Page 42 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

Claire

Mayor Whitten’s office is a shrine to all fish that ever lived, and his head is a vessel for every fishing story that ever happened.

At times, I tune him out because my thoughts are on my grandmother. I ache to fix this, to help her somehow. But when I think of her future, fear zips across my skin, and I force away the thoughts of what things might be like for her moving forward.

Grandpa called Sophie last night after helping Grandma to bed.

She came right over and we cried it out.

We ordered memory journals online—one for each of us to write down all the memories of our grandparents as they come up.

Not sure if that’s more for them or for us, but either way, it feels right.

And then we played rummy, like old times. And cried some more .

The mayor called me into his office several minutes ago. I’m afraid I might know what for.

As if to match my dour mood, the sinking feeling tells me it’s going to be a no. He’s going to tell me the council (because of his recommendation) has chosen Rich. And all these fishing stories are his way of delaying having to tell me the bad news.

My hard heart stones up even more firmly, shackling itself to my ribcage in an iron trap of protection.

I can’t say I’m surprised. I figured this might happen.

But fresh devastation starts to filter in. I wanted this job because I wanted to serve Longdale. Now that Rich has it, what will I do? I’m not going to stay on as the assistant. That would require me working with Rich every single day and I’m not going to do that.

I’m startled by the mayor’s big grin. When did he finish his fishing tale? And why is he smiling? Isn’t that a little unkind?

He sticks out his hand across the table. “Congrats and all that jazz!” he says. I take it, numbly.

Huh?

“We’d like you to get started as manager yesterday if possible. With Inez gone, things have been piling up.”

Wait, what?

I allow myself a tenuous smile as I accept his proffered hand. “If I could find a time machine, I certainly would,” I manage.

He laughs as I clear my throat. Is this real? I’m Longdale’s city manager for real? Why was the mayor stalling with the fishing stories?

Oh, he probably wasn’t stalling, he was just excited to tell me his stories!

My excitement is tempered by a wave of fear. I have so much work to do .

After discussing salary and other details, Mayor Whitten stands and so I do, too. “Thanks for this opportunity,” I tell him.

“I would say we need to train you on everything, but honestly, you’ve pretty much learned everything already.”

I shrug, finally finding my smile. “I have. But I’ll make sure and go over everything with a fine-tooth comb!”

I leave his office, my legs rubbery. This is it. The moment I’ve been dreaming of for years. Since I started working for the city, this is what I’ve been shooting for. This is how I help Longdale the most.

I’m not happy…yet. I’m sure I will be, but last night’s news and all that I explained to my grandparents are weighing heavily. Besides, I miss Benson. I ache to tell him everything, and I don’t know if I can.

I lock myself in my office and, because it’s easier, I video call Inez first.

“Take that, Rich, you snivelly, conniving, smelly old—” Inez says over the phone. She balances a baby—I think it’s Raya—on one shoulder so she can raise her glass of orange juice in a toast.

“Okay, okay, these walls are paper thin, Inez.”

“I’m happy for you,” she says in a defensive tone. “There’s no one better to continue where I left off. You did it, Claire!”

“Are you ever sad that you’re not coming back?”

A pause. And then, “Sometimes.” She sets her orange juice on the table, causing her phone to slide and flip, camera side down.

She rights the phone and pats Raya’s back.

“When I was pregnant, I had big doubts about my choice to leave the job. And I’ll likely go back to work in one capacity or another someday.

But the moment I first saw my daughters, nothing mattered but my little family. Everything changed in an instant.”

I wipe a tear from under my eye. My throat is too thick to speak .

“Don’t let a good thing go, Claire,” she says. “There’s a timeline to some things in life, so focus on those things and the rest of it will work out.”

She’s talking about Benson and the kids. I swallow and nod. She must sense I’m not in the mood to talk because then she tells me some colorful stories about newborn life. The sheer quantity of diapers she’s gone through already? Unbelievable.

After we end the call, I dial Sophie and tell her the good news.

She about breaks my eardrum her scream is so loud.

With a deep breath, I call my grandparents.

The ick of coming clean to them, of telling them about Benson and everything, was swept out the door with the news of Grandma’s condition. None of that matters.

It matters in the sense that I’m still not going to run for office. I’m still upset they’re supporting the Schillers, and my feelings for Benson are stronger than ever.

But the anger I felt towards them for their decisions and their approach with me these last few years has softened.

The call goes straight to voicemail, so I leave a message telling them the news.

Hopefully they remember how to listen to their voicemails. It’s hit or miss if they will or not. Again, things click in my brain. I can see Grandma’s struggles now, and I ache for her.

And then, Benson. I’ve saved the best for last.

His face will light up and he’ll croon with satisfaction and pride. And then I’ll ask him to meet with me as soon as possible. I have to tell him about my discussion with my grandparents.

I want this man in my life. I love him .

So I call him, but it also goes to voicemail. This time I hang up before leaving a message because I want to tell him in person.

Once again, I’m aching for him. I ached for him last night when I saw that I’d missed a call from him while I was at my grandparents’.

I called him back, but he didn’t answer.

I considered stopping by, but I didn’t. The uncertainty of exactly where we stood and the devastating news about Grandma propelled me home.

The force of my feelings pushes me to lean forward, my palms on my desk, my breaths labored as the truth trickles through me.

I’m thrilled I’m the city manager of Longdale. But I would give it up if I had to choose between it and Benson. I would hand it over to Rich with nary so much as a drop of jealousy if I could be with Benson.

Okay, there would be a drop of jealousy. There would. I do not have the piety of a nun.

Wrapping my arms around my middle, I bend in half on my chair and soon, my cheek is resting on the cool surface of my composite desk.

This promotion doesn’t mean anything without Benson.