Inside, Mrs. Westerlind was sitting by the window, staring out to better times. Claire crouched by her wheelchair, touched her paper-thin skin. “Good afternoon, Minnie. The flowers down at Presley Park are beautiful. I saw Timothy in the newspaper on Friday—he won the Fourth of July fishing contest. Such a handsome great-grandson you have.”
Minnie blinked, slowly turned her head. Claire smiled at her. “God loves you, Minnie,” she said.
Then she got up and waved to Ellery, sitting in a chair by the table. He was working on a Scrabble board, one gnarled hand arranging the pieces.
She headed down the hall to her grandfather’s room. Maybe she’d find a way to volunteer here after Grandpop moved home.
Stopping by the nurses’ station, she asked, “Is Dr. Samson in yet?”
The nurse made a face. “Sorry, Claire. He’s gone for the day. But he already spoke to your parents, I think.”
“They called?”
“Honey, they’re here, with your grandfather.”
Claire stilled. Here? Now?
Deep breath.
That didn’t have to change anything. Once they saw the house, saw that she could care for her grandfather . . . Claire found a smile. “Thanks.”
She took a quick, full breath and headed down the hall. Mom, Dad. I’m so glad you made it. It’s so great to see you! She cycled the words through her head until she meant them and then opened her grandfather’s door.
“It’s my property. I will do what I want with it.”
She stopped just over the threshold, letting the door whoosh shut behind her. What—?
“Claire bear!” Her mother, dressed in jeans, a white blouse, and a pair of dock shoes, got up from her chair and headed for Claire, arms open. Wanda Gibson didn’t believe in hair dye, so there were strands of gray tucked in with her dark hair, cut into a manageable shag. The years had gained on her, but not by much, and she still had the strong grip of a trauma surgeon used to making hard decisions. She pulled her daughter into a hug. “I’ve missed you, sweetheart.”
Claire took the chance to sink into her mother, to cherish her embrace, however fleeting this moment might be. Because she had no doubt her grandfather had just laid down the law—and he was right. It was his property, and they couldn’t fly in here and yank it from him.
Her father had also risen and come over to greet her. He’d put on a couple pounds overseas, but it didn’t show much on his tall frame. His hair was thickly salted, his eyes still warm—he resembled a wizened old professor rather than a missionary general practice doctor. He kissed the top of her head.
“We just got into town or we would have called,” her mother said. “You look good. Have you been gardening again?” She picked up her daughter’s hand, examining her fingers.
“Working the roses at Presley Park.”
“Claire does many of the gardens around town, Wanda,” her grandfather said. He looked at her with a smile, her partner in revolution.
“Well, that’s a fine hobby,” Wanda said. “I can’t keep a cactus alive.”
“That’s okay, darling. Just stick to people.” Rick Gibson pressed a kiss to his wife’s cheek.
Claire knew he didn’t mean it as a slight. Really.
“How are you today, Grandpop? I’m sorry I missed the doctor. Did you talk to him about going home? Did he give you the all clear?”
She’d raised something from the dead there because the room went silent. Grandpop reached for her hand.
She stared at it, his grip in hers, the way he tightened it. And . . . Oh no. She started shaking her head.
“Claire, we all know that house is getting to be too much for me. The wood heater, the plowing just to get out in the winter. Truth is, my bones are tired.”
Her throat tightened. “But I could take care of all that—”
“No, darlin’. You need to stop worrying about me and start figuring out what you want to do with your life.”
But . . . Grandpop was her life. And Deep Haven and Jensen—
“Besides, Jensen has offered me a tidy price. Enough to purchase a place at the senior center condos—and enough to pay for you to start college.”
Jensen offered . . . “When?”
“I talked to him on Friday.”
She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe for the coils around her chest. Friday. After he’d kissed her. After he’d acted like maybe he’d stay. Here in Deep Haven. With her.
Her mother’s hand curled over her shoulder. “It’s for the best, honey. And it’s so generous of your grandfather to give you this start, isn’t it?”
Claire tried to smile—she did. But her eyes were clouding.