Page 112 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire

“Being here and away from the day-to-day grind of everything has given me time to take stock,” he says. “Let’s face it, sweetie. I’m only going to get less mobile, not more.”

I might know that Paige is right about selling being the sensible, logical, dispassionate thing to do. But Grandpa’s surprise change of heart makes my soul tremble at the thought of losing the sanctuary. Of not having the place that’s been the one constant in my life. The steady rock that I, just a moment ago, realized makes meme.

“Your knees are healing so well.” Even I can hear the panic in my voice.

“But then it’ll be my hips, or my shoulders, or whatever.” He gestures to himself from head to toe as if parts of him might start falling off at any second.

“But I’m going to get you help.” A tight desperation grips my throat. “Mrs. B. is going to run the volunteer recruitment station at the Thanksgiving open day, and you know for sure she’ll commandeer every willing pair of hands she can. There’ll be lots of help in place by the time you come home.” I force down a swallow. “It’ll be fine.”

“Frankie, darling.” He reaches across the gap between our chairs and takes my hand. “Sometimes things have to change. We don’t always want them to. I certainly wish your grandma was here with me and we were still laughing together as we muck out the stables every morning.”

A hundred tiny needles stab at the backs of my eyes.

“But that’s not how things are.” He pats the backs of my fingers. “I wish I was as capable as I was when I was thirty-one. Sadly, I’m not.”

“But what about the donkeys?” The words scrape out of me.

“There are other rescues we could move them to.”

The constriction in my throat turns to a rocklike lump as my vision blurs through welling tears. “But Jenny and Jack need to be together.”

“And we’d make sure they stayed together, sweetie.” He squeezes my hand. “Any of them that are bonded would stay together.”

“But I’m bonded to them too.” And now I can’t stop them—the tears roll freely down my cheeks, a constant stream of sorrow that I’m going to have to say goodbye to the best part of my life, the part that was the icing on the shit cake of how foolish I was for letting myself like Miller so goddamn fucking much.

“You have your life in Chicago,” Grandpa says.

“That’s not my real life.” The words leave my mouth on instinct without passing through any conscious filter.

“What does that mean?” His brows draw together with concern.

I’m not even sure how to explain it to myself, never mind someone else. “It’s like the person in Chicago is a person I made up. A part I play. A part in a performance that I’m not even sure I like any more. Or ever did.”

“Well, goodness.” Grandpa lifts my hand and kisses the back of it. “I guess there’s been a lot of new things rising to the surface these last few weeks. New things can stir up all kinds of feelings and confusion. I’m sure when you get back there you’ll be just as happy asyou were before.”

That’s kind of what I’m worried about. Spending longer than a couple of days in Warm Springs for the first time in years has made me realize I’ve never really been happy in Chicago. Not really. Not like I am here.

I wipe my eyes with my cuff.

“Is that nice young man still here?” Grandpa asks. “The one who was helping you out?”

As I shake my head, the silent tears turn to torrents of body-racking sobs.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” His voice cracks. “Come here.”

He tugs at my hand until I move to sit on the arm of his chair. Then he wraps his arms around me and rocks me side to side like he did when I was an upset little kid.

“TheLions’ Denis on in a minute. You still like that show?”

“Hmm,” I manage.

“Then how about you stick around for a bit and we’ll watch it together? I love seeing that Leo guy rip into the terrible ideas.”

“He’s funny,” I say through a sniff.

And I’m transported back to being a kid, climbing onto Grandpa’s lap when I was upset about something, and he’d watch whatever cartoon I wanted with me to cheer me up.

He gives me a big squeeze.