CHAPTER EIGHT

Grandpa

I let the door slam shut behind me. I knew Grandma hated that, but the usual shout from the kitchen didn’t come.

“Grandma?” I called out.

“Shhh!” She bustled down the stairs in front of me. “Your grandfather isn’t feeling well. He’s lying down.”

“What’s wrong with him?” I asked. Grandpa was never sick. He always seemed immune to all the colds that Grandma and I usually passed back and forth.

“I don’t know,” she fussed. “He’s poorly.” She pushed past me and started banging around in the kitchen. Probably making soup. She always made soup no matter what the ailment. Soup cured everything, she always said.

I tiptoed up the stairs, hoping to make it to my room without disturbing my grandfather or incurring the wrath of Grandma.

“Lucky?”

Crap.

“Yeah, Grandpa?” I pushed his bedroom door open. He was under the blankets. I wasn’t sure that I had ever seen him in bed during the day before. “Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine. You know your grandmother.” His voice sounded weak. That scared me more than anything else. He looked pale in the light streaming through the window. Grandma hadn’t drawn the curtains.

“Are you sure? You look pale. Do you have a cold?” I sat on the bed beside him.

“Just a little indigestion,” he promised.

“Are you sure?” I touched his forehead. It was clammy. “Grandpa, maybe you should go to the hospital.”

“Lucky, I’m fine,” he groused. “I’ll just take a nap and be good as new.”

“Okay. But I’m going to check on you later,” I said. He nodded, closing his eyes before I had even made it off the bed.