Ruby thought for a moment.
“Then that’s what we need to find out.”
Three adults looked at her.
“What?”
Nathaniel smiled.
“Nothing.”
“You all made the same face.”
Claire squeezed her shoulder.
“It’s because sometimes you sound exactly like your grandmother.”
Ruby liked the idea.
She had no memories of Eleanor Bennett.
Only one photograph at home showing a round-faced woman with bright eyes holding a flowerpot.
Now, suddenly, Grandma Eleanor had a handwriting style, a building, an argument, and an unfinished plan.
She had become real.
That evening, Claire and Ruby returned to Aldridge Street.
The building looked different to Ruby.
It was still four stories of worn brown brick.
The front step still had a crack running through the middle.
Mrs. Alvarez still had three flowerpots crowded on her third-floor windowsill.
Mr. Harris still sat outside working crossword puzzles in a folding chair whenever the weather was good.
