“I’m not a kid anymore.”

His blue eyes were doubtful as they glanced down at me.

“Well, I’m not!”

He shook his head and leaned his back against the stair railing, cradling the glass in his hands. We were sitting on his porch steps, watching our neighbor across the street scold her two young boys for playing baseball near the car. I drew my knees up and picked at the pebbles of loose concrete at my feet.

“You’ll always be a kid to them, no matter how old you get. It’s the laws of parenthood.”

“There are no laws of parenthood, and if there were, every parent on the planet would be breaking them.”

He raised his glass in a mock toast.

I eyed him curiously, squinting against the sunlight as I looked up at him. “Do you ever see your parents?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?’

He raised his eyebrows as he turned towards me, but I shrugged my shoulders. “What, I’m still 12…I’m allowed to ask.”

“Haven’t talked to them in three years.” He glanced into his glass, raised it to his lips, then changed his mind and set it next to him on the stair. “They gave me the house when they retired; moved far up outta here.” He looked up at the porch overhang, his eyes drinking in the structure. “Said that I was changed when I got back, that I wasn’t their son anymore. I was in a fucking war…Jesus.”

I remained silent, stared at my shoelaces, noticed that the plastic tip had broken off and now one lace was beginning to fray at the edges. I wondered if Audrey would have noticed, would have let them fray like that if they were still her shoes.

He sighed, his words coming out in a type of resigned song, “I hate this house.”

“So why stay?”

“Got no where else to go.” He picked up the glass again, shook the ice cubes; they clanked against the glass in a cold melody. Then he turned towards me. “Listen, every family’s different. You’ve got a lucky one over there.”

I glanced across the yard that separated our houses, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, watching the hot breeze ripple the bushes under the windows. The station wagon was still in the driveway, but I knew that soon Mom would be coming out of the house to take Audrey to her piano lesson, and that she would drop her off and say that she was going to the grocery store or the dry cleaners to pick up Dad’s shirts, but really she would return with only a loaf of bread or a gallon of milk or a brand new work shirt and pretend that’s how she spent her hour. Audrey knew better. So did I.

“My parents don’t want me to see my Grandmother. She’s sick; she doesn’t remember anyone.”

“Not remembering might be a good thing.”

I caught his gaze sweep to the newspaper on the floor of the porch nearby. I wondered if that was instinct for him, wondered what would happen if he threw it away or lit a match to it, wondered if that would change him back to who he used to be.

I wondered if seeing me would change my Grandmother back.

“There’s your Mom.”

I turned to see Audrey heading down the walkway to the car, piano books in hand. Mom was shooing Marmalade back inside, trying to shut the door as she pushed the dog out of the way.

“Thank her for that pie, would ya?”

I looked at him, and he nodded at me. I hopped down the stairs and crossed the yard between our houses. Mom looked up as she opened the car door, her hand resting on the frame, the mother’s ring we had given her for Christmas last year catching the reflection of the sun.

“There you are. How’s he doing? He’s a good man, just don’t listen to what he says. Nevermind that, we’ll talk about your party when I get home, ok?”

“I want to come with you.”

Mom paused; inside the car, Audrey leaned over to look at me, and I shot her a glare, daring her to say something.

“I mean it, I’m coming with you. You shouldn’t have to see her alone, Mom, and I’m fine. I wanna come.”

Her shoulders relaxed as she studied my face, a grim smile tracing her lips. She reached her hand up to brush my hair away from my forehead, and I didn’t dodge away.

Wordlessly, she reached into the back and flipped the lock on the passenger door, then got in and started the car.

I slid into the backseat and turned to my neighbor as we backed down the driveway, but his eyes were trained on the newspaper that rested on his knees.