Page 7 of Enemies in Paradise

And, as it turns out, it takes a long time to get this sort of approval. It’s been almost a year since I started the process and I haven’t had an update for a few months. I probably should have followed up with Lester, my contact with the city council, although I know every single member.

Darlene Voglmeyer better not be part of the holdup. She’s never forgiven me for driving her son Lyle’s snowmobile into thelake. In my defense, he said I could, and the attached tow rope was supposed to pull it back out.

I was only thirteen. How did I know the idea would end with his snowmobile at the bottom of Smuk Lake and me mowing the Voglmeyer’s lawn for free all summer?

You’d think she would have moved on by now, but from the way her whole face pinches into an unspoken scolding each time she sees me, I’m guessing she hasn’t.

Too bad she’s also the mayor of Paradise.

I take a deep breath, then climb out of my truck with Molly close behind. The faint notes ofThe Sound of Musicdrift from inside. It’s Mom’s favorite movie. With her very progressive form of early-onset Alzheimer’s, she doesn’t remember how many times she’s already watched it from one day to the next. She only knows it’s familiar.

I, on the other hand, know how often it’s on. So often, I have the entire three-hour musical memorized, including the dialog. Every time I hear them, the songs offer me reassurance Mom is still here, even though I’m tired of hearing them.

The one thing that distracts her from it is when I read to her. Medieval fantasy is her favorite—always has been. Mom tried to get me to read some of her books for years. I wish I would have done it before she got sick, not just because she was right that I’d love the genre, but also because I recognize now that our shared love for it could have been a connection point. Now it’s too late.

I’m about to open the front door when it swings wide and my cousin’s three-year-old, Charly, jumps into my arms with her dog, Uncle Rad, behind her. I crouch to scratch Rad’s ears, then throw Charly into the air, making her squeal. She’s my cousin, Sebastian’s, soon-to-be step-daughter, but in the few months she and her mom Hope have been in Paradise, they’ve melded into our family faster than gelatin in water.

Molly runs inside, and Rad—picking up on the playful energy—bounces on her. Uncle Rad is Molly’s pup, and they yip with a happiness loud enough to drown out the sound ofI Am Sixteen.I toss Charly in the air a few more times, grateful for the sound of laughter that’s become too rare in this house. When I stop, she clasps me in a hug that’s closer to a headlock.

When she pulls back, she pats my cheeks and bushy beard. “You hay-wee.”

“The Miners are on a winning streak. I can’t shave.” I scrunch my face and rub my nose against hers, making her burst into giggles.

I’ve tried to teach her as much about hockey as I can, including the no shaving superstition. Not that she’ll have to follow that rule when she’s on my team in a few years—none of the girls will—but it’s important that she grow up to know every aspect of the game.

Charly squirms from my arms and dashes toward the TV room, calling for Papa Sparky and yelling that Uncle Big is here. I smile—as I do every time—at the nicknames she’s given us in the past month since Hope got engaged to Sebastian. But even the sunshine Charly brings everywhere she goes isn’t enough to banish the dread that’s settled into my chest since seeing Georgia and her friend at the shop.

That dread only grows as I follow Charly into the TV room, where I know Grandpa will be with Mom. I’ve seen a much softer side to him since Mom’s diagnosis five years ago, but he’s still scary with his buzz cut and steely gray eyes. The only person who’s never feared him, besides Mom, is Charly, who’s already snuggled in his lap by the time I catch up. Following her lead, both dogs drop at Grandpa’s feet.

I kiss the top of Mom’s head and get a confused glance in return. Her eyes search my face, looking for the memory of whoI am. My breath catches, until finally, her mouth slowly spreads into a tight smile of vague recollection.

“Bjorn. Nice to see you again.” She turns back to the TV, and I rub my fist against the tightness in my chest.

For some reason, my given name is the one that sticks with her lately, not the name everyone’s called me my entire life. That, more than anything else, gives me the sensation of being a stranger to her.

No one calls me Bjorn… except Cassie Lee, apparently. But I wouldn’t want her to use Bear, anyway. We are not friends. Now less than ever.

I turn to Grandpa, who quickly looks away from me, but not before I see the tension in his mouth. He presses his lips to the top of Charly’s head, she snuggles closer to him, and I know he’s remembering doing the same with Mom when she was a little girl. He’s never said as much, but more than once, I’ve caught him close to tears when he looks at Mom.

“How’s she been today?” I ask in a low voice, then sit perpendicular to him on the big sectional sofa.

He shrugs and shakes his head, but says nothing.

So…not good.

Also, probably not the best time to talk to him about the shop, but there’s never going to be a best time. Mom will continue to decline, and his property taxes will keep rising as long as people keep moving to Paradise, raising property values. I know he’s tired of cold winters, but he won’t leave Paradise for months at a time before Mom…

I don’t dwell on why Grandpa believes he could be in Arizona by next winter.

“Can we talk, Grandpa?”

He glances at me, then back at the TV. “I’m listening.”

“Maybe in the other room?”

“I don’t want your mom trying to stand on her own. She could fall.”

I suck in my breath, debating whether to wait until Dad or Britta get home, but who knows when that will be. And Grandpa usually leaves as soon as Dad shows up. He’s never liked Dad much. None of us can figure out why, but since Mom’s been sick, I’ve decided it’s because Dad took Grandpa’s little girl away from him. And now she’s really going away … a little bit further every week, it seems.

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