If the Fates Allow

by Rainbow Rowell

So they talked about the things that had brought them together today: Their worry. Their caution. Their firm belief that most people were idiots. That was a nice discovery, that her grandpa seemed to dislike people as much as she did. Had he always been that way? Or was he just getting crotchety in old age and loneliness? Reagan had always been that way, and it was only getting worse. “Your grandmother would want us to say grace,” he said, after they’d piled up their plates. “Hmm.” Reagan was noncommittal. She’d already taken a bite of turkey. “But if she wanted me to keep saying grace,” he went on, “she should have outlived me.” The turkey caught in Reagan’s throat. She looked up at him, to see if he was being bitter or morose—but he just looked matter-of-fact. He was buttering his roll. Reagan finished swallowing. “She really should have.” He set the roll on his plate. “I kept telling her . . . that if she wanted me to get into heaven, she’d have to deliver me herself.” Reagan laughed. There were tears in her eyes. “That woman had no follow-through.” Her grandpa looked up at her. His eyes were shining, too. “Exactly.” “Do you think Grandma would have been as careful as you? Through all this?” “Heck no, I would have had to nail our windows closed.”