Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Be there by nine.
Waiting in his truck in the Logan cellphone lot, Ford glanced between the text he’d sent to Colby and his dashboard clock, wondering if nine was too optimistic. He’d already missed the “before dinner service” he’d originally promised her. On what was a big day for her.
He felt terrible about it.
About lying to her.
But it was about to be an even bigger day.
Hopefully by nine.
And he hadn’t really lied. He just hadn’t told her why his plans had changed.
As of this morning. For what it was worth, he should’ve been on the ferry back to Martha’s Vineyard by now, only a couple hours late versus the many that were accumulating while the skies above Logan stayed obnoxiously quiet. A sentence he never thought he’d utter.
He reached out a hand to turn up the ’Canes game on the radio but stopped short when his phone vibrated, the area code on-screen giving him pause.
943.
Atlanta.
Not a number he recognized, and with that area code, it was a relatively new number. So likely not his parents, not his older brother, not his ex, nor any of their friends.
Unless they’d changed their numbers like he had.
The ringing stopped.
Then started again.
He hit Accept. “Hello.”
“Uncle Ford, is that you?”
“Griff?” It had been more than a year since he’d last spoken to his nephew, but he recognized the teenager’s voice. “How’d you get this number?”
“Grabbed Dad’s phone. You’re saved in there.”
Funny, Cooper had said he never wanted to hear from him again and was deleting his number. The momentary surprise, though, was eclipsed by the unmistakable chaos of a hospital emergency room in the background.
Worry rocketed up his spine, and he leaned forward in his seat. “Why are you at the hospital?”
“No one’s hurt,” the teen rushed to clarify. “It’s Meemaw. She took the car out, got as far as the grocery store, then couldn’t remember why she was there or how to get home. She got upset. Someone called 911.”
“Fuck,” he cursed, then thought better of it. “Shit, sorry.” Then realized he’d done it again and raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. Chefs are almost as bad as sailors.”
Griff chuckled, a good sign. “It’s okay, Uncle Ford. I’m seventeen. I’ve heard worse. And besides, fuck and shit are just words someone arbitrarily decided were socially unacceptable.”
He always had been more mature than his parents gave him credit for. As such, Ford talked to him like the young adult he was. “Meemaw’s dementia is getting worse?”
His grandmother, Griff’s great-grandmother, had started exhibiting signs several years back, just like her late brother and sister had at the same age.
Arguments over her care had been one of the increasing many between him, Coop, and Josh.
Had been part of the falling out between him and his parents too, his mother not wanting to accept the fate that might likewise befall her.
“Yeah, this is the third incident this year. First time to the hospital, though.”
“That could be a good thing.”
“No cap. I’ve been telling them for months to take away the car.
I even brought Dad and Josh a stack of brochures for the top memory care places in town.
” Which they’d no doubt ignored. Which his mother would refuse to even look at.
“She’s ninety,” Griff carried on. “She’s gonna hurt herself or someone else. I don’t want to leave and—”
“Breathe, Griffin.” The poor kid was working himself up. No doubt already was if he’d gone as far as stealing his dad’s phone to find his number.
Because his father had been no help.
Because Meemaw had practically raised Griff while Cooper clocked overtime at the office, and while Cooper’s first husband, who’d been the one who insisted on adopting, had spent all his time on the golf course.
Until Coop had fallen into Ford’s husband’s bed and Cooper’s first husband had taken the hefty divorce settlement and run.
And somehow, according to Cooper and Josh, it was all Ford’s fault.
“Uncle Ford?”
None of that mattered right now. “I’m here, Griff. And you can be there for Meemaw.”
“But I won’t be in the fall.”
College, right. “So that gives me some time to figure this out. Can you send me the names of those assisted-living places you found?”
His relieved sigh echoed over the line. “Bet.”
At the same time Ford’s phone dinged with a flight notification. Air traffic was finally moving again and the plane he was waiting on was scheduled to land in ten.
“Okay, Griffin, listen to me. I have to go now, but you can text me at this number any time. I need you to be my eyes and ears there until I sort this, and I’ll keep you updated too. Does that work for you?”
“That works.”
Ford had no idea how he was actually going to make it work, but his nephew’s “I miss you” was enough to guarantee he’d try his fucking hardest.