The Tuffman children descend upon my house like Cicada bugs on their seventeen-year return; sudden and loud. Wendy and Jeff basically shoved them out of the car as they did a slow drive by, honking their horn as they sped away.

So far, McKenzie has sat on my back porch, sunglasses on, ear buds in, listening to her iPod and ignoring the rest of us. Wendy called me earlier to inform me McKenzie was less than thrilled about coming to stay here. I was surprised to hear this. It’s been a long time since I’ve kept her—before Blake passed away—but she used to love spending the night here. At least the other children seem fine with sleeping over. Mark has been glued to Connor’s side as he works on a truck someone dropped off for a tune-up, and Mary-Anne and J.J. are playing hide and seek in my house. Grayson is sitting at my feet poking invisible buttons in front of him. My insides twist as I watch him.

“Grayson,” I call his name gently, but he doesn’t respond.

“Grayson,” I say louder. Still . . . nothing. Bending down, I put my face level with his. “Grayson,” I sing his name in a goofy voice, and he turns his head, his big brown eyes darting everywhere, but at me. I snap my fingers in front of his face and repeat his name again, with no acknowledgment.

Twisting my mouth, I stand and put my hands on my hips. How could I have missed this? “Umizoomi!” I say, and Grayson stands, his eyes finally meeting mine.

“Umizoomi. Umizoomi,” he repeats before sprinting in my house beelining for my television in the living room. I stare after him for a moment, my heart sinking. The signs are there. I should have noticed sooner, but every time I’m around the Tuffman family it’s chaos, and I missed the giant indicators.

I’m jarred from my thoughts by the screech of the screen door when Connor enters, wiping oil from his large hands on a shop rag. “You okay?” he asks, his eyes narrowed in concern. I have to blink a few times before I manage to turn my head. He’s shirtless. Again. And all my eyes want to do is rove over his body. Geez, I need help. I should not want to stare at him like I’m doing at this moment and every time his shirt is missing.

I take a deep breath and nod yes. I can’t tell Connor my concerns while McKenzie is in such close vicinity. Not that she’d care. Her brother’s problems would seem slight to her in comparison to her own world-shattering issue; no cell phone to talk or text on. “We’ll talk about it later,” I answer.

“Demi!” Connor and I both turn as Mr. Jenson from next door rounds my porch heading for the stoop. His wife follows behind him carrying a metal bucket of tomatoes and cucumbers. Mr. Jenson is the friendliest neighbor I’ve ever had, and Wendy’s children adore him.

“I see my buddies are over for a visit,” Mr. Jenson chuckles as he climbs the stairs slowly, his feeble hand holding the banister while Mrs. Jenson follows, her mouth flat and expression unfriendly. I don’t know why she comes over here with him when she clearly hates it so much, but to keep the good neighbor peace flags flying, I smile and welcome them both into my home. Connor holds the screen door open for them, and as soon as they’re on the porch, they both fail miserably at hiding their scrutinizing gazes as they take in Connor. It’s not hard to see they don’t share my appreciation of the shirtless Connor Stevens.

“This is Connor Stevens,” I say. “Blake’s cousin. Connor, this is Mr. and Mrs. Jenson from across the street.”

“Oh,” Mr. Jenson’s mouth rounds around the word as his brows rise in understanding. “Blake spoke very highly of you.”

Connor’s mouth goes flat, and he gives a curt nod. It’s still hard for him to believe Blake boasted about him. “Nice to meet you, folks.”

“We brought some vegetables from the garden,” Mrs. Jenson interjects as she thrusts the bucket at Connor. It hits his hard chest and a small humph escapes him. Connor darts his gaze to me that says he’s thinking, Is this lady for real? I roll my eyes in apology and decide to move things along. As soon as Mr. Jenson says hello to the kids, hopefully they’ll leave. If it were just the old man, I’d pour him a glass of tea and offer him a seat on the porch, but since he brought Lady Butthead with him, I need to get them gone.

“Connor, would you mind taking these in the kitchen and bringing the bucket back, please?”

“Sure thing,” Connor agrees and moves quickly into action.

“My, my,” Mr. Jenson preens. “Is that McKenzie? She has grown up so much.”

“McKenzie,” I say as I tap her leg. When she looks at me, annoyance strewn across her face, I jut my chin at Mr. Jenson, and her face falls when she takes notice. Apparently, she hadn’t even realized they were here. Then, her mouth quirks into a sneer that I assume is meant to be a smile, before she returns to staring off into space.

“Sorry,” I apologize to the Jenson. “Teenage years.”

“No worries.” Mr. Jenson waves his hand dismissively. “Are Mary-Anne and J.J. here?”

I quickly call for the children and they almost knock Connor over as he returns with the bucket. He laughs as he catches his balance, and the children flock to Mr. Jenson. Mrs. Jenson stands back, arms crossed, practically glaring at her husband as he dotes on the children. I look to Connor, wondering if I can communicate my annoyance through a glance, but I find him watching McKenzie. When I look at Kenz, she’s sitting up now, her lips flat as she watches her brother and sister with what appears to be a look of annoyance. Her sunglasses hide her eyes, but by her posture she seems almost ready to pounce. I’m guessing she senses the rudeness radiating off of Mrs. Jenson and doesn’t like it directed at her siblings. I smile a little. I thought all of her sweetness had evaporated years ago, but it’s nice to see she’s still got it.

“Look what I brought for you?” Mr. Jenson smiles as he hands Mary-Anne and J.J. a Werther’s Original candy. The children waste no time ripping the wrappers open and shoving the hard candies in their mouths.

“What do you say?” I prompt the kids to show their manners.

“Thank you,” they reply in unison and hug the old man again.

“We need to go, Ned,” Mrs. Jenson snaps and walks to Connor, snapping the bucket out of his hands before moving to the screen door. Connor doesn’t even have time to react because Mr. Jenson moves on.

“You kids come and see me before you leave, and I’ll have a special treat for you, okay.” Mr. Jenson pats their heads and tugs gently on one of Mary-Anne’s pigtail braids.

“Okay!” The kids yell and jump up and down.

“Thank you for the vegetables,” I say, remembering my manners. It seems I need some prompting as well.

“Anytime.” With a wave, he follows Mrs. Jenson out and off the porch. When they’ve passed my house and are out of view, I turn to McKenzie, and she’s already resumed her prior stance; looking away, arms crossed, hating the world. Shaking my head I look to Connor, but he’s staring off to where the Jenson’s just disappeared. His brows are furrowed, and his arms are crossed as well. Looks like Mrs. Jenson leaked her bad mood into all of us.

Clapping my hands, I say loudly, “Who wants pizza?”

“We do! We do!” The kids yell and suddenly Grayson is running around my legs repeating Pizza over and over again. The screen door screeches open again, and Mark enters.

“Did someone say pizza?”

The kids are showered and bathed, curled up on the couch in the living room eating chips, popcorn, cookies, and whatever other junk food I could provide while they watch a movie. Grayson is playing a game on my Kindle, my last resort to get him to sit still for a little while when after dinner he got crazy hyper. I also folded and gave McKenzie my cell phone. I think I saw her smile a little. Thank goodness I have unlimited text and data.