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different light.
    “With what?”
    “I need you to be Mrs. Hoogenboom for me.”
    I’m taking a sip of water when he says this, and it goes down the wrong tube. I hack and cough and finally clear my throat before I can speak. “I’m sorry, what?”
    “I need you to be Mrs. Hoogenboom. You know. Pretend to be her.”
    “Pretend to be her? Why?”
    Grandpa Arlo screws up his lips. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “I need you to role-play with me.Obviously my tactic after the funeral didn’t work out very well, so I need to refine my technique.”
    I move to the fridge and put the water jug away. “What do you want me to do?”
    “You’re going to be Mrs. Hoogenboom. I’m going to knock on your door and then I’m going to try to ask you out to dinner.”
    “What am I supposed to say?”
    “Whatever comes to mind. Like you’re Mrs. Hoogenboom.”
    I feel my insides clench up. “I don’t know, Grandpa. I’m not really good at that sort of thing. Can’t you just practice in a mirror?”
    “No. I need feedback. Look, it’ll be easy. You’ll see.” Grandpa Arlo grabs my shoulders and steers me out of the kitchen, through the den, and toward the entryway. “Now, I’m going to come up and knock. You’ll answer and I’ll try to get you to come out on a date with me. But I don’t want you to just say yes. You need to be cagey. Noncommittal. Make me work for it.”
    “Like how?”
    “You’ll figure it out as we go. Just think about Mrs. Hoogenboom and act how you think she would act.” Grandpa Arlo fixes me with his eyes. “You ready?”
    I’ll never be ready for this. But I nod.
    Grandpa Arlo goes outside and shuts the door behind him.
    I squeeze my eyes shut and try to get in the proper frame of mind. I’m a seventy-five-year-old woman. How do I feel?
    I don’t know.
    Tired? Yeah, that’s good. And maybe sore? Sure, old people are tired and sore.
    I look around and see a throw blanket on the recliner in the den. I grab it and drape it over my shoulders like a shawl. I hunch over a bit.
    Voilà!
Mrs. Hoogenboom.
    There’s a gentle rapping on the door.
    I pick a piece of fluff off the throw.
    Another knock. This one a bit harder.
    I rub my sore, “arthritic” fingers.
    Grandpa Arlo opens the door and sticks his head inside. “What the hell are you doing? Answer the door.”
    “If I was really Mrs. Hoogenboom, I wouldn’t be able to get to the door that fast.”
    “Oh, Christ.” Grandpa Arlo runs his hand down his goatee. “Just pretend you were near the door already.”
    “Why would I be hanging around the door?”
    “I don’t know. You just are.”
    “That doesn’t make any sense. It’s not like I was expecting you.”
    Grandpa Arlo sighs loudly. “Just answer the door.”
    I think a moment. “Maybe I was going out to do some gardening.”
    “Fine. Whatever. Let’s try this again.” Grandpa Arlo steps back outside and closes the door. He knocks again.
    I pad toward the door and open it. “Oh. Hello, Arlo.”
    Grandpa Arlo holds one hand inside the other. He can barely meet my eyes. “Hello, Edith.”
    “I was just going out to do some gardening. That’s how come I answered the door so quickly.”
    Grandpa smiles shyly. “May I come in?”
    “Oh, um, yes. Why don’t you come in?” I move aside, and he steps into the house. I close the door behind him.
    “So, uh . . . How are you?” I say.
    “I’m very well, thank you. And yourself ?”
    “Me? Oh . . .” How am I? “I . . . uh . . . Well . . . I guess . . . My husband just died. As you know. So. I’m still kind of sad about that. But otherwise, I’m good. The gardening helps.”
    Grandpa Arlo rolls his eyes skyward. “I must say, you look positively radiant this morning, Edith.”
    “Oh, well, thank you.” I pull the blanket tight around my shoulders. “This is just my old gardening shawl.”
    “All right. Enough with the gardening crap.”
    “But it’s my motivation. You said —”
    “I said