“And now her hip is too,” Deedee adds.
Beau nudges me, and I look up at him, then follow his gaze. Just behind Grams’s chair, there’s a silver contraption. A walker.
My stomach twists into knots. “Did you see a doctor?” It’s a dumb question. I know the answer even before Grams looks at me as if I asked her which Beach Boy is the hottest. Anyone who knows Grams knows that answer is Dennis Wilson.
“A visit to the physical therapist tomorrow is the most we could get her to agree to,” Deedee says.
Hey, that’s more than I would’ve expected, and it tells me that, despite her insistence that she’s fine, she must be hurting quite a bit. And here I am, abandoning her in two days.
“Enough of this nonsense.” Grams squints at Beau suspiciously. “So, you escorted Gigi here because she couldn’t find the way.”
My gaze flicks to Beau, and the little spark in his eyes at the sound of my nickname resigns me to future teasing.Oh, joy.
“What’s your excuse for taking her to the cafe yesterday?” Grams asks like he’s on the witness stand. “Or for driving her here two days ago?”
“Grams,” I say. “Officer Palmer gave me a ride because your cart wouldn’t start. Remember? I told you.”
She perks up, bracing herself with hands on either side ofher chair and tries to push herself up. “I’d better go talk to Dax about it.”
I hurry over and keep her from getting up. “It’s working now. I drove here in it.”
“Oh.” She lowers herself into the chair again with patent disappointment on her face.
Beau’s eyes sparkle with amusement.
I shoot him an annoyed look. My attention is quickly pulled back to Grams, when she grunts with discomfort, rubbing her knee.
I hate seeing her like this, watching an aging body rein in that fiery spirit. What if she falls again? Sure, she’s in a senior center, and they’ll take care of her. But she’ll have no family around. No one who knows her well enough to try to cajole her into letting the doctor take an X-ray.
Maybe I’m rushing home too quickly. The emails from Insight have diminished significantly, which means they’re doing better now.
“Any buyers?” Grams asks.
I shake my head. “The house isn’t even on the market yet. Eugene is still trying to decide how to price it.”
She gives a littlehmph.
I hesitate for a few seconds. But I know what I need to do—and how I need to go about it so Grams doesn’t fight me on it. “Oh! I meant to tell you. I’m pushing back my flight a few days.” My heart sinks even as I say it, but I know it’s the right choice. This way, I’ll be able to leave knowing Grams is settled and as healthy as she can be, with a house ready to sell. She’s been in that house for over fifty years and wouldn’t have the first idea what to do to get it sold or how to work with a realtor. I shudder to think what her idea of negotiating with buyers would entail. Compromise isn’t a Virginia Sawyer strength. Seaside Oasis ain’t cheap, either, and she’ll need every penny from the sale to fund her life here. It’s almost six thousanddollars a month, and if Grams has anything to say about it, she’ll live past a hundred.
“What your granddaughter means to say,” Beau chimes in, “is that she can’t bear to leave Sunset Harbor so soon.”
Grams cackles, slapping her uninjured knee with a hand. “I’ve been trying to get my family back here for years. But they didn’t move all the way across the country for nothing.”
I cock an eyebrow at Beau as Grams tries to push herself up.
“You won’t hearmecomplaining you’re staying longer, Gigi,” Grams says. “Anyway, it’s time for lunch. I’m starving after all that yoga.”
“You didn’t even?—”
She falters, and I rush to her side, but Beau is ahead of me, both hands under her left arm to support her. Grams smacks one of his hands, but she still uses him to get up, reconfirming my choice to push back my flight. My grandma accepting help from a Palmer isn’t something to be taken lightly.
“I could’ve done that myself,” she declares once she’s up.
“I have no doubt about that,” Beau replies, picking up the light cardigan that fell to the grass in her struggle to stand. He gently shakes it out, then places it around her shoulders before grabbing the walker for her.
My chest tightens. It’s normal to be affected by watching a full-grown man take care of an elderly woman who would use him as a dartboard if given the chance, right?
That’s gotta be right at the top of the list of personal Kryptonites.
