Sometimes I wonder which is better-dead family or no family at all. Will has a whole host of dead people to talk to. My only family is Mom I don’t have any aunts or cousins or dead grandmas. Summonings aren’t difficult, and Will never asks for much. I lean forward and blow gently on her nails. A bear who doesn’t know she’s been let out of her cage. But she sits with her shoulders hunched, like she’s trying to take up as little space as possible. Five foot ten, huge arms that could hurt someone if she wanted. She’s always been like this-desperately hopeful, but expecting someone to crush her at the same time. Will’s eyes search mine, brimming with cautious excitement. I finish the second layer before looking up at her. “Katrell, please? I wanna tell her about the contest.” “It’s been a month, I think.” Her voice is a hesitant whisper. Will’s nails are short and brittle from nervous chewing, so it takes extra effort to make them look good. “Didn’t we talk to her last week?” I don’t look up from my work as I paint a coat of hot pink.
I’m painting Will’s nails when she asks me to talk to her dead grandma.
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