The Truth about Us by Janet Gurtler Page B

plant. I take a better look at him. He seems a little paler than normal, a bit under the weather.
    â€œYou feeling okay?”
    â€œFine,” he grumbles, leaving no room for chitchat about that. He sprays another plant with gusto.
    We work in silence, but a seed of worry has sprouted in my belly. “Do you have any kids?” I ask. It’s more personal than I usually ask, but as his self-designated new best friend, I decide it’s okay that we learn more about each other.
    â€œWe never had children,” he tells me. “We wanted to, but it wasn’t in the plans.” He shrugs and sprays another leaf.
    â€œI don’t think I want to have kids,” I tell him, thinking of my mom and dad.
    â€œYou’re too young to decide that now,” he tells me. “And far too young to have them now.”
    I wrinkle up my nose and check under another leaf for mold. “Um, yes.”
    No mold. At least that’s a good sign. “I never got to have grandparents. I mean, I guess I did, but they both died before I was born.”
    â€œI’m old enough for the job,” he says.
    â€œYeah?” I ask. “You want to be my adopted grandfather?” I smile at him. “I’ll expect butterscotch candies in your pockets.”
    â€œOkay, but I expect homemade cookies. And don’t hit me up for a loan when your parents won’t give you your allowance.”
    â€œI don’t get an allowance,” I tell him. I do get more than enough money for my needs, and my mom gives me her credit card whenever I want to. Or she used to.
    â€œMaybe you should do more chores.”
    â€œProbably.” Truthfully, Mom’s never really expected Allie or I to do much around the house. In the past, she liked to be in control of things. She could barely let us load the dishwasher without rearranging the entire thing. She doesn’t do that anymore. But that’s what I grew up with. And now we have Isabella, our cleaner.
    â€œShoot,” Wilf suddenly growls. I’m so startled, I drop the pruning scissors.
    â€œWhat?” I ask, frowning at him.
    â€œI was supposed to pick up day-old bagels from the bakery downtown.” He slaps his head with his palm. “My memory and a quarter won’t even get me a phone call these days.”
    â€œWe don’t need quarters anymore,” I remind him. “We have cell phones.” I bend over to pick up the scissors. “Well, most people do. Mine was confiscated.”
    â€œFor your bad behavior?”
    I shrug. I haven’t told him what I did to get here.
    â€œI would be lost without my iPhone,” he tells me. “I program in all the things Rhea used to remind me to do.”
    I smile. “You know, you’re a little bit cool for an old guy.”
    â€œOld is an understatement. When I told my doctor I wanted to stop aging, you know what he told me?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThat I’ll stop when I’m in my grave.” He laughs.
    â€œThat’s awful.” I wrinkle up my nose.
    â€œAwfully true.”
    I don’t find it funny. “Want me to help you get the bagels?” I ask instead.
    â€œNo. There’re only a few bags today. You stay here. Work on these plants. You’re better at it than me.”
    I smile at him. “Thanks.”
    â€œCan you stay awhile?” he asks. “I don’t want you to walk to the bus stop yourself.”
    â€œMy dance card is empty,” I tell him, hoping he doesn’t tease me about Flynn. “I can handle walking alone now. But if you want, I’ll be here when you get back.”
    He walks to me, touches my arm lightly, and puts down his spray bottle. “Rhea would have liked you,” he says softly, and then he turns toward the door. He glances back over his shoulder as he starts to walk out. “She may have washed your mouth out with soap a few times, but she would have liked you.”
    I