“She always came to meet Darius where the bus slowed to a stop on the shoulder, and this was their secret. Grandfather had an idea that Darius should walk the long track down to the cabin on his own. Never too young to get comfortable in the woods. Most days, Grandmother started talking the second the bus doors hissed shut. It might be about a bird she’d seen through the kitchen window that morning, or even an elk; or it might be about the meat loaf she planned to make for supper. Too bad it wou...ldn’t be her own mother’s recipe, with whole boiled eggs inside like hidden treasure. Grandfather didn’t like it that way. If the day was fine, they might drop Darius’s backpack by the door and carry on down to the river, though they never lingered there long. Either way, once they were inside, there was no TV to listen to, so it made sense for Grandmother to keep on talking while she scraped the carrots or beat the steaks so they wouldn’t be tough. “Can I try?” Darius asked one afternoon when he’d been living there long enough for the ground outside to be dusted with snow.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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