The Beginning of After

and over in my hands. This one told Masher all about what it felt like to ride a raft down the Snake River in Wyoming.
    “He seems good,” I said.
    “His grandparents were up here last weekend from Miami.” Nana paused. “They’re talking about selling the house.”
    I felt something lurch in my stomach. “Why?”
    “Well, nobody’s living there, but somebody has to pay all the taxes. The house is worth quite a bit, and I think they want to put something away for David. Also,” she leaned in to whisper, although nobody else anywhere could possibly hear us, “I got the impression that Mr. Kaufman’s care is quite expensive.”
    I thought of how Mr. Kaufman drove the nicest cars of all the neighbors and was always buying pricey electronic gadgets before anyone else had heard of them. Now he needed help to cover the cost of being only half-dead, and I didn’t feel one bit sorry.
    “What will they do with all the stuff?” I said, after a few seconds.
    “I don’t know, sweetie.” Then Nana was miles away, staring out the window.
    “Are you okay?”
    She snapped out of it and looked back at me with a sudden determination. “Yes. But I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”
    I just raised my eyebrows at her, tired of asking questions.
    “I need to go home in a few weeks, to take care of some personal business. How do you feel about that? It would just be for three or four days. I’ve already spoken to Mrs. Dill, and you can stay with them.”
    It was so easy to forget that Nana had a house full of her own furniture and uneaten food and Reader’s Digest s piling up in the mail stack.
    “What kind of business?” I asked.
    “I’m thinking of renting out my house for the next year. I’d like to see Dr. Jacobs about my arthritis, too. And I need to meet with my lawyer about selling the condo.” When Nana said “the condo,” she winced like it hurt.
    The condo meant Nana’s deluxe two-bedroom apartment at a retirement community in Hilton Head, where she’d been planning to move. My dad had helped her find the place just a few months before the accident.
    Nana had had plans. She was old, yeah, but she still had a future. So what did she have now?
    I looked at Nana trying so hard not to cry. “Is it okay with you if I go?” she asked. “You can come with me if you’d like, but I’d hate for you to miss school now that you’ve started again.”
    She had given up so much to be here. Did she ever resent it? Or me?
    “Please go,” I said. “I’ll be fine. Please do what you need to do, Nana.”
    She nodded, biting her lip, wrinkling her nose. Then I watched her walk quickly out of the kitchen on her way to break down somewhere away from me, the perfectly centered back seam of her straight, straight skirt wiggling like a tail.
    Andie and Hannah talked Meg and me into coming with them to Vinny’s Pizza for lunch the next day. “We’re seniors! We have to take advantage of our off-campus privileges!” Andie had argued. I was game. Tell me there’s an alternative to sitting in the cafeteria with people stealing glances at me between Tater Tots, I’m there.
    At Vinny’s, we couldn’t agree on toppings, so we ordered a large pizza divided four ways: pineapple (Hannah), veggies (Meg), sausage (Andie), and plain (yours truly). Vinny himself was behind the counter and gave us a dirty look when Hannah placed the order, but later, after we’d squeezed into the booth in the window, he brought us over a free plate of garlic bread. I noticed his wife back in the kitchen, staring at me sadly.
    “So Laurel,” said Andie, peeling the crust off a slice of bread. “Do you see that bench out there?”
    I looked out the window to a bench on the sidewalk. A young mom was sitting on it, desperately rocking a stroller back and forth with a defeated look on her face. I glanced back at Andie and nodded, then watched her eat the crust and hand the middle of the bread to Hannah, who popped it in her mouth. This seemed like a ritual for them.
    “I was trying to think of something else besides planting a tree, because I realized that’s a little tired, and one day I noticed that bench has a plaque on it,” continued Andie. “Some person I’ve never heard of, but I called the town office and guess what? They’re memorial benches. You can buy one. We can buy one, the senior class, for you know, you.”
    As gung-ho as Andie was about this whole memorial idea, she didn’t seem capable of actually