NOTE TO READER

I KNEW MOM WAS was trying to make me feel better. But I didn’t really believe her. Dad had been gone for ten days—I was tired of being patient.

Dinner with Papa was quiet and awkward. I hadn’t realized how much Mom talked. We ate sandwiches and chips and didn’t speak. I put my dishes in the dishwasher and went to Dad’s room as soon as I was done.

It wasn’t even late, but I brushed my teeth and climbed into the lumpy bed. What had I been thinking? Why in the world had I thought watching old movies would help? I felt so stupid. I wished I had gotten on the plane with Mom. I wished I had stayed with a friend or gone to camp or . . . I wished I were anywhere except here, with Papa. We had nothing in common, nothing to talk about.

I missed Nana, her jokes and her hugs and how she always had a puzzle on the table. I’d thought staying with Papa would be better than being at home, where every time I turned a corner, I half expected to run into my father. But no. At Papa’s, I was reminded that my grandmother was gone, too.

I cried myself to sleep, thinking I would always be where I was, stuck, not knowing what to do.

Of course, the next day when Papa got the mail, I received a letter and everything started to change.