It looks like the junk food aisle has been dumped on the floor. There are open bags of chips and popcorn. Gummy bears. Chocolate-covered pretzels. A jar of peanuts. A half-eaten chocolate bar sits on the end table beside Nan. Both she and Charlie have glasses of what I assume is scotch. Rod Stewart is blaring. Nan looks like she’s fighting back laughter, and Charlie’s dimples are so deep they swallow the lamplight. His hand is buried in the bag of gummy bears. His smile falls when he sees me in the doorway.
