“Muhammad won’t come to the mountain, the mountain will come to Muhammad.”

Grammy stood on Beryl’s porch cradling a white bakery box and gripping a photo album against her side with one elbow. A brightly striped gift bag with pink rope handles dangled from three fingers of one hand.

Ivy gaped at her. The doorbell had gonged and she’d raced down from upstairs because she knew Beryl was just getting out of the shower.

“I was thinking you’d invite me in.”

“I—wow. Grammy. Yes, come in! I thought you’d be the FedEx guy for Beryl.”

“Nope.”

Ivy took the bakery box from Grammy’s arms and led her into the front hall.

“Who is it?” Beryl called from the bathroom.

“It’s Grammy!”

“Excellent,” Beryl hollered. “I’ll put coffee on in a minute—Patience, you like coffee?”

“Love it,” Grammy hollered back. “I’ve brought cake.”

“Perfect. Go on into the dining room, you two. Ivy, get the good china out of the credenza, and the silver.”

A minute later Ivy and Grammy were seated across from each other at the dining room table. Ivy watched Perkin pad toward a patch of sunlight. She was glad Grammy had come but she didn’t know what to say. Perkin sat down and began cleaning his paw.

“That was a beautiful card you made,” Grammy said.

Ivy rubbed her thumb over a faint scar in the tabletop.

“Loren’s got Walton making a frame for it. Looks like you took a long time on it.”

“A few hours,” Ivy said softly.

“It’s clear you meant what you said.”

Ivy rubbed harder at the table’s shallow scar.

“‘Love, Ivy,’” Grammy quoted. “Clear you meant it. Even though we haven’t heard much from your corner lately. Clear to me, anyway. And to Walton and Loren.”

Ivy exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, but she had, for a long time. For weeks. Months, really. Ever since her mother brought her to Kingston in April. Ever since she chose her mom over her friendship with Prairie and then wasn’t sure where to put her foot next.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if even Daniel gets it, he’s such a wonder. I never saw such a bright boy, not since Walton was born. I’ve brought pictures—”

Grammy patted the photo album and Ivy nodded.

“Prairie’s a different story. She’s got a bit of a bee in her bonnet. You’ve hurt her feelings, kiddo.”

Ivy ducked her head. Prairie had hurt her feelings too, but Ivy knew she might’ve been the one to start it, and for sure she hadn’t been the one to end it.

“As far as I can tell, it’s nonsense, on both your parts. Life is short, forgive fast. Mark Twain said something to that effect.”

Ivy studied her feet. They were bare, which seemed wrong, considering the fancy china and silver. She was about to tell Grammy she and Mark Twain were right when Beryl came in.

“Coffee’s ready.”

Grammy clapped. “Let’s haul out that cake. I bought it from a place in New Paltz. Leola—the woman I was with on the Walkway, Ivy—does all their fancy decorating, has for years. And let’s get these presents opened too, Knasgowa.”

Ivy didn’t mean to smile—she didn’t much these days—but she couldn’t help herself, a grin stole out. There were presents; they were for her.

“So—David’s a real wonder, huh?” she said as she reached for a package.

• • •

“These are so pretty.” Ivy held a teacup up to the light over the sink. Grammy had gone home hours ago and now dinner was over too. She turned the cup. It was so thin she could see her thumb on the opposite side. “I’m scared I’ll break them.”

“You won’t break anything. Besides, they’re just things.”

“Yeah, but nice things. You don’t want to go crashing them around.”

Beryl stood with her bad hip leaned against the counter, drying plates. She wiped each one tenderly, like a baby’s face. “Belonged to my great-great-aunt. The set’s been in the family since Lincoln was president.”

Ivy held up a fork. “These too?”

Beryl examined the handle. “These were from my dad’s side. Great-Grandma Myrtle’s wedding silver. Didn’t seem right to send it to Goodwill, even though I had two sets already. These are the nicest, I think. I like that flare in the handle.” Beryl rubbed the fork with her thumb.

“My aunt Connie had silver. Real silver, like this.”

“Nice. Was it hers, or your grandmother’s, or somebody else’s?”

Beryl looked at Ivy expectantly, but now, even though Ivy had been the one to bring the subject up, she didn’t want to talk about it. Thinking about the past was too hard. It was like taking the lid off a basket of snakes. Beautiful snakes, like the copperhead she’d watched on TV, but dangerous. There were good memories mixed up with the bad ones and it all made Ivy’s throat go tight. “I don’t know. I don’t remember,” she said. She picked up the pan Beryl had used to cook chicken for their supper. “Do I put this in the water, or just wipe it off?”