No hands go up, and the silence is heavy with awkwardness as Grams shoots glances at her co-conspirators to convey the depth of betrayal she feels.
I grab her hand and squeeze. “Come on. It’ll be a proper Palmer-Sawyer showdown.”
Her gaze holds mine, then flicks to the Palmer brothers. “Fine.”
My eyes shift to Beau, who’s watching me with appreciation that makes my heart sputter like Grams’s golf cart.
The crowds part like the Red Sea, and Grams and I follow the Palmers and Sandra out of the cafeteria with our heads held high. Inside, I’m torn. I want to back up Grams, but I can’t in good conscience support this. Not the hunger strike, and not the demand for booze.
Beau holds open the office door when we get there, waiting while the rest of us filter through.
Tristan runs a hand over his mouth as Beau shuts the door and Grams and I take our seats. Tristan is clearly stressed.
Join the club.
“I understand you dislike our alcohol policy, Virginia.”
“It’s a silly policy,” she barks back.
“And I can respect that opinion,” he says. “But you have to understand that allowing alcohol on the premises increases our liability insurance premiums significantly, which are costs that get passed along to residents like yourself. It’s also led to a number of regrettable incidents endangering our residents, whose safety is our first priority. It’s not just here, either. We’ve eliminated alcohol across all Palmer properties. But the policy is only part of this, Virginia. This is a very serious situation. Wecannothave you leading hunger strikes at Seaside Oasis. It puts our residents in serious danger. Mr. Crane’s blood sugar was alarmingly low this morning.”
I feel sick inside. Grams would never knowingly do anythingto endanger one of her friends, but when she’s on a mission, she’s hyper-focused on her goal.
“I’m sure you understand we can’t tolerate this type of behavior here,” Tristan says.
“You want to kick me out,” Grams says, almost taking pleasure in the words.
“I don’twantto,” Tristan counters. “But your current behavior may force my hand. I have to protect our residents, Virginia. Including you. I’m sure your granddaughter is worried. Right, Miss Sawyer?”
I don’t know what to say. I’m between a rock and a hard place here. I don’t want Grams to feel betrayed if I side with the Palmers, but how can I do anything else? What will she do if she gets kicked out? The woman shouldn’t be living on her own at this stage.
So, what do I say?
I feel Beau’s eyes on me. He’s using those cop powers to see through me. I can feel it. “Maybe,” he begins, “it would be best if, before we discuss things more, Mrs. Sawyer has a bite to eat and something to drink. Non-alcoholic,” he clarifies before she can offer the suggestion on her lips.
“I won’t eat,” Grams promises.
Beau shrugs.
“If you don’t,” Tristan warns, watching as his brother starts rummaging through a desk drawer, “we’ll have no choice but to have you transferred to the hospital for IV fluids and monitoring.”
Grams’s eyes bulge behind her Coke-bottle lenses. No word strikes revulsion within her like the wordhospital.
Beau emerges from his search with a small bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, which he pulls open casually—and loudly.
Grams’s eyes dart to the chip bag, and hunger sparks in them.
Beau pops a chip in his mouth like he’s completely obliviousto the way his snack is affecting the starving old woman in the room. He knows exactly what he’s doing though, and I can appreciate it.
Secretly.
“And I supposeyou’llbe the one to handcuff me and take me there?” Grams thrusts her chin toward Beau.
He chews and chews, his brows knitting with the effort. “Mm,” he says, like he’s just now processing how tasty the chips are. He swallows with effort, then looks at Grams. “I’ve got a new set of cuffs, Virginia. Much comfier than the last ones you wore. Padded interiors.”
My head whips toward Grams. “You’ve beenarrested?” I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised, but you’d think I’d have heard about it, at least.
“A witch hunt!” Grams says. “That’s what it was.”
