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even cried then. Now the tears only made him angrier.
    “I
hate
her,” he said. He raised his voice a little with every word, and the red from his face crept right down his neck. “I hate both of them. They
both
should go to jail. I wish the both of them were
dead.
”
    The first time I’d ever done our shopping, I was nine, Rew’s age. Gran had given me a list and money, and told me it would be okay, she just couldn’t manage to go into town that day. But I was nervous, thinking of the big grocery store I’d been in with her, the one on the end of town, and so I took Rew with me. When we got there, the place was so big and bright, Rew got overexcited. While I read the list, trying to figure out the aisles, Rew followed some woman who had a little dog in her cart, and when I turned around for him, he was gone.
    I called him, but he didn’t come. And I got a feeling then, a sudden, terrified feeling, like nothing would ever be okay again. Nothing would ever be good. It settled right inside my throat and squeezed so tight, I could barely speak up enough for the cashier to hear me when I asked for help finding my brother. She paged him over the intercom, and we found him not far away, standing by the fresh-flower display. We got home all right; we even got our groceries. But I never forgot that feeling, so sudden and awful.
    That was the feeling that hit me in the kitchen. Because I looked up when Rew said that, about wishing Gran were dead. And I saw Gran. She was turned around on the couch, staring straight at us, her eyes big.
    Rew saw her, too, but it didn’t stop him. He walked right into the living room, up to one of the side tables beside the couch, where a stack of her favorite
Life
magazines sat.
    “You care about
him
so much,” he said to her, his voice husky. “Why don’t you just
go
with him!”
    Andrew Snow lifted his head at that, but he didn’t speak. I’d come up behind Rew and saw now that Gran’s eyes were filling with tears.
    “Rew . . .” I started.
    He didn’t let me finish. He kicked the side table hard, and the
Life
magazines toppled over. Gran and I both jumped, and Andrew Snow half rose, but Rew didn’t care. He grabbed the magazines and threw them, threw them at Andrew Snow, one after the other. I saw Joe DiMaggio’s face fly by, saw Andrew Snow duck. He walked across the room and grabbed Rew’s wrist, pulling him to his feet before he could scoop up another magazine.
    I ran at Andrew Snow then, taking hold of his arm and trying to get him to release Rew. Gran was on her feet.
    “Let him go!” I yelled. “You’ll break his arm!”
    Andrew Snow abruptly let Rew loose, and Rew staggered backward.
    “I wasn’t hurting him,” Andrew Snow said. “I was stopping him.”
    I ignored that. “You okay?” I asked Rew.
    But he didn’t answer. He just scooped one more magazine off the floor and threw it directly at Andrew Snow’s face before he turned and dashed upstairs. A second later, he slammed his bedroom door so hard, the ceiling shook.
    Gran hadn’t moved. She just stood there, looking at the mess.
    “I’ll clean it up, Gran,” I whispered to her, not wanting Andrew Snow to hear.
    But he wasn’t paying attention anyway. I stole a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, to see if he’d gone back to his chair, but he was looking at Gran, his face unreadable. I looked at Gran, too. Would he do something to her? Was
that
how bad he was? Did he think Gran could have stopped Rew? I wondered how well he really knew her. Or how well she knew him. Because Gran didn’t seem scared when I turned to her. Just sad. Awfully sad.
    Then Andrew Snow came up close to her, and he whispered, too, but I could hear him anyway. And what he said surprised me, because it had nothing to do with Rew at all.
    “What did you think would happen?” he asked Gran. “When you did this?”
    I hadn’t an idea in the world what he meant. But Gran must have, because she looked at him so suddenly,