Page 10 of The Beach Trap

It’s easy, in moments like this, to pretend he’s exactly the same. That there isn’t an invisible thief in his brain, stealing away his memories, his personality. His symptoms come and go, but right now, I can tell he’s my granddad. One hundred percent.

Martina waves. “Have a good visit, you two. Ellis, I’ll be back soon with your afternoon meds.”

“Meds? We don’t need no stinking meds,” he says with a wink, paraphrasing one of his other favorite westerns.

Martina walks away, laughing to herself, and I sit next to Granddad.

“How are you?” I ask.

“Oh, tolerable. Can’t complain.”

That’s my granddad. He never complains.

“I heard you went on a walk today to Dee’s.”

His eyes cloud over, and I’m nervous that he doesn’t remember, even though it happened a few hours ago. Then he smiles. “You know the food here is terrible, Blakers. I needed a big, juicy burger.”

I take his hand and squeeze. “You can’t go wandering off. It scared me to death, Granddad.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that. The last thing I want to do is upset my girl.”

I’m not sure what to tell him about the beach house inheritance. He always gets angry when the subject of my father comesup, and I don’t want to upset him. But I would like to discuss this with him. Granddad didn’t have fancy college degrees or a lot of money, but he’s always been pragmatic and smart, and I value his opinion.

“Random question,” I say, walking over to the kitchenette. He’s been losing weight, so I keep one cupboard stocked full of candy and cookies. “If you owned a house in another state and you needed to sell it, how would you go about doing that?”

I grab a container of chocolate-covered almonds and bring it back to the couch.

“Why would you have a house you don’t live in? Give me a couple of those, Blakers.”

I shake some nuts into his open hand. Onscreen, John Wayne is rounding up a group of inexperienced boys for a cattle drive. It’s one of Granddad’s favorites,The Cowboys. The first time I watched it with him, I was dumbfounded when John Wayne’s character died.He’s dead?I remember thinking.Just... gone?The Duke wasn’t supposed to die.

My father’s face flashes through my mind: standing in my mom’s little kitchen in Nashville, singing “Sweet Caroline” as he flipped a pancake.

He’s dead.

Blinking the memory away, I look over at Granddad. “Hypothetically. How would you go about selling a house in a different state? Get a good real estate agent?”

I’m certain Kat will buy me out, but I want her to pay a fair price. She grew up the daughter of a wealthy businessman, so I’m sure she’s inherited his savvy.

“Wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it for me, that’s for damn sure. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,” he says, which I must’ve heard a thousand times growing up.

That’s been Granddad’s philosophy his entire life. As a general contractor, he checked on every site every single day, making sure the work was going as expected.

Can I just pack up and head down to Destin? I’ve never been to Florida, and the gas money alone will probably be more than what I usually spend in a month. But he’s right—if I want to make sure I don’t get screwed out of this “inheritance,” I need to be there.

Gunshots echo from the television, and Granddad nods at the screen. “Now, that’s a man who knew how to take care of things himself.”

I’m about ready to ask him another question, but his eyes have lost their focus. I know from experience that he’s drifted somewhere into the past. So, I sit back against the sofa and pop a few chocolate-covered almonds in my mouth.

I hardly taste them, because my mind is running through options. I could take the dog with me—I assume the Vanderhaavens won’t care. It’ll be a long drive, but if I get a real estate agent and an appraiser to meet me there, hopefully I can wrap this up within a couple of days.

I’m not sure how to feel right now—I feel like I’ve stuck my hand on an electric fence, my body all buzzy and twitching—but it’s nothing like the overwhelming despair I experienced back when my mom died. I grieved my father a long time ago, after he skipped merrily out of my life, and I guess I’m done with all that, which is good. I have enough on my plate without adding any messy emotional crap for a man who left me twice by choice. Once when I was nine, and again when I was twelve.

Glancing at Granddad, I nod to myself. He’s absolutely right. I’m going to take this unexpected windfall and do something useful with it—make sure my grandfather is taken care of. After everything he’s done for me, it’s the least I can do. There’s noneed to revisit the past, to get all sentimental about my departed father, and definitely no need to reconnect with Kat. She never responded to a single letter I sent her after camp. Not even the one that was stained with tears.

I’ll drive to Destin, figure out a fair price for the house, and sell it. Just get in, get out, and get on my way.

CHAPTER THREE

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