Even though I had some money put aside for medical bills for Grams, and her 401k payments kept us comfortable, I wasn’t exactly in tall cotton.

“Oh, Marla, that’s wonderful.” I stood up, swallowing down my panic, tugging her into a hug. I relished the small, bittersweet moment in her arms, feeling the pinch of pain behind my eyes. “You deserve it. You worked hard for so many years. I’m so happy for you and Pete.”

She reared her head back, patting my cheeks to make sure they were dry. I winced when she touched the scar tissue. It still felt raw. The skin was thinner than on my right, healthy side.

“Don’t worry, Gracie-Mae. I’m giving you a two-month notice. Plenty of time to find a replacement.”

I let out a breath. Two months was a good amount of time.

“Thanks. I’ll start searchin’ right away.”

“Although, you know where I stand in terms of what should happen next.” Her mouth twitched, like she was fighting back the words that wanted to tumble out of her mouth.

“I know. Especially with the hunger strike.” I bristled. Marla laughed.

“Yeah. ’Bout that. She’s been slipping cracklins into her room when she thinks I ain’t looking. And, well”—her laughter pitched higher—“I pretend not to look so she’ll eat.”

Shaking my head, I let out a relieved chuckle. “She’s impossible. What am I going to do with her?”

“Send her to her home!” Marla snorted. “She’ll thank you.”

Sensing a big, juicy moment, Grams crept into the kitchen in her calico housedress and bunny slippers.

“What’s all this fuss about?” She went straight for the utensil drawer, trying to yank it open. It didn’t budge. I’d installed magnets on every drawer that contained anything that could be used as a weapon earlier that week, the stuff you used when you had toddlers. I couldn’t take my chances. Not after the stove incident.

“Grandmomma, Marla just told me she will be leavin’ us in a couple months. She is movin’ to Florida to be closer to Joanne and her grandkids.” I turned to face Grams. Her back was still to me.

“Shoot! What’s this?” She wiggled the handle for the drawer, huffing. “I can’t open it!”

“Grams, did you hear me?” I asked.

“What in the name …” she muttered, ignoring the news—and me, still tugging.

“What do you need?” I rushed to her, eager to make amends after the ER incident. “I’ll get it for you.”

“What I need is to know how come I can’t open my own drawers in my own dang house to get a spoon out for my tea!” She spun on her heel to face me, waving her hand in the drawer’s direction. “Is this a part of your scheme, Courtney? To convince people that I have Lord knows what diseases? That I can’t even open a drawer? You wanna put me in a mental institute? Is that it?”

This time, I didn’t feel like playing her dead daughter anymore. It hurt too much.

“Grams, it’s not Courtney. It’s me, Gracie-Mae, and I don’t want to put you in a mental institution.”

“You want me to die there so you can take all my money and my house. So you can get high without anyone interruptin’ you. I see right through you, young lady. All you ever cared about were those boys and the drugs.”

“I just want you to get better,” I gritted out. I was getting tired of this tango.

“Yeah, by diagnosing me with somethin’ I don’t have and putting me on a whole lotta drugs. Not everybody wants to be sedated. Just because you like drugs, doesn’t mean they’re for me.”

“Grams.” I put my hand on her shoulder. “It’s Grace.”

She pushed me. Hard. I stumbled across the kitchen, my back hitting the wall. A picture of my mother and me—the only one we had in this house of both of us—fell to the floor, the glass breaking.

It stung more than it hurt.

The humiliation.

The anger.

My helplessness in this situation.

I put my broken flame ring to my lips and whispered my wishes as Marla shot up from her seat, advancing toward my grandmother.

“Savannah!” The sharpness in her tone made the tiny hair on my arms stand on end. “Do you not recognize your granddaughter?”

Grams snapped her head toward Marla, her scowl melting into a sweet smile.

“What? Don’t be silly. I know exactly who she is.”

“You said Courtney,” Marla countered.

“Quiet!” Grams raised her voice. “Stop challengin’ my every step, both of you.”

Marla walked over to me. “Go to school, honey pie. I’ll be putting in some extra hours today. I promised your grandma I’d help rearrange her closet. All right?”

I stared at Grams but nodded.

I grabbed my backpack, keys, and wallet and dashed out. I waited until I was in my car before I let the first tear fall.

I thought about A Streetcar Named Desire.

Of Blanche’s biting loneliness that seeped so deep she didn’t even know what she was lonely for anymore. Blanche—like Grams—sat at home all day, her demons often her only companion.

I thought about the cruelty in giving someone freedom they didn’t know what to do with.

Grandma Savvy always used to say, if you’re not scared, you’re not brave.

Right now, I was one out of the two, but for her, I needed to be both.

I sat at the back row of the theater, watching as Tess and Lauren butchered the roles of Stella and Blanche, respectively, during rehearsal.

Tess wasn’t bad, but she kept overacting to compensate for her loss to Lauren for Blanche’s role.

She also complained about it, often.

“Blanche has so much more meat! Stella is meek and timid.”

“Grow up, Tess. Learn how to be graceful in defeat.” Lauren snorted.

“I never lose,” Tess replied, her tone taking an edge I’d never heard before.

Lauren tossed her hair and smiled at her serenely. “That so? Then how come you’re not on West. St. Claire’s arm right about now?”

Aiden, who played Stanley, wasn’t exceptionally bad either, but he needed to tone down his frowning and glaring. He looked so constipated I worried people would throw Pepto-Bismol onstage instead of flowers at the end of the show.

About halfway through rehearsal, someone slid into the seat next to me. Peculiar, seeing as all the other seats were empty. Even though I didn’t turn to look at him, I knew exactly who it was. It frightened me that I recognized him so quickly.

His scent of winter, candy apple, and alpha male. Wild and unique.

I balanced my feet on the back of the seat in front of me, trying to refocus on the actors onstage. I was still mad at West. Mainly because he’d screwed someone else last Friday while mumbling my nickname. But the official reason was him embarrassing me to no end by making a big stink out of how Reign had treated me. I’d sailed through college ignoring the odd taunt. Reign De La Salle was one of many idiots I’d learned to overlook. West had redirected the limelight to my face again, and now everybody was talking about me—my story, my face, my hopeless future.

It was like high school all over again.