Page 64 of Just Beachy

He answers on the third ring. “Hey, Sydney. How’re you doing?”

“Great!” I lie.

“And Grand?” he asks. “How’s she?”

“Good!” I put a smile on my face to help me sound “upbeat yet nonchalant.” “She’s on a plane to Atlanta right now. Her best friend is in the hospital and Grand wanted to spend some time with her. Plus, she wants to see the family and check out her house for herself post-break-in.”

Okay, that was totally TMI. I clamp my mouth shut andremind myself to be careful not to lie too enthusiastically. Then I remind myself that this is not really lying. This is me trying to save my grandmother’s life.

“And, um, I have the afternoon off so I thought it would be fun to go to the shooting range and blow off a little steam.”

“I’m off this afternoon, too. Do you want to go grab lunch then hit the range together?”

I hesitate because I’d give anything for this to be just an ordinary day when Grand’s life isn’t in danger and spending time with Luke is an option. “I’d love to, but I have a really limited amount of time.” This at least is true. “I, um, wondered if I could borrow the pistol I used last time.”

“Sure,” he says after the briefest hesitation. “Do you want me to bring it by?”

“No! I mean, no thank you.” If anyone’s watching the town house, I cannot be seen talking to Luke. “I’m, um, already in my car heading back up the beach. Is it okay if I stop by to pick it up?”

“Yeah. Okay. See you in a few.”

Luke’s waiting in the parking lot near his truck when I arrive. He has a smile on his face as he hands me a small black canvas bag that holds the smaller Glock and a full magazine, but I can feel his full attention on me. He knows me far better than I’d like, so I flash him my biggest smile. “Should I bring it back to you when I’m finished?”Assuming Grand and I aren’t dead?

“No, don’t worry about it. Keep it as long as you like.”

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it,” I say as Ithrow my arms around him and bury my face in his shoulder so that he can’t see the panic and fear I’m trying so hard to hide. And because if my attempted rescue of Grand doesn’t go well, I might never see him again.

• • •

Back at Grand’s,I keep the gun close to me in case they decide to come after me andThe Madonnarather than send the car to pick me up as planned.

After an hour I’m close to climbing the walls.

My phone rings. I grab it. But it’s only Myra.

“I haven’t seen your grandmother around. Do you think she’ll be able to make her art class tomorrow afternoon?”

“Oh, um, I don’t think so. She’s been under the weather.”

“I thought something must be wrong. Why don’t I bring over some matzo ball soup? They don’t call it Jewish penicillin for nothing.”

“That’s so incredibly sweet of you. But please don’t do that just yet. She’s sleeping. A lot. And she really has no appetite. And I wouldn’t want you to be exposed to her germs. My throat’s already feeling a bit scratchy.” I use my acting skill to cough pathetically.

“Ach, I never get sick. I have the constitution of an ox.”

“No, really, Myra. Please…”

“Fine. I’ll leave it on the front steps when it’s ready and ring the bell to let you know it’s there.”

“No, Myra…”

But she’s already hung up. If Grand and I survive, I’m going to work on becoming a better liar.

• • •

I sit upon the couch all night worrying about Grand and all the things that could go wrong once the car arrives. After a cup of coffee that I hope will kick my brain into gear, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and put on clothes that I can move in easily. I make sure that the gun’s magazine is full and that the gun is not cocked. Then I spend thirty minutes practicing walking in the boots without favoring the one that has the gun in it. I spend another thirty minutes bending over, whipping the gun out, and cocking it so that I’m ready to fire. When I can do this smoothly in under ten seconds, I use the time that’s left imagining all the possible worst-case scenarios. The worst, of course, is that Grand is already dead, and they kill me the moment they discover I don’t haveThe Madonna. Then there’s the scenario in which they discover I don’t haveThe Madonnaand immediately kill us both. Or they kill me and torture Grand until she tells them whereThe Madonnais. Or they torture me until Grand tells them whereThe Madonnais, at which point they kill me then force Grand to take them toThe Madonna. I’m also somewhat worried that Myra will show up with her matzo ball soup at the exact time the car comes to pick me up. And she ends up getting killed, too.

When the dark sedan pulls up in front of Grand’s unit at twelve on the dot, I walk outside, trying to appear unafraid, which proves almost impossible when I see BrianBoyer behind the wheel. A second large scary man climbs out of the passenger seat, ushers me into it, buckles the seat belt around me, and puts a pair of sunglasses on me that are so dark, I might as well be wearing a blindfold. Then he slides into the back seat, where I can feel, but not see him, positioning himself in the exact middle of the back seat; a spot from which he can presumably shoot either of us easily.

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