Chapter Fourteen Peyton“Gram? Are you up?”
Apart from the low rumbles of the brewing storm, the house is uncharacteristically quiet tonight. Usually, when I return from a night out with Sabrina and Libby, I’m greeted by one of two things—Gram’s rapid-fire questions about my evening, or the sound of her snoring from the couch. But tonight? Nada.
I toss my keys onto the kitchen table, and the metallic sound echoes throughout the house. Where the hell is she?
I check the clock on the stove—it’s nine thirty. We haven’t even reached the time of night where the infomercials start playing yet, which is when Gram typically calls it a night. It’s not like her to opt for an early bedtime, especially on a weekend. Maybe she caught a ride to the senior center and just forgot to text me.
“Gram? You
