Page 9 of Grave Beginnings

“I’m driving,” I told him.

He blinked wide eyes at me.

I folded my arms across my chest. “If you think I’m lettingyou driveanywhere,you’ve lost your marbles. If he doesn’t like that?” I waved at the phone, uncertain what my reception would be from the brother I had never met. “Oh well, he’ll just have to deal.”

Grandpa stared at me a minute then said into the phone, “I’ll be there soon. Will you be okay until I get there?”

“Yeah,” the voice on the other end of the line breathed, tone hitched like they were avoiding tears. “Sorry.”

“No reason to be sorry. Be there soon.”

He shuffled into his shoes. I grabbed my keys and pointed at Peanut Butter who lay sprawled across the back of the couch. “Be good. Keep an eye on Grandpa’s place. You’re in charge.”

He gave me a bored chirp with half-closed eyes as I held the door for Grandpa and made our way down to my car. His nosey neighbor, Sandy, stood near the mailboxes and glared at me.

“Sandy,” Grandpa muttered with little regard.

“No animals allowed on-site, Jacob. You know that.” Her gaze went to the band on my arm. Did she think I was a shifter or had she seen me bring Peanut Butter in?

“Just visiting, ma’am,” I said, giving her a very blunt nod and shoving every ounce of my Minnesota Nice passive-aggressive nature to the forefront.

“You remember my grandson, the police detective?” Grandpa asked as I slid past him to my car and unlocked it.

She huffed at him and wandered off, as if irritated to be reminded I was a cop. SED now meant a whole different thing, and yet not, but I didn’t correct either of them. I held the door open for Grandpa.

“Old biddy,” Grandpa said as he got in the passenger seat.

I shut his door and got in the driver’s side, putting my phone on the charger and turning the music down before I turned the car on and steered us toward Regions.

“Do I need to know anything?” I asked.

“About what? Sandy?”

“Ivan.”

Grandpa deflated. “Not my place.”

“They are doing it again, aren’t they? Kicking out a perfectly good kid ‘cause he doesn’t fit their mental image of an ideal kid.”

Grandpa snorted. “You were about as perfect a kid as I could have asked for. Good grades, never started trouble, but took care of yourself and never backed down. Made something of yourself. Ivy is scattered…”

I sucked in a deep breath and concentrated on the drive. The evening traffic was heavier than I liked in downtown, but Regions was centered in St. Paul, not far from the Capitol, and I was used to the Minneapolis side more than our quieter twin with its spaghetti junction. I followed the signs, finding a parking garage and a smaller pickup area near the emergency room.

“Any idea where he might be?” I asked as I steered us around the ER looking for anyone who might look like my little brother.

“No,” Grandpa said, but his gaze was peeled too.

“Let me find a parking spot. You can wait in the car. No need for both of us to run around the hospital.”

“I’m going with you. I brought my cane.”

I swallowed my protest and found my way to the first available handicap spot and put the placard in the window. He glared at me. “What? I got the damn thing for you!”

Grandpa grumbled the entire time it took him to get out of the car about how the spot was best saved for someone who needed it more. He needed it plenty. I didn’t help. He hated it when I helped, as if help somehow made him an invalid. The man was almost 90. I’d have thought help would have been nice. But I waited until he hobbled to my side and I hit the wheelchair button for each door, letting him pass ahead of me.

The main reception area of the hospital was somewhat quiet as it was more for directing folks to patient rooms. The handful of people lingering to the side was likely overspill from the ER.

“See him anywhere?” I whispered.