“Let’s sit here awhile,” I say in my calmest voice. “Clay’s asleep, so we can just stay here until you feel better.”

Gram drops her head to the steering wheel. “I feel a little dizzy.”

“You tell me to take deep breaths when I don’t feel well,” I remind her.

She sucks in air and lets it out slowly. I want to ask her a million questions, but I don’t.

“When I was very little,” Gram says, her eyes looking past me, “maybe just a little older than Clay, my papa took me with him to visit one of his friends. They were all drinking, and I asked if I could have a sip. Papa thought that was hilarious, so he gave me a drink.” Gram smiles, but it doesn’t touch her eyes.

“It burned like I’d swallowed fire. I coughed and coughed so much, I almost threw up. Papa’s friend said I must not take after him, but I wanted so much for Papa to be proud of me. So I asked for another taste. This time I forced myself to swallow the drink and not cough. My eyes wept like waterfalls, but I refused to cough. I smiled and told them how good it was. And Papa laughed. He was so happy that night, and I was happy to be with him. Next to him.”

I barely breathe as she talks. I can’t imagine my dad ever acting like that. “Why didn’t your dad come with you to America?” I ask when I’m sure she’s finished her story.

“When I first came to America, I was so confused.” Her hands flex on the steering wheel as if she’s still driving. “I missed Russia. I missed my papa more than I imagined. I wrote him a letter telling him to please come soon. I told him about our new house with a yard. How I can have as much bread as I want. How the weather is always warm. How I made a new friend, Margaret, and she was teaching me how to ride horses. How we lived next to the beach and that I had a bowl full of sand dollars on my dresser.

“But I knew I’d never send this letter. That Mama wouldn’t wish me to. I knew it, but I wrote him letters anyway and then ripped them up.”

Gram shakes her head and rubs a trembling hand over her face. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

I glance back at Clay’s innocent face while he sleeps. “You don’t have to, Gram. We can just sit here for a little while and talk about whatever you’d like.”

“You have nice friends,” she says. She leans her head back against her headrest and closes her eyes.

“Yeah, they’re awesome,” I say.

“Even Max?” she asks, her mouth curving slightly upward. She looks over at me.