Page 11 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

It hurts that she thinks I hadn’t followed up on the swan thing like she’d asked. Of course I did. I don’t take the mantle of favorite granddaughter lightly.

“Can we quit with the swan talk and move on, please?” Grandpa asks.

Grandma pats his arm and loops hers through his. She’s beaming. With a couple of swans in her future, nothing can damper her mood now. It’s nice to see because she’s been more irritable than ever lately. “Oh, you tell her, Vernon.”

“Tell me what?” Nerves shunt through me.

He clears his throat and draws up his back so that it’s straight as a board.

“You need to work with Norm Davies.” He adjusts the collar of his tucked in, blue checked button-down.

“He’s got the know-how and connections. He’s guided Phyllis Nimm and Martin Montague and many more to win big.

It’s time you got serious about this, Claire. ”

“Serious about…?” Oh no. This is going to be about their delusional dreams for me, huh? I sigh and rub my eyes. “Who is that?”

Grandma gives a quiet snort. “I told you she wouldn’t know.”

“Well, she should,” Grandpa glares at Grandma. “Norm Davies was mayor of Boulder for two terms a few years back. He’s made it his business to coach future civil servants. It’s time, Claire.”

I used to tell people when I was in elementary school that I wanted to become president. It was more that I wanted to be famous and, in my childlike comprehension, couldn’t figure out another way I could. But my grandparents took that idea and ran with it.

It’s like when you mention to someone you love the color yellow, and so forever and always from that point on, every gift they give you is buttercream or lemon or gold, even though you decided you stopped liking the color long before.

It’s like that, only way, way worse.

They’ll settle for me running for office here in Longdale, but they’d prefer a larger city. Their fervor for it has never died down. And to appease them, I went with it, too. I majored in political science. I was student body president in high school and student body treasurer at Colorado State.

And it was fun. I’m good at debate and I do care about my civic responsibilities.

“You want me to run for city council,” I say flatly.

“What we want you to do is move to Boulder, work for our company, and run for office there since it’s a bigger platform,” Grandma says. “But since you refuse to do that, we’ll take Longdale city council as an appropriate first step.”

I sigh. “And what does Norm Davies do exactly?”

“He helps people acquire a public office seat,” Grandpa says. “He’s well connected and savvy. He says you’ll have a real shot with your experience and volunteer work.”

“I’ll…think about it. Everyone else on the council is much older and more experienced.”

“But that’s perfect. You have to start out when you’re young. Longdale needs younger representation. And you’re a woman. That’s a huge selling point.”

Leave it to my grandfather to make my identity as a woman a “selling point.”

I shrug, even though the blood is pounding in my ears. “Thanks for letting me know about Norm. Send me his number and I’ll reach out.”

I don’t want to reach out and I don’t want to run for office.

I also don’t want to make it a thing right now.

I want to focus on the anniversary extravaganza.

Then, I’ll bide my time until I get up the courage to tell them that my childhood aspirations were a fleeting thing and I don’t exactly… want that right now.

How come even thinking that makes me feel guilty as sin?

Grandpa types on his phone and then smiles, a rare sight indeed. “I sent you the number, but I have been known to forget to hit ‘send’ before.”

My phone buzzes and I glance down. “Got it.”

But run for office? The city council’s positions are tenuous. They have to always be “on.” I rather like the behind the scenes, the nuts and bolts of running a town as the city manager without the pressures of asking a bunch of people to vote for me.

I don’t have the same dreams anymore, and I’ve explained this to them.

At least I think I have. Haven’t I? Besides, even if I haven’t said those exact words per se, I was hoping they’d assume by now that if I wanted to become mayor, I would have already set things in motion.

“No harm in giving him a call.” Grandma waves me off and begins gathering her things to head to the door. “And we’ll see you Saturday afternoon, if not before.” She strokes her pearls. “This is the biggest event of my life to date, the culmination of sixty years of blood, sweat, and tears.”

Grandpa grunts and picks up her large, gilt-edged notebook from the table. “Being married to me has been blood, sweat, and tears? Gee, thanks.”

I bite back a smile. Usually Grandma wouldn’t be so “crass” as to say the word “sweat.”

“Oh, Vernon, you know what I mean. We built our businesses together from the ground up.” She opens her purse and removes a small bottle of highly perfumed hand cream.

“That was the real blood, sweat, and tears.” She sets the bag back down on the table so she can apply the lotion.

“I was meaning—oh never mind. I’m just saying this is the biggest event I’ll have until my funeral. ”

“Patricia! Why are you bringing up your funeral?” His eyebrows knit together.

“Because we are getting up there in age.” She steals a glance at Grandpa. “When is there going to be another event like this moving forward except for my funeral?”

Grandpa sighs and shakes his head .

Stark clarity floods me. She has a point. I squeeze the papers in my hand tighter. No one thought their daughter, Marie, would die at age thirty from a brain tumor. Mom was three years younger than I am now when she died.

I shiver with sadness. And fear.

As healthy as my grandparents are, and though—by sheer force of will—they act like they’re going to live forever, they won’t.

I’m going to personally make sure their anniversary is as perfect as possible. It’s the least I can do. And the other stuff? The career in government? Well, that can be addressed later.I’m not even going to touch the comment about her funeral.

“Any ideas on how to get around on crutches in heels?”

She’s nearly to the door, but she stops and latches on to this, suggesting I go get some injections of cortisone and do some physical therapy so I won’t need the crutches, heaven forbid.

“It’s only a rolled ankle, you’ll be fine without them. Your dress won’t work with crutches.”

Whether it “works” or not, I don’t know how I’ll manage without crutches. I have six days to heal, though. Should be enough, right?

They prepare to leave, and I stand. Grandma’s gaze flashes around the house, like she’s remembering her daughter here. “Happy birthday, darling,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opens them, she pulls me in for an uncharacteristic hug.

I take it in, allowing myself to absorb the bits and pieces of love for me that usually get buried underneath a lot of other things.

“Speaking of my ankle, I need to soak my feet in Epsom salt,” I say before they scurry to the door and out into the night.

I don’t imagine the whiff of panic on their faces. They don’t do feet .

But somehow, I have to figure out how to “do” all the things to please my grandparents. Mention of funerals is like a shock of cold water to my system. I don’t have too many years left with them. I have to do all I can for them before it’s too late.