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headache since I woke up, but have only myself to blame.”
    So maybe there was a little truth to the tequila rumors. I gave Jaelle a sympathetic look and noticed something above her head. Was it a bug? Did a throbbing headache actually bend air? I must have stared at the spot hard, because Jaelle started patting down her thick black curls. “What are you staring at?” she asked. “Is my hair that bad today?”
    “No. Sorry. It’s me. I’m tired. My eyes can’t focus right.”
    “You stressed out at school again?”
    “Again? That would imply the stress had stopped and restarted.”
    “OK, Miss Semantics. Are you
still
stressed out at school?”
    “Yes.”
    “Remember. It’s a pit stop.”
    I shoved a wad of bills and coins into my back pocket and made toward the door. “You mean it’s the pits.”
    Jaelle pushed her hands into the pocket of her lace-trimmed apron. “Just don’t let ’em get to you.”
    “I’ll try.” I tucked the paper sack under my left arm. “See ya, Jaelle.”
    Afi waited at one of the checkers tables, technically a row of barrels flanked by rickety wooden chairs, set up for a crew of old-timers who liked to come in and push reds and blacks across a board. The tables had been out on the covered porch all summer, but had recently been moved close to the cast-iron box stove in the center of the store. Afi rubbed his hands in anticipation as I pulled his stew from the bag.
    “Atta girl.”
    I looked around the empty store. “Not too busy, huh, Afi?”
    “Had a couple sales while you were gone.”
    We ate in silence, which was normal. My grandpa was a quiet guy. Amma had been the chatty one. Talked enough for two or three, truth be told. In her presence, Afi’s silent nature hadn’t been noticeable. I wondered what he’d been like with her. Had he always been the ear to her voice, or had she been able to oil his jaw hinge on occasion? He had to have made conversation once upon a time, right? You couldn’t go out with someone — what would have been called courting back then — and then marry them, I supposed, without some chitchat. Then again, I didn’t remember much talk between me and Wade. Ugh. Thinking about that stupid mistake rolled my stomach end-over-end. Afi dipped his corn muffin into the bowl, sponging up the last dribble of gravy. Maybe he just needed a little prompt, and I was curious about what Jack had said last night.
    I leaned back and picked an apple out of the bin. “These any good?”
    “Best in the county.”
    “Jack Snjosson delivered them last night.” I rubbed the apple up and down my pant leg, polishing it to a nice shine. “So what’s the story with him? He seemed all cranked up about that development deal.”
    Afi lifted the paper napkin from his lap and dropped it over the empty Styrofoam bowl. “The Snjosson kid?”
    “Yeah. Jack.”
    “Lars was supposed to deliver them.”
    “Well, he sent his grandson.”
    “Son,” Afi corrected.
    “Whatever. What difference does it make?”
    Afi took a long time, even for him, to answer. “It doesn’t really, but do me a favor. Don’t mention the Snjosson kid to your mom.”
    “Why not?”
    “Just an old bit of family business. No big deal, but your mom’s got enough on her plate these days.”
    Wow. That was more than I may have ever heard my
afi
speak on any topic. And of course it got me thinking that the “old business” was why Jack expected me to know him already. “What old business?”
    I could see the topic close in Afi’s squinty eyes. “Never mind about that.”
    I knew better than to press. But maybe if I came at it from a different angle . . . “Jack is definitely against that development deal.”
    “He’s entitled to his opinion.”
    “What’s yours?”
    “Gonna sell if I can.”
    I cracked a bite out of the apple. Tart, just how I liked them. “Then what would you do?”
    “Rest. Find me a view over some water.”
    Afi started to gather the trash. Either Amma had been