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and me. An intervention of sorts took place—orchestrated by an aunt and uncle from Janet’s side of the family. Accusations of neglect and abuse were leveled at Deb and pretty soon the Lauck side of the family mobilized as well.
    Bryan was sent to live in Carson City with Janet’s people—Aunt Georgia and Uncle Charles—and I came to live with Bud’s parents—Grandma Maggie and Grandpa Ed.
     
     
    GRANDMA AND GRANDPA had a double-wide at the Sunset Mobile Home Park—one of hundreds that were lined up like building blocks on the side of a dusty Reno hill.
    Each day I lived with my grandparents, I’d amble down to the swimming pool that overlooked the city. I’d sit at the edge, kick my feet in the clear water, and study the long snake of the Reno freeway. Cars and trucks raced back and forth. I could see the Reno skyline
too—casinos, office buildings, and neighborhoods with houses and schools and parks.
    Hot wind would sweep over me and I’d lean forward from my chest as if I meant to fly off the edge of that pool and swoop down to the city. The tug was magnetic but I didn’t know what to do with the sensation. I just felt this need to go down into Reno. I could almost imagine walking—like someone asleep and stumbling wherever I was supposed to go.
    It was Catherine of course. She lived down there. She was now twenty-eight years old. She had two children of her own.
    In my file, at Catholic Charities, it was noted that Janet and Bud had died and that I was living with my grandparents. I’m not sure how that information got into my file or who reported it.
     
     
    WHILE I IDLED my day away at the pool, Grandpa would play golf and Grandma would stay at the trailer, reading a paperback romance.
    Just before four, I’d wander back up to the trailer again, Grandpa would come home, and Grandma would put her book away.
    Cocktail hour went from four to five-thirty—they’d have vodka on the rocks and I’d get ginger ale—and we all watched Merv Griffin and The CBS News with Walter Cronkite .
    By six, we’d have dinner, watch the evening movie, and eat a bowl of ice cream—vanilla with chocolate sauce on top. Grandpa read Golf Magazine . Grandma finished her book. At ten, we all went to bed.
    They called this life being retired.

     
     
    AT NIGHT, AS I lay on the fold-out bed in the guest room, I created a dream where I finished childhood at the Sunset Mobile Home Park. I saw myself go to high school and then college. Details about what I might want to study or even become later in life were beyond my reach. I was too tired to imagine a future. I felt as old as Grandma and Grandpa. I felt older in fact. The way I saw things, I was retired too.
     
     
    NEAR THE END of that summer, we all sat down for dinner in the dining room and the view was of the Sierra Mountains and the sunset. The sky was on fire.
    Grandma announced that Bryan was going to move to Oklahoma and that I was moving to a military complex nearby called Stead. We were being parceled out to Bud’s younger siblings.
    “It’s all set,” Grandma said.
    Grandma was a tiny woman who wore tropical print dresses she called muumuus. She had a million wrinkles that webbed over her face and down her neck. Even her lips were creased.
    I hadn’t even tasted my chicken noodle soup. My spoon was mid-lift. I set the spoon down on my napkin and put my shaking hands in my lap. “I thought I could just stay here with you,” I said.
    Grandma rested her elbows on the table and wrung her hands together. She looked from me to Grandpa and back to me.
    “We’d love to have you stay, Jenny,” Grandpa piped in, rescuing Grandma. “But you need young people. You need a family.”

    Grandpa was just like my father. His nose was bigger but they shared the same wide grin and fast laugh.
    “Did I do something wrong?” I asked. “Is that why I have to go?”
    “No, no,” Grandma said. She reached across the dining table to console me. She had skin like tissue