The rain comes so hard, the earth can’t soak it up. Swift rivers of it run along the curbs. Gutters become waterfalls. Puddles send water up my legs as my feet crash into the middle of them. The thing about the rain is that you can’t stop it. It needs to find places to go. Our basement is made with thick walls of concrete, but I know after a storm like this there will be water.

And when the storm finally passes and the sun comes out, the water will evaporate and leave everything dry again. But you know that the rain will eventually return. Because that is what rain does.

Things that I’d rather not think about remind me of the rain. The thoughts seep into everything. They rise and overflow. They may recede for a while, but they always return.

Chapter 16

A BOWL OF BOLOGNA

I come home with a pile of pictures taken with my new camera and start the “Wall of the Left Behind” in my bedroom. I put up the picture of the abandoned house in my neighborhood. Then the pictures of towels on benches, deserted cars, and lost jackets. A sneaker, a baby stroller, and a T-shirt. I’m surprised how many things people leave behind. I wonder if they miss them later.

The house is filled with smoke when I come downstairs. Which means that Grammy is making fried bologna for dinner. Turns out that when you fry a piece of bologna in butter, it goes from a flat piece to a bowl shape. Grammy never gets tired of it. She thinks it’s some kind of miracle. Then she fills hers with mustard. Lots and lots of bright yellow mustard.

Ronan is coming over for dinner, and I wonder what he’ll think of this.

He arrives just in time. He has a Portuguese tart from his dad’s favorite bakery to share with us. Grammy is so excited, you’d think she won the Showcase Showdown.

We sit right away. Grammy leans over and pats Ronan on the shoulder. “Well, Ronan. Thank you for coming over to share our meal with us. It isn’t fancy, but it’s a favorite around here.”

“That’s okay,” he says. “I’m not that fancy. In case you didn’t notice.”

Grammy laughs loud as she scoops a heaping glob of yellow mustard into her bologna bowl. Then another blob. And another.

Ronan watches but doesn’t seem to react. Then he scoops out a blob of mustard. And another. And another. And then unscrews the top of the pepper and pours some of that on top. It’s almost like they’re competing to see whose mouth will catch on fire first. I wonder if we have a fire extinguisher.

Ronan eats more fried bologna than is natural. He eats it up like it’s the best thing ever, and I wonder what his father makes for dinner.

After Grammy and Ronan finish off the jar of mustard, I stand to clear the dishes, and Ronan gets up to help.