“Come on,” he insists as he takes his seat behind the wheel. “I promise I don’t bite, and neither does Xena.”
I give Grams’s cart one more shot, but it doesn’t even try this time, offering a soft click and nothing more. It’s a testament to how much I love Grams that I jog over to Beau. There is nothing I want less than to be beholden to a Palmer.
Beau sets his hat on Xena’s head, wraps an arm around her, and slides her toward him on the seat to make room for me.
“All right,” he says. “Hold on tight.”
I don’t suspect Beau is a crazier driver than Grams, but I grab the bar next to the seat anyway. The cart roars forward, and it takes me a second to realize I’m clenching my teeth, bracing them against the rattling that never comes.
If Grams’s cart is rocky road, Beau’s is slow-churned french vanilla. Despite our speed, it glides over the bumps in the road with hardly a blip.
Beau glances over at me and smiles like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Sunset Harbor law enforcement needs to be able to get places quickly.”
Xena slumps over, resting her head on me so that Beau’s hat tumbles onto my lap. I have to grab it before it flies out of the open cart. “Can’t have our first responders arriving to Seaside Oasis bingo brawls after everyone else,” I say ironically.
Beau chuckles. “Is that what happened?”
I look over at him. “Did you get a call to come too?” I figured he was heading in that direction—not that his cop services were in need. My stomach plummets even further.
“Tristan texted me to come help out with a Code Sawy—” He clears his throat. “To help out with a situation.”
“Code Sawyer? You have a special code for my family?”
“It’s a dumb joke between Tristan and me. Not an official code. And it’s really just for your grandma. She tends to…get into pickles fairly frequently.”
I press my lips together and stare ahead as the senior center comes into view. Now I’m annoyed but also worried about whatpickleshe’s in today—and what the Palmers having a code specifically for her will mean for her experience at Seaside Oasis.
“I’m sure she’s fine, Gemma,” Beau says a little more softly, reaching over to pet Xena. He offers a little smile. “Nothing keeps Virginia Sawyer down for long.”
I don’t respond. Of course, he’s right, but hasn’t it been the Palmers doing their darnedest to keep Grams and the rest of us Sawyers down?
“Thanks for the ride,” I say as soon as the cart has come to a stop. I don’t wait for Beau, jogging toward the front doors and trying to decide if I should feel relief there’s no ambulance here. I don’t even know if the islandhasan ambulance. Maybe part-time.
A woman I vaguely recognize points me down the hallway, and I keep jogging with a racing heart.
I turn my head as I pass the cafeteria, then stop suddenly at the sight of a huge group of people congregated inside. My gut tells me I’ll find Grams somewhere in the middle of that crowd.
My gut is spot on. I shoulder my way through, excusing myself until I reach her side. She’s seated at a table, arms crossed defiantly with a few other seniors beside her. Tristan Palmer stands across the table, leaning forward on his fists. Beside him is Sandra Barry, a known Palmerite.
“What’s going on?” I ask breathlessly.
“Let’s talk about this with your granddaughter in my office, Virginia,” Tristan says. His voice is calm, but there’s frustration in the lines of his face.
Over the tops of the residents’ heads, Beau’s picture-perfect hair weaves through the crowd until he appears next to his brother, looking around to take stock of the situation.
“You can say whatever you have to say to me here.” Grams’s tone is defiant, but there’s something off about her voice. “I won’t be bought off.” She smirks. “At least not unless it’s with booze.”
There are chuckles from a number of the residents, while others share speaking glances.
“That’s not going to happen, Virginia,” Tristan says grimly. “You need to eat.”
My eyes widen. Has she really not eaten? Isthatwhy her voice sounds weird? Because she’s wasting away in the name of a mint julep?
I crouch next to Grams and look up at her. “Come on. Let’s go to his office and discuss it in private.”And stuff your face with some food.
“I want to discuss it here,” she says firmly. “I’m not the only one on strike.”
Sandra Barry turns to the others at the table beside Grams. “Raise your hand if you were planning on going on strike before Virginia Sawyer arrived.”
