And then I pull out my blue ribbon and hand it to him. Evelyn drove by the hospital just to give it to me. He holds it up to the light like he’s looking at a gemstone.

“Well, I’ll be. First place.”

“And a hundred dollars to boot.”

“That’s my girl.”

He’s closing his eyes now, and I think I ought to let him rest, but I want to ask one last thing.

“Grandpa?”

“What, honey?”

“What’d you go back for? For the auction, I mean. What’d you make?”

He opens his eyes and looks at me.

“It was a mailbox in the shape of a pie. I guess I had you on my mind.”

Before we leave that night, I tape the ribbon to the foot of his bed, so he’ll see it first thing when he wakes up and remember.

One day during the summer when I was nine, Grandpa had been promising me all morning we’d go fishing. It would be the first time out on the boat that season. It was ninety degrees at noon, but I was in my chair waiting by the van right after lunch.

“Honey, you don’t have to wear that life vest until we hit the water,” he said as we backed down the drive.

“I know.”

I left it on because how can you explain to a grown-up how it feels to be so close to the thing you’ve been waiting for? But when we got to the dock and were backing the boat down into the water, the clouds swooped in with a flash summer storm. It was thundering and dark as night and we had to turn around.

I cried all the way home.

I was sitting in my chair watching reruns of The Magic School Bus when Mema came in. She was holding out an umbrella.

“Your grandpa’s got a surprise for you.”

I didn’t want to go, but she wheeled me out into the rain anyway and down the gravel driveway to the carport next to the garage. Grandpa was standing by an old trash can, and flames rose up out of it and licked the sides.

Without a word, he passed me a coat hanger he’d unbent and helped me stick a hot dog on the end of it. His apron said WORLD’S WORST CHEF.

We sat out there all afternoon roasting hot dogs and playing cards while the yard filled with puddles, and Mom and Mema watched from the porch.

“Sometimes,” Grandpa said when it finally stopped raining and the sun came out, “the best plan is the one you don’t make for yourself.”