Page 65 of I Hope This Finds You Well

Grace brightens as she settles back into her seat. “It’s great you’re bowling with us tonight. We need a fourth since Deirdre can’t make it.”

And a panic rises in me. “Oh, I’m not—”

Cliff looks at me thoughtfully as he cuts in. “We’ll be dropping Jolene off first.”

Grace’s pink-tinted lips smack together. “Nope. There’s no way we’ll make it if we don’t go straight there, and we’re down one. Have you evenaskedJolene?”

Cliff looks at her in the mirror and sets his jaw. “No, that’s not something—”

“So, would you like to come?” she declares, bending around the passenger seat so her cheek is practically touching mine. “There’s a nutritious dinner of hot dogs and nachos in it for you,” she adds, raising her brows suggestively.

“You don’t have to,” Cliff says, wide-eyed. But he doesn’t look repulsed by the idea. Just a little concerned.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” I blurt out before I can think it through.

Grace squeals and claps her hands with delight, while Cliff bends his chin to look at me. “You sure about this?” he says, softer.

I haven’t bowled in years, probably since I was a preteen. There’ll be people I don’t know and weird machines I don’t know, and I won’t know what is what.

But it’s Cliff’s hesitant little grin that tugs me—Iwantto go.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life.”

Grace laughs, because it sounds like I’m joking. Not the rantings of a woman who still hasn’t nailed existing in public as a skill set. Am I really going to do this?

Cliff twists the steering wheel, taking a hard left. “All right then, to the bowling alley.”

My stomach tightens. I can roll some balls around for an hour. It’s not impossible. I can do this.

Balls whoosh and crash into pins with violent clangs while random sirens and bells chime. Disco lights throw rainbow dots all across the walls and scuffed wooden floors. Stereos are blasting a song that probably came out when Supershops still offered one-hour photo development, and the scent of fake cheese holds the room hostage. In the corner, a rowdy group of men, all in Canadian tuxedos, pepper the corner; their head-to-toe denim is oddly comforting at this hour.

Cliff keeps eyeing me like I’m going to catch fire. To be fair, I might.

He and Grace check in, and I realize they’ve brought their own shoes and balls. Shit, I’ve volunteered to do the thing where I have to wear shoes that about a thousand other people have worn. As feared, when the bored gentleman working the rental stall proudly slides a previously white-and-green pair across the counter, I am certain the first person to have rented them died from natural causes some years ago.

While lacing up on the plasticky cup seats, Cliff shifts toward me, his leg almost touching mine. I flinch, then try to hide it by saying, “I’m fine with all of this. It’s actually delightful to wear shoes that might be haunted.”

He laughs, and the motion brings him even closer, whipping my chest into a swirl. “If you were dead, would you haunt some bowling shoes?”

I stare down at them in all their stained, stinky glory. “If I had nothing better to do.”

His expression shifts to be more serious. “So, fair warning: my grandma is a little much. I mean, I love her to death, she raised me on hardly anything, but you know how it is with families?” He says it like it’s a question rather than a universal truth. “I didn’t mean to rope you into all this.”

His fingers twitch nervously next to my thigh. This isn’t about me.

As if on cue, a short lady with curly white hair pouring through a visor approaches in limping steps. She’s got Cliff’s same cheery eyes paired with a windbreaker suit so bright that the wind knows not toapproach from a mile away. She shoves into Cliff and scoops him into her chest, then tilts my way while he suffocates against her bosom. “I’m Lisa, Clifford’s granny. Thanks for saving us a forfeit. Do you know how to bowl?” Her eyes narrow at me, calculating.

I nod. I’ve bowled, like, twice in my life—as in tossed a few balls, then played on a Hulk Hogan pinball machine. I’m sure it’s fine.

Cliff’s granny releases him from her death grip. He takes a dramatic gulp of air like he’s just been saved from drowning as his granny pinches his cheek. He looks toward me, temples red. “I’ll get you a ball.”

Lisa and I watch as he precariously balances three balls while walking to the seating at the end of our lane. We follow behind him more slowly since she has a slight limp.

At the lane, the opposing team—five middle-aged men with shirts that all readDisco Dads—sits casually. Grace is already standing over them, front and center of the group, hand gesturing to the scoreboards as she speaks. I’m the only person in this chaotic room who doesn’t know what to do. I don’t know where the bathroom is or if someone has a favorite seat. I stand awkwardly to the side as Lisa slowly makes her way to the lane. Cliff pulls out a curved ramp device from against the wall next to the lane and meets his grandma to set it up.

Grace motions toward me and then pats the scratched-up seat next to her. As I sit down, she says, “Grandma is so proud of him. She thinks he walks on water.” Grace’s smile crinkles in her eyes as she looks at them fondly.

I grin. “Cliff says she raised you?”