Morning came like a butterfly unfolding its wings.

We sat at the kitchen table and watched each other yawn. Ziggy put his chin in his hands and gazed at Jenny and at me. Sometimes he pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, and then Jenny pinched him herself.

Nana Jean smiled the first time Jenny did it, but after the second pinch, she began to look uneasy, and when Jenny reached over to do it a third time, Nana Jean grabbed her wrist and pulled her close so they were looking face-to-face.

I think if I hadn’t been there, she might have said something sharp, but instead Nana Jean touched Jenny’s black eye with the back of her finger. Then she sighed, heaved herself up from her chair, made her way to the freezer, and found a bag of frozen peas. She threw it across the room to Jenny, who caught it in one hand.

Jenny leaned back so she was looking at the ceiling with her long legs stretched out. She held the bag on her left eye.

“How did you get the shiner?” Nana Jean asked.

“Donny,” said Jenny.

Nana Jean sighed. “I keep telling you that boy is dangerous.”

“Only when he drinks,” said Jenny.

“Which is all the time,” said Nana Jean. “You should have known better.”

“Why? I remember one time Daddy gave you a shiner worse than this.”

“Please don’t bring that up right now,” said Nana Jean.

“Why not?”

“Because there are children at this table.”

“I was a child, Mama.”

“Jenny. Please. I love you, honey, but now is not the right time.”

Jenny set her jaw hard and looked away. She continued pressing the bag of peas against her eye, dabbing it on the swollen places, wincing when it was tender.

Nana Jean sighed and came to her side. She stroked Jenny’s long red hair with her fingers, and even though I could see she was mad, Jenny let her do it. Together, they looked out the window at the garden.

Ziggy rested his head on the table and watched his mother. Outside, the birds were waking up.

Nana Jean went to the window. She opened it wide. There was a breath of wind. The warm smell of soil and vegetables: zucchini, summer squash, string beans, and tomatoes. Now Jenny had tears streaming from her eyes. She didn’t even wipe them away.

Ziggy reached over and touched his mother’s hand.

“I have a good idea,” said Nana Jean, still gazing outside. “Why don’t you and Ziggy go out in the garden and pick me a basket of ripe tomatoes. I think I’ll make lasagna tonight.”

Jenny didn’t say anything. She just looked out the window, the tears coming down.

Ziggy picked up her hand and put it on his cheek.

“Come on, Jenny. The boy needs time alone with you. Let’s have a good morning. Later we can talk about Donny. And you can tell me how I was a poor role model, and I can apologize for what you endured when you were little. We can have our very own day of reckoning. Give you a chance to tell me how I messed you up. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Jenny looked straight at Nana Jean, her face angry and tight.

“Yep,” she said, “I would.”

“Well, then, please. Go out in the garden first and get us some good vegetables. They need picking. Otherwise they’re going to rot on the vine.”

“Let’s go,” said Ziggy.

Jenny got up from the table.

I shifted in my seat, ready to rise from my chair, but Nana Jean stopped me.

“You stay with me,” she said. And when I frowned, she said, “Ziggy and his mama need some time to talk. Let them have some privacy. Meanwhile, you can help me make a good old-fashioned breakfast. After we put some food in our bellies, everything will look less dire. And I sure could use the help cooking. Would you like that, June? Want to help me make breakfast?”

I nodded.

“Good,” said Nana Jean.

She took a wicker basket from the counter and handed it to Jenny. “Fill it to the top,” she said. “And, Ziggy, don’t let that little creature of yours dig around in the garden. I happen to know that this ferret likes gardening almost as much as I do. You just tell him no and bop him on the nose if he gets too feisty. Don’t be afraid to show him who’s boss.”

Nana Jean squeezed the nonexistent muscle in his arm.

“Okay,” said Ziggy, blushing.

Ziggy reached out for Jenny’s hand, and she kissed his hand and took it.

I looked at their two hands clasped together, and something inside me hurt.

“Get going,” said Nana Jean. “And, Jenny, when you get back, you and I will have a good long talk about how all of this is my fault.”

“Okay,” said Jenny. “Thank you.”

She held the wicker basket on her hip and swung Ziggy’s hand back and forth. They walked together, hand in hand, out the back door and into the garden, the ferret bounding behind them.

The screen door slammed.

Nana Jean and I were alone in the kitchen.

“Ready to help me make breakfast?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Let’s get you cleaned up a little bit first. I don’t mind a little dirt in my kitchen, but you look like you’ve been in a war. Anyone ever give you a cat bath?”

“No,” I said.

“Well, a cat bath just happens to be the very best way to start off a summer morning. Freshen you right up.” Nana Jean took a washcloth and put it under warm water. Then she called me over and told me to sit on a stool. She washed off the dirt with the cloth so gently, like a mama cat licking her kitten. First she knelt in front of me and gently wiped my feet, then my hands. Then my neck, and then my face. Squeezing the brown water into the sink and then putting the cloth back under the warm water until I felt sparkly. “There, now,” said Nana Jean. “That’s better.” A breeze came in through the open window. I could feel it on my face.

“Okay,” said Nana Jean, rubbing one more streak off my nose. “Now you’re good as new.”

“Thank you,” I said, suddenly so filled with gratitude that I thought I might burst.

“No need to thank me,” said Nana Jean, smiling. “You are about to make me breakfast. So we’ll call it even. Let’s see how good you are at cracking eggs. There are four of us. I think ten eggs will pretty much do it. And then we’ll chop in scallions, mushrooms, spinach, and Swiss cheese. Sound good?”

I nodded.

Nana Jean found a metal bowl, took out a carton of eggs, and set me up by the sink. I started in cracking while she brought berries and bread to the table.

“So,” said Nana Jean, gently. “How did you and my Jenny end up back here together?”

The first egg I cracked was perfect. No shell in the bowl at all. I showed the two empty crowns to Nana Jean and smiled, triumphant. “It’s a pretty weird story, actually,” I said.

“I can imagine,” said Nana Jean.

I cracked another egg and then another. A little piece of the third shell fell into the bowl. A tiny brown shard. I fished it out with my finger. I liked the feeling of the goo on my skin. I put my whole hand into the bowl and wiggled my fingers. The egg whites made my skin feel sparkly.

“Don’t do that,” said Nana Jean.

She pulled my hand out, wiped it off on her skirt, and then handed me a fork. “Tell me what’s going on at home with you and your mama, June. Tell me so I can help.”

I kept cracking eggs. When the shell splintered, I fished the pieces out with the fork. Nana Jean showed me the best way to beat eggs. The trick was to move your wrist fast in a circle and to lap at the yolks so they separated and swirled. She held my hand on the fork and guided me. It felt good to have her hand on my hand. I closed my eyes. We stood like that, Nana Jean behind me, reaching around me to hold the bowl on one side and guide my hand on the other. I was surrounded by the warmth of her.

“Tell it,” Nana Jean said again. “Just tell it, honey. It’s time.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

These were the most honest words I had ever spoken in my entire life.

“Well,” said Nana Jean. “How about you start at the beginning.”