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sure I’ll be able to hold it together.”
    “Oh, Kenny.” Mom’s voice wavered again as she hugged me. “Life can change so drastically overnight. I’m so glad you’re home right now. I miss you. I wish you weren’t living so far away. When you get back from delivering the food, I’ll take a coffee break and you can tell me all about school and how Jeremy is doing. Oh, and I bought a few bridal magazines. I thought we could browse through them.”
    “Mom, I don’t think I’ll be in the mood to look at wedding ideas.”
    She waved her hand. “You’re right. How callous of me. We can look at those another time. I’ll get the lasagna.” She walked to the refrigerator.
    I hadn’t clued my mom in on my shaky relationship with Jeremy, but I could save that for later. It was the last thing I needed or wanted to think about.
    “It’s cool to the touch now, so it’ll be easy to carry,” Mom said as she pulled the foil pan out. “Tell Sally that this container is freezer ready. In case they don’t want to eat it right away.” Mom sighed as she handed it to me. “I just don’t know how they’ll get through this. Can’t even imagine.” Her voice broke up as it had a hundred times since I’d gotten home.
    “Don’t, Mom, I don’t want to walk over there sobbing and sniffling. It’s the last thing they need.” I took hold of the pan. “I’m going to get going before I lose my nerve.”
    “I’m sorry, you’re right. And don’t forget to tell her it will keep just fine in the freezer,” she called to me as I walked out the door with the heavy casserole dish. She wanted me to talk to a woman who’d just lost her son about freezing lasagna. Sometimes it seemed my mom spent too much time in sugar-saturated vapors.
    It was strange how being back under my parents’ roof hurled me back in time. I had a quick moment of nostalgia as I imagined myself fifteen again, carrying a casserole over to the Strattons for the summer block party. I looked both ways before crossing, an old habit and one that I’d gotten scolded about ignoring more than once. It was a quiet, residential street that was shaded with old trees and rarely saw traffic. Growing up, it had been the perfect street for an impromptu soccer game. Sometimes other kids from the street would join us, but most of the time, it was just Grady and me in a match against Caden. Both Grady and I were athletic, but, even together, our skills couldn’t hold up to his brother. Caden just had the whole package, speed, strength, balance and a keen sense of when to strike. He could have been a star varsity athlete in high school if he’d wanted it. But organized sports just didn’t hold his interest. Caden liked fast motors and speed and anything that could set your hair on fire, metaphorically speaking. I wondered if Grady’s death behind the wheel of a car would change that. Or maybe Caden had slowed down anyhow. His broken leg must surely have put a dent in his enthusiasm for racing.
    I stepped onto the brick path that led to the Stratton house. After all these years, the same brick, just below the first step, was still missing. Weeds had grown in to take its place. I reached the front door. It had been painted with a new coat of blue, but everything else about the front stoop was familiar. Again, I was temporarily transported back in time and I was standing on the front stoop waiting for Grady to go on a bike ride to the park. But then the cold grip of reality squeezed my chest.
    I worked up the courage to knock.
    The door swung open before my knuckles touched it. Grady’s dad, Kevin, looked up over the rim of his eyeglasses. His eyes were puffy and small and nothing like the bright eyes I remembered. It was as if someone had washed the life and spirit from them.
    A woman stepped into the entry behind him. She was an aunt who I’d met several times at holidays, Sally’s older sister, Bev. Grady’s mom, Sally, followed behind Aunt Bev, looking pale,