I had practiced what I would say to Grandma, how I would break the news of Janice and Simon’s whereabouts to her, and the words were fresh on my tongue as I swung open the door and clicked my seat belt on. But I didn’t have to say anything. The leaden feeling in the pine-scented interior of Grandma’s car told me that she already knew. When she didn’t put the car in drive and didn’t bother to greet me with her usual query—How was work?—I turned to face her. There was a shallow pucker in her cheek where she was biting it, and she looked hesitant, unsure. She was terrified to tell me, and I was about to make it easy for her when she spat out, “I know where they are.” “I do too,” I confessed without preamble. “You do?” Her eyebrows shot up almost comically. “We live in Mason,” I reminded Grandma grimly. “Everyone probably knows by now.” She exhaled disapprovingly and rubbed her temples with gloved hands. “Always gossip but rarely good,” she mused. I couldn’t help being cynical and instinctively rephrased her grievance in my mind: Always gossip, never good.
