Page 96 of Just a Plot Twist
“Well, I do.” I take a deep breath and first glance at Grandpa and then Grandma. The lines splaying near her eyes seem deeper now, and her mouth still has a shadow of her worn-off, signature coral lipstick. “I heard you contributed a large sum of money to Peter Schiller and his daughter’s business?”
They both look surprised. They glance at one another. “We did,” Grandma says. “What’s the problem?”
“I can’t tell you what to do with your money, but I’m disappointed you contributed to something you knew would cause problems for the Tate family as well as Benson’s work.”
“Benson?” Grandpa asks. “The man you were with at the extravaganza?”
I nod. “He works for Foundations Financial.”
I give it a moment to sink in. Then, “What Peter Schiller did was in breach of his contract with Thomas Tate. You have a beef with the Tates, but Peter’s actions were wrong. I’m asking you to consider rescinding your support.”
“We’re joining them as silent partners. There are others besides us. Why do you care?” Grandpa says.
So, they reallyareintending to go into business with Thomas Tate’s enemy?
“I’ll get to that in a minute.” I start off theI don’t want to run for officebit with “Sometimes, people’s dreams in life change. What I wanted in elementary school isn’t what I want now. I haven’t for a long time.”
Grandpa understands first. “You don’t want to run for office.” He stares at the floor, his jaw moving around words he’s not willing to say.
Grandma’s face is white. Grandpa’s is ashen. He’s defeated but still fighting it.
We sit in silence.
They must be in shock.
But, regardless, I press on, tacking on in what probably appears to be a delightful little afterthought: that I’m dating Benson. I let it slip that I’ve never felt this way about anyone.
I don’t mean to go that far. But it’s true.
“I’ve never told any man that I’ve loved him before,” I add, in case there’s any doubt in their minds.
And I haven’t told him that yet, either. A cold sensation numbs my limbs.
Grandma breaks open her once-lipsticked, closely pursed lips to the beginnings of a smile. Yeah. I’m not surprised she enjoys that little tidbit.
Grandpa’s face goes still and he ceases his small sighs of disgust. “You love ’im, Claire?”
I nod. Swallow hard. “I do. And I’m going to tell him.”
“So, you haven’t yet?” Grandma lets a breath out likePraise the heavens, we can still stop this.
“I will. Because I do. I’m in love with that man, and I don’t care that you won’t like that he’s a Tate.”
“He’s a Tate?” Grandma and Grandpa say in unison. Grandma’s face is one of hardened steel, but Grandpa’s? His is one of grief-filled shock.
“Uh huh. He’s Thomas Tate’s son.” I explain all I know about Benson’s story. I talk for a long time. And they keep listening. There’s a visible flinch on Grandma’s end when I tell them about Dax and Indie. But then I grin even harder.
“I’m crazy about those kids,” I say.
We sit in silence, the grandfather clock in the entryway through the wall behind me ticking with the urgency of a bomb about to go off.
Finally, Grandpa opens his mouth. “You’ve given us a lot to think about.”
Grandma nods, suddenly looking tired.
My throat is sore from my strong, impassioned stance. And when it’s clear they’re not ready to say anything else, I stand to leave.
“Thanks for hearing me out,” I say, my knees soft and spongy. For all that I said, I’d hoped I’d be stronger by now. Free.
