Page 33 of If You Claim Me

Half an hour later I arrive at Meems’s house. Cedrick greets me at the door.

“How’s she been today?” I hang my keys in the entry and trade my outdoor shoes for my indoor ones.

His expression is pinched with worry. “Tired, sir. She’s been busy.”

“Busy with what?”

“Moving her things into the guest quarters.”

I frown. “Why would she do that?”

He stares at me. I stare back.

He arches a brow. I arch one back.

“She would like you to move in here with your fiancée.”

I poke at my cheek with my tongue. “This is a twenty-two-thousand-square-foot mansion. She doesn’t need to move anywhere.”

“You try telling her that, sir.”

“Fuck, she’s stubborn.”

“Seems to be a family trait.” He clears his throat. “Madame Grace intimated that Ms. Reformer would be visiting this evening.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Will she be taking public transit again, sir?”

I sigh and rub the back of my neck. “Probably, yeah.” In hindsight, I should have gone to the Watering Hole and stopped to pick her up on the way home.

“If there’s sufficient time, I could retrieve her, sir, if you’d like,” Cedrick offers.

“Yeah, actually that would be good.” I have no idea how long it takes to get here by bus, but a car would be far more comfortable. “Oh, and there’s a bakery close to the library called Just Desserts. Meems loves their lemon cake.” I didn’t have time tostop when I went to pick up her books last time. “Can you make sure Mildred comes in with you and chooses something for herself?” I start down the hall.

“What about you, sir?” Cedrick calls after me.

“Don’t worry about me, but bring back something for the staff.”

I find my grandmother in her reading room with Ethel and Norm, who are filling boxes as she directs them. She’s wearing a blue dress, with her hair and makeup done like she’s ready for Sunday Mass.

I cross my arms and lean against the jamb. “What are you doing?”

“Connor!” Her wide smile drops. “Where’s Dred?”

“Her name is Mildred.”

“She asked me to call her Dred, so that’s what I call her.”

“There’s nothing dreadful about her,” I mutter as I cross the room and fold her into my arms. She feels frailer, smaller. I wish her heart wasn’t struggling to keep up. “Can’t you manage this sitting down?”

She brushes me off. “I’m fine.”

“Your doctor would beg to differ.” She’s been sleeping more lately, fatiguing quickly.

“I’m not lifting anything. I’m just directing Ethel and Norm.”

I arch a brow. “So you’re micromanaging.”