“You don’t have to drink it, Gram.”

She sets it down inside the sink and starts to wipe the already spotless counter.

“Gram, do you really not remember the book you showed me when you first moved here?” I ask. The same book burning a hole in my backpack this very second.

She blinks, her eyes going blank. “Where is your brother?”

“He’s taking a nap.” I bite my lip with worry. Is she forgetting because I asked about the book? Did just thinking about it make her memory worse?

“Oh yes!” She smiles, her eyes softening. “He hates naps.”

“Gram,” I press. I hate to bring it up again, but how will I find out if I don’t ask? “Are you the girl from far away?”

She shakes her head. Her lip trembles, and I’m afraid she might cry. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Okay.” I smile reassuringly, but I feel like I’m failing her somehow. “Do you want to tell me the story about Dad?”

She nods, the panic in her eyes fading. I only half-listen as she tells me a story I’ve heard a hundred times before.

My mind drifts to the book tucked in my backpack. My feet tap, my legs twitch, and my hands pluck at my shorts until I can’t take it any longer.

“I need to do something, Gram. I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, of course.” Gram waves a hand in front of her face. “Here I am blabbing away when you need to get ready. Go ahead. I’ll just tidy up the kitchen. Clay should be up soon, and then we’ll be off to the mall. We need to get you those riding boots.”

“Yes.” I don’t correct her and say we bought them yesterday and that we’re going to the stables and not the mall. I need to see what’s in the book.

I shut myself in my room and search for something to pick the lock. I try the Swiss Army knife Dad gave me after he and Mom came back from a trip. After half an hour, I’m a sweaty mess and no closer to opening it. How do thieves do it? The lock looks flimsy, but looks are deceiving.

My phone buzzes a few times in a row while I’m turning the book over in my hands. Olivia’s text messages usually come in threes. She can’t grasp the concept of one long text when three or four short ones are so much more dramatic.

Olivia: Guess who is teaching

Olivia: class at the stables?

Olivia: You will never guess.

An idea hits me. Last month she’d jimmied the bathroom door lock when her baby cousin locked herself in.

Me: Do you know how to pick locks?

Olivia: Of course.

Olivia: Why?

Olivia: Max is teaching!! Are we happy for him or mad?