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memorial service. In Edgewater.” Poppo scooped two spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee and stirred it slowly before coming back to sit at the table with Arlo.
    â€œDo you ever talk to her?” Arlo asked.
    Poppo raised his eyes. He looked straight at Arlo. “Once in a while,” he said, and then added, “she calls to check up on you.”
    Arlo studied his grandfather’s face. He tried to read what was going on behind Poppo’s eyes, but it was impossible. “How come I don’t talk to her?” he asked.
    Poppo stirred his coffee some more. He looked over at the calendar on the door of the pantry, then toward the window over the sink. “Seems like she always calls when you’re not around,” he said.
    Was he telling the truth? Poppo wouldn’t lie about something like that, would he? So why was he avoiding eye contact? “What’s she like?” Arlo asked.
    â€œI don’t know.” Poppo waved his hand in the air as if he were searching for an answer. “Always seemed kind of quiet to me. Maybe that was on account of Slocum being so loud.”
    â€œSlocum?” Arlo asked.
    â€œYour grandfather Jones,” Poppo said. “He was your dad’s father. That’s him there, on the bench beside your grandmother.” Poppo pointed to the stern-looking man in the photograph.
    â€œWas he like you?” Arlo asked.
    Poppo made a grunting sound. “Sure hope not,” he said.
    Arlo frowned. “What do you mean?”
    Poppo took a long sip of coffee. He swished it around in his mouth before swallowing. “I guess you could say two people couldn’t be less alike than Slocum Jones and Al Sabatini.”
    Arlo thought about that for a minute. “Did my grandfather Jones do something wrong?” he asked.
    â€œDepends on who you ask,” Poppo said, taking another slug of coffee. “I don’t mean he went to jail or anything like that, but . . .”
    Arlo waited. “But, what?” he said.
    Poppo grunted again. “Slocum liked making rules, for one thing,” he said. “And he loved telling other folks how to live their lives.”
    Arlo didn’t like the way Poppo’s neck was turning red. Something about Slocum Jones obviously bothered him a lot.
    â€œWhat about my grandmother?” Arlo asked, hoping that would calm Poppo down. “Does she like making rules?”
    Poppo looked out the window. “I doubt she ever got the chance as long as Slocum was alive. ’Course, you understand I only saw the two of them a couple of times. She and your mother didn’t get along very well.”
    Finally, they were getting to the important stuff. “Why not?” Arlo asked.
    Poppo’s eyes turned misty. He cleared his throat. It took him a long time to answer, and when he did, he wasn’t looking at Arlo. He was staring at the blank wall and his voice was flat. “There were hard feelings all around on account of the way your daddy and her ran off and got married,” he said.
    Arlo waited before responding. “Ran off?” he said, keeping his eyes on Poppo’s face. “You never told me that.”
    Poppo frowned. “Nothing to talk about, really.”
    Clearly there was a
lot
to talk about and Poppo didn’t want to discuss any of it. What did that even mean —
running off to get married
?
    â€œI don’t understand,” Arlo said.
    Poppo sighed. “I know you don’t. That’s why . . .”
    â€œWhy
what
?” Arlo asked.
    â€œMaybe when you’re older,” Poppo said. He got up and dumped his coffee again. Only this time he didn’t pour a fresh cup. He stayed at the kitchen counter with his back to Arlo, as if he didn’t want Arlo to see his face.
    â€œHow come I never see her?” Arlo asked, feeling suddenly desperate to get as much information as he could, knowing that Poppo’s patience with his questions was