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over to the grocery store. I mean, it wasn’t like I was scared of him or anything—I just didn’t need any more of the dude’s aggravation. So after I got the stuff for Gram, I stood behind this big pyramid built out of cans of baked beans over by the checkout, where I could hang and watch, all nonchalantly, until I saw Crazy Carl leave the store.
    Then suddenly I felt a hand on my shoulder from behind. And of course my reflexes took over, and I wheeled around and my foot kind of kicked out, and next thing I knew, bean cans were flying everywhere and rolling down two aisles. One knocked over this little kid like a bowling pin. He started howling, and his mother gave me The Look before she went to scoop him up.
    And turns out it was just this guy in a store apron behind me. He was shaking his head and saying, “I was going to ask if I could help you find anything, son, but I see you’ve already located our bean selection.”
    I helped Apron Guy rebuild the can pyramid, my face feeling hot enough to toast marshmallows, while this really pretty high school checkout girl laughed her face off the whole time.
    So even though the church was just down at the end of the next block, we were really late showing up. And I guess that was a big deal, because as soon as we walked into this big room in the basement, a whole group of old ladies charged over, saying stuff like, “Oh, we couldn’t imagine what happened—you’re always on time for everything, Lois,” as they closed in around us like a pack going in for the kill. And even though they were all talking to Gram, they were really staring at me the whole time.
    Which, I gotta say, was a little bit freaky. I mean, I just wasn’t used to all those old people in one place. Where I live in California, we pretty much don’t have any old-timers. I don’t know what happens to them, but it’s as if they don’t let people back in through the gates once their hair turns gray.
    â€œLadies, I’d like to present my grandson, Travis,” said Gram. “He’s here on a little visit from California. Travis, the people in town call us the Church Ladies.” She took me around the circle, and each Church Lady shook my hand as Gram said everyone’s name, all of them nodding and smiling at me as we worked our way one by one until it was as if we’d set loose a room full of wrinkly bobble heads.
    No way I was going to remember the names of all of Gram’s posse, so I spent the next couple hours “yes ma’am”–ing, hauling folding chairs, clanking down tables, and being polite while they all told me the Christmas-letter versions of their grandkids’ lives. I had been thinking that maybe keeping your thoughts to yourself was an old-lady thing in general, but it turned out that it was mostly just a Gram thing. The rest of the posse chattered more than the Gossip Girls’ table in the school cafeteria, their voices bouncing off the whitewashed cement walls so it sounded as if they’d multiplied themselves since we’d shown up.
    But it wasn’t so bad, really, until one of them suddenly put her hands onto her hips and looked me up and down. “I just can’t get over how much you look like your father!”
    And of course that was the exact moment when the room happened to be quiet. They all turned to stare at me again and started in on that nodding thing again too, until Gram limped over and said, “I think you’ve earned your freedom, Travis,” and they scurried away.
    â€œYou worked hard today. Thank you,” Gram said, reaching out to hand me another couple of bills from her purse. “Stop in town and buy yourself some lunch. Be careful when you go out to the island. I’ll be home soon.” Then she squeezed my arm, right where Crazy Carl had squeezed. It really hurt, but I didn’t let her know that. “You’re a good boy,” she