Page 17 of Could Be Worse

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Dad.”

“So you’ll meet with Bryce?”

“Who?”

“The construction guy I know.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

“Awesome. I’ll set it up.”

Of course he would, and I’d attend the meeting to make my dad happy.

Although, I had no intention of opening a dance school. I still dreamed of performing on Broadway. I just didn’t know how to get back to Manhattan yet.

6

Bryce

The past week had sucked balls, as we said in Minnesota. I lost the bid for the shopping center. I was so pissed and disappointed, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Nana Bea had fallen while taking her garbage can to the curb on pickup day.

I should’ve done it.

I always did it.

But I’d been so consumed by my latest failure, I’d forgotten. I felt like the worst grandson on the planet… the worst man in the universe.

She’d been in the hospital for a few days, and thankfully, it was only a minor fracture, but that wasn’t the point. She should’ve never been injured to begin with.

Tomorrow she’d be released, and I wanted to bring her to my house, but she refused. Her close friend, Wanda, was going to help out during her recovery. Not me, her flesh and blood, but an old friend.

I shouldn’t take it personally, even if Nana had said I had my hands full with the twins. But I did take it personally. She was the only family I had left in this world.

And it went without saying that if I had a successful business, I could afford to hire a private nurse. And a nanny for the girls. A cleaning service. Personal shopper and cook…

My phone vibrated on the kitchen table. I didn’t recognize the number, but I answered it.

“Hello?”

“Bryce, it’s Zander out at The Bullet. I heard about Nana Bea breaking her hip. How’s she doing?”

“Fine. It was a minor fracture. She gets released tomorrow.”

“So she was telling me the truth.” He chuckled. “Can never tell with that one.”

I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. “Very true. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

Nana had known Zander’s mom when she’d volunteered in the facility Donna lived in before she passed away years ago from Alzheimer’s. I had still been in elementary school and recalled seeing Nana sobbing over her friend dying. Zander and Nana hadn’t kept in close touch. Both were busy with their families, but they ran into each other around Bastion, and Nana sent him a Christmas card every year.

“I plan on stopping by her place after she’s settled in. My wife wants to bring her hotdish and cinnamon rolls.”

“She’d love that.”

There was a long pause, but before I could ask if there was anything else, he said, “Can you meet me at the old warehouse on the northside of town? The brick building. Do you know it?”

“I do. What for?”

“To see what your thoughts are on renovating it.”

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