feet in front of Ben’s small bungalow. It must have once been glorious, but it has aged poorly. The exterior paint’s been scrubbed raw by salty sea air; its roof tiles are bleached by the sun and peeled up toward the sky in places. The yard has been recently mowed, but there’s nothing in the way of landscaping to help the run-down look of the place; yellowing weeds sprout up between the flagstones that wend their way to the front door, which is a fading rust color.

I shake my phone in my hands as I wait for my text to Suzanne to send, telling her I no longer need a ride home. How could I go home after knowing what I know about Natalie? Finally, the text is delivered, and I give a tentative knock on the door. Before long, a murky shadow moves behind the grid of windows cut into the door.

“Hi.” Ben is sheepish as he opens the door. “Sorry you had to come here. I’m on cookie guard, unfortunately. Grandpa’s being defiant, and if I leave, he will eat an entire sleeve of Oreos and fuck up his blood sugar.”

I start to offer that the solution might be not buying Oreos, but Ben cuts me off. “I don’t buy them, and if I throw them out, he buys more. He figured out how to use Instacart last year, and it’s been mutiny ever since.” Then he takes in my wild eyes, the impatient tapping of my foot on the porch. “You found something.”

It’s all the invitation I need to grab him by the hand and blaze inside. Before we can find somewhere private where I can burst, his grandfather shuffles into the room, assessing me sharply.

“She is pretty, isn’t she? Runs in the family.” He thrusts out an age-spotted hand at me; his handshake is firm and sure. His gaze is so direct I practically drown in the blue of his eyes. They’re identical to Ben’s but wiser. “I’m Dick.”

Ben groans, but Dick’s having none of it. “It’s my name. I can’t change it just because your generation has a filthy mind.”

“Technically, your name is Richard,” Ben counters.

“No one’s called me that since my schoolteachers during roll call. Suck it up.”

“Nice to meet you, Dick,” I say, doing a small curtsy on perverse instinct.

“Well, you two run off, then. I have Judge Judy to keep me company. And Oreos.” His baby blues twinkle; Ben’s remain flint.

“Very funny,” Ben replies. “If you go into diabetic shock, I won’t help you.”

“I’ll leave all my money to the humane society.”

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate your ten dollars.”