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his head and returns my smile.
    “Def Leppard, right?” Tommy queries.
    “What?” Ryan asks, turning to Tommy.
    “‘It’s better to burn out than fade away,’ that’s Leppard, right?” Tommy’s mustache twitches under the scrutiny of Ryan’s disbelieving look. “What?”
    “Yeah, it’s Leppard,” Ryan chuckles. “Your timing is impeccable.”
    “Impeccable ? Are we busting out the SAT words, now?” Tommy teases.
    “Don’t you two start that again!” I laugh as I let go of Pops.
    “I guess I am making cobbler.” Gran tries to act put out but she is beaming.
    “I’ll pit the cherries.” I offer.
    “Not by yourself, you won’t. You two,” she points to Tommy and Ryan, “help carry these to the front porch, I don’t want cherry juice all over my kitchen.” She’s trying hard to sound stern, but I can see the smile tugging at her lips.

 
    Chapter 8
     
    I scoop the last bite of cobbler in my bowl and steal a look around the table. It’s quiet, but, for once, my shoulders aren’t hitched up to my ears. There is an ease to the silence as we stuff our bellies full of Gran’s dessert. My spoon is about to cross my lips when a foot comes into contact with my shin.
    “Ow!” I yelp, dropping the spoon back into my bowl. My eyes meet Ryan’s mischievous smirk. I reach down to rub my singing leg and am about to give him a piece of my mind when he lunges for my bowl. “What are you doing? Hey!” I cry as he scrapes the last of my cobbler into his greedy mouth.
    “Mmm,” he moans in satisfaction. “You weren’t going to eat that were you?”
    “You pig!” I laugh as I throw my napkin at him.
    “All right, you two,” Pops scolds, “not at the table.”
    I bite the inside of my lips together to keep from smiling, but an unladylike snort escapes before I can tamp it back down.
    “Oh, I’m a pig?” Ryan’s voice raises an octave with his laughter and I gasp for air between guffaws.
    Gran reaches for Pops’ hand and rubs her thumb across his knuckles. Joy is radiating off her, filling up the space between each of us. It pulses through our veins, connecting us to one another. This is family. This is my family, a menagerie of blood and friendship. Both equal, both vital.
    “Remember when Casey and Rob were like that?” Gran sighs, leaning her head on Pops’ broad shoulder.
    A shudder runs down my spine at the mention of my mom’s name. My eyes fall to the table and I run my fingers over a bubble in the lacquer finish. I don’t expect them to avoid talking about her, but I don’t know what I am supposed to say when they do.
    “Beth?” Gran’s gentle tone halts my inward retreat. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Guilt and frustration beat down on me with angry fists, each blow punctuated with my thoughts: You. Are. So. Selfish .
    They wait me out with patience and understanding, giving me what Uncle Rob promised—space and time. Gran’s hazel eyes swirl with worry as my shame creeps into my cheeks. I owe them so much more than a fast retreat at the first mention of her name.
    “I don’t know what you want me to say.” I whisper, deciding honesty is the best I can give her.
    “Blossom, I don’t care what you say. Just don’t stop talking to us, okay?” She places her free hand over mine, and squeezes. Her new nickname makes my heart hurt. She’s so full of hope. The laugh lines on her face tilt upward with it, igniting my fear of saying the wrong thing.
    “What was she like,” I readdress the table’s lacquer finish. “You know, when she was my age?”
    The chair squeaks as Uncle Rob turns to me. “She was a spitfire, she knew how to have fun. We spent a ton of time in the basement with our friends, playing music. We had a makeshift dance floor down there that we kept waxed and everything.” Surprised, my head pops up at his statement. “That’s right, your mama was a music fanatic.”
    “What happened?” The words escape before I can filter the astonishment out