Page 25 of Just a Plot Twist
Stark clarity floods me. She has a point. I squeeze the papers in my hand tighter. No one thought their daughter, Marie, would die at age thirty from a brain tumor. Mom was three years younger than I am now when she died.
I shiver with sadness. And fear.
As healthy as my grandparents are, and though—by sheer force of will—they act like they’re going to live forever, they won’t.
I’m going to personally make sure their anniversary is as perfect as possible. It’s the least I can do. And the other stuff? The career in government? Well, that can be addressed later.I’m not even going to touch the comment about her funeral.
“Any ideas on how to get around on crutches in heels?”
She’s nearly to the door, but she stops and latches on to this, suggesting I go get some injections of cortisone and do some physical therapy so I won’t need the crutches, heaven forbid.
“It’s only a rolled ankle, you’ll be fine without them. Your dress won’t work with crutches.”
Whether it “works” or not, I don’t know how I’ll manage without crutches. I have six days to heal, though. Should be enough, right?
They prepare to leave, and I stand. Grandma’s gaze flashes around the house, like she’s remembering her daughter here. “Happy birthday, darling,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opens them, she pulls me in for an uncharacteristic hug.
I take it in, allowing myself to absorb the bits and pieces of love for me that usually get buried underneath a lot of other things.
“Speaking of my ankle, I need to soak my feet in Epsom salt,” I say before they scurry to the door and out into the night.
I don’t imagine the whiff of panic on their faces. They don’t do feet.
But somehow, I have to figure out how to “do” all the things to please my grandparents. Mention of funerals is like a shock of cold water to my system. I don’t have too many years left with them. I have to do all I can for them before it’s too late.
Chapter 8
Benson
For the first time in all the months I’ve been working at Foundations Financial, I arrive late for work.
Having Cinnamon in the house is throwing everything off balance. It was okay with the kids here over the weekend—Dax and Indie were riveted by every little thing the dog did.
But now they’re back with Danica and Harry, so it’s just Cinnamon and me. I think she misses them. She’s moping around the house, and I swear her eyes look sad.
To be fair, all bulldogs look sad to me, with their huge snouts and turned-down features. But she looked extra lonely.
Tell me about it, Cinnamon.
Trying to get her squared away with her meds, food, water, and sufficient bathroom breaks before I left for work meant I got here exactly six minutesafter eight. And I’m going to have to go back over during lunch to let her out. Not ideal.
Being late is the least of my worries, though. I found evidence of trouble from Peter Schiller in my perusal of some files this morning. Last week, I caught a blip of something out of the norm but chalked it up as some sort of error.
Now that it’s come up twice? It’s real and I need to discuss it with my father, Thomas.
Before I can even schedule a meeting with him for when he’ll be in the office tomorrow, he texts me, asking me to come to his office now.
So he’s working on a Monday, huh? His official working days are Tuesdays and Thursdays, but I’m not surprised he’s here. My brothers have mentioned his tendency to overwork. So, I finish signing some approvals for technology spend and make my way to his office.
Peter, my father’s long-time friend and the president of the company, is there when I arrive in Thomas’s office.
I greet him warmly, but I’m wary. Those hits from the servers have me worried.
I haven’t mentioned this to Thomas yet. Peter is, really, his only friend.
They must have just shared some sort of funny story because Thomas is…relaxed. And while he’s not laughing like Peter is, there’s an air of camaraderie in the room. It’s nice—and uncharacteristic, coming from Thomas.
Thomas spins in his office chair and smiles at me. “Peter was just telling me about how he accidentally fell in his pool last weekend.”
