Grandpa's New Hole: Chapter Two

The narrow kitchen was a sliver of morning light, the frosted window above the sink scattering gold across the chipped countertops. Janey stood there, her bare feet planted firm on the hardwood, a soft cloth in her hand as she traced the edges of a row of picture frames. Dust lifted in faint clouds, catching the sun, and she moved with a brisk precision—swipe, fold, swipe again—like she could scrub away the restlessness itching under her skin. The air smelled of lemon cleaner and old wood, a sharp tang that mingled with the faint tobacco scent clinging to everything in Al’s house. She reached for the broom next, its bristles whispering against the floor in rhythmic swishes, her body swaying slightly with each stroke.

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