“My God,” Lu said softly. For a second neither of them moved. They didn't know what to do next. Then her grandmother did a defiant little shrug, leaned over, and kissed Carrie on the cheek. “I don't care,” she said. “I've been hoping for this moment for a long time.” And she led the way inside.

Her house was bright, done mostly in light colors; butter yellow, delicate peach, and pale, mossy green. The furniture—upholstered in the same light colors—was large and comfortable-looking. There was a lot of cream-colored wainscoting and wood trim, and huge pastel rugs scattered over gleaming hardwood floors. The effect was cozy and warm.

Why didn't I ever see this place when I was growing up? Carrie thought. I should have at least known it existed.

Lu took Carrie to the back of the house, where the living room opened onto a lawn surrounded by gardens, and they walked outside.

“I grow the vegetables and Dan takes care of everything else,” Lu said as she started down a flagstone path. “Over there, those are the rosebushes, and the peonies.” She pointed in the direction of one patch. “My herbs are in that little bed over there, and…”—she pointed again, this time with a flourish—”this is where I have my tomatoes!”

In addition to her tomatoes—which were indeed heirlooms—Carrie's grandmother's backyard boasted three apple trees, a cherry tree, and a grape arbor. There was a picnic table under the arbor that had been set up with a linen tablecloth—dazzling white in the early spring sunshine—silverware, china, and sparkling crystal glasses. “I thought we'd have baked ziti for lunch,” Lu said. “Do you like it?”

She should know what I like, Carrie thought. I should know what she likes. We shouldn't have to ask each other.

Meanwhile, the big eyes behind the chic glasses were getting anxious. “I didn't know if you usually eat a big meal in the middle of the day, you see. If you'd rather have a sandwich, I can ask Cecile to make one for you. Ham and cheese, or I think there's some eggplant parmigiana.” Her grandmother was rambling.

Because she's nervous, Carrie thought. This is so wrong. We shouldn't be nervous with each other.

“Or soup,” her grandmother was saying. “I'm sure there's some soup …”

“What the hell happened?” Carrie burst out. She added more softly, “What I mean is—”

“I know what you mean. You want to know what happened between me and your mother. You want to know what happened when Bobby died.” Lu took Carrie's hands. “Come,” she said. And they walked over to the picnic table to sit under her grape arbor.