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right?”
          “Something like that,” I admitted.
          “But he didn’t offer any kind of an apology, did he?”
          “No, but —”
          “No buts,” Beverly interrupted. “If he wants to talk to me, he’d better come on his own two feet, and he’d better be carrying his hat in his hand.”
          “It’s just that he didn’t like you gambling, Grandma,” I said. “For some reason, it really upset him.”
          “I noticed that without having to be told,” she replied.
          “Don’t you think you could tone it down a little?”
          “Jonas,” she said. Beverly Jenssen was already sitting bolt upright in her chair, but when she said my name, she seemed to gain in stature — the way an angry cat can seemingly double in size by standing its fur on end. “I was gambling with my own money,” she said. “And what I choose to do with my money is my business.”
          “Lars just hates to see you throwing your money away.”
          “Who’s throwing it away? At last count, I was up two hundred and eighty-six dollars, so I don’t see what he’s complaining about. But the money’s beside the point. In fact, it has nothing to do with money, nothing at all.”
          “It doesn’t?” I asked.
          “No. Lars wants to be able to tell me what to do, and that’s not going to happen. It turns out I don’t even like slot machines all that much, but as soon as he told me we were leaving, I decided I would sit on that stool the rest of the night — until hell froze over, if necessary.”
          “Look, Grandma,” I argued. “This is your honeymoon. What would it hurt to just go along with things?”
          “It would hurt a lot,” she retorted. “That kind of bossiness has to be nipped in the bud. If Lars had said he was tired and asked me couldn’t we please go back to the room, I would have gone along in a minute without a complaint. But he told me we were going. There’s a big difference.”
          Beverly Jenssen finished polishing off her French toast and pushed her plate away. An alert buser swooped over to collect it. “Will you be having breakfast, sir?” he asked, with a coffeepot poised over the clean cup in front of me.
          “No, thanks,” I told him. “I’m just visiting.”
          “Very good, sir,” he replied, and disappeared with Beverly’s plate in one hand and the coffeepot in the other.
          “You were at our wedding, weren’t you, Jonas?” she asked.
          “Yes, of course I was.”
          “And do you remember my saying anything about love, honor, and obey ?”
          “Well, no.”
          “Right,” she said. “That’s because I had the judge leave out the ‘obey’ part. We said love, honor, and cherish. Not obey. You see,” she added, “obey was in my first wedding ceremony. I’m a person who keeps my word. Since I made the promise, I kept it. But keeping that vow to your grandfather, Jonas, cost me far more than I ever would have thought possible. I lost my daughter over it, and I almost lost you, too. I’m not going to live that way again.”
          Beverly set her cup back in the saucer with enough force that coffee slopped out over the top. She used her napkin to brush away a mist of tears that suddenly veiled her eyes. That’s when I understood that this lover’s quarrel really had nothing to do with slot machines and everything to do with my grandfather — Jonas Piedmont, my biological grandfather.
          My mother was pregnant with me when her boyfriend, my father, was killed in a motorcycle accident on his way back to his naval base in Bremerton. Jonas Piedmont had disowned his pregnant teenaged daughter. All those years she struggled to raise me on her own, he had never so much as lifted a finger to help her. Not only had he turned his own back on my mother, he had forced his wife, my