“Yes, please.”

She laughs and pushes away from the table. “So polite. That’s my girl. Pancakes sound good?”

“Yes, please,” I say with a grin. She tweaks my cheek and turns toward the cabinets.

Her phone sits next to my plate. A text pops up from Yakov.

Yakov: Does your granddaughter know the truth?

27. Neurotransmitters

There are gaps between neurons, or nerve cells, and neurotransmitters are chemical messengers that communicate between the nerve cells. Without enough of the neurotransmitter acetylcholine, brains start having difficulty with memory and attention. It’s like reading a text message meant for someone else. The meaning gets lost without someone to explain it.

Does your granddaughter know the truth? What the heck does that mean? I stand up and then sit back down. I roll Yakov’s sentence around, take a deep breath, and try to calm down.

“Gram, do you still keep in touch with your friend Margaret?” I ask, a vague idea forming. “The one who taught you how to ride and put on makeup?”

Gram slides a plate of pancakes in front of me. She’s made a blueberry smiley face, and all I want to do is cry. Gram knows I hate blueberries; it’s my dad who loves them. I pick them off quietly to avoid making her feel bad.

“Margaret and I lost contact over the years.”

I pour a river of maple syrup over the top to kill any lingering blueberry taste. “But weren’t you super close? What happened?”

“Are you fishing for another story?” She narrows her eyes at me. “Is that what this is?”

“Story!” Clay shuffles in holding his stuffed pig. “Pancakes and story!”

Gram puts her hands on her hips and smiles down at him. “You too? Hop up in your seat.”

Clay climbs into his chair. I put his tray on and slide one of my pancakes onto the plate Gram hands me. He picks up a piece and shoves it in his mouth, syrup sticking to his fingers. “Story,” he says, his words muffled around the food filling his mouth.

“You heard the boy.” I shove a forkful into my mouth and smile my best please-Gram-tell-me-everything smile.

She sighs as she sits next to me. “Why are you so curious about Margaret?”

I shrug and look down. “You might have said she lied to you and Jacob. How he loved you but she tricked him into marrying her.”

“Oy vey,” she mutters, rubbing her eyes. “When did I say all that?”

“Last night. You were sort of upset. Do you remember?”

Gram frowns and stares past me. “I remember that Margaret’s idea of friendship and mine were very different.”

“Story,” Clay shouts.

“No yelling,” she says automatically.

I put both hands together and pout. She rolls her eyes, but I can tell I’ve won her over.