Page 8 of Enemies in Paradise

“It’s about the shop…”

Now he looks at me. “Did you finally hear from the city council?”

I pause, then shake my head.

“Georgia showed it to her friend today,” he says, sounding almost repentant about it.

“I wuv Geoja,” Charly pipes in.

Grandpa nudges her off his lap and hands her a plastic bowl with a few kernels of popcorn at the bottom. “Take this to the kitchen for Grandpa, please Charly girl. Then find a story for us to read with your Great-Aunty Heidi.”

After she dashes out of the room, he turns back to me. “If Georgia’s friend Cassie makes an offer, I’ve got to sell. I can’t give the land to you.”

“I know, Grandpa.” I lean my elbows on my knees and clasp my hands. “But can you give me a little more time? The proposal process takes a while. It’s been close to a year since I submitted it, so I’m sure the city will consider it soon.”

Grandpa’s eyebrows go up, and he scoffs. “Soonin government time is not even in this century. You want the city to listen, you’ll have to speak, not just send in a proposal.”

A tight knot lodges in my stomach. I know I need to be more assertive about my proposal. I should go to the monthly city council meetings to state my case in person. But I hate speakingto people, especially a room full of them. And I thought I’d have more time.

Which is the story of my life.

I thought I’d have more time to play hockey my freshman year of college. More time to bring my grades up. More time with Mom after I dropped out to move home and help with her care.

But the past five years haven’t been enough. The further she slips away, the more determined I am to make sure she’s the one not forgotten.

That’s why I want the park with the hockey rink. The pond she loved and the green space surrounding it will be named after her.

Seb’s the only person who knows this, aside from Grandpa. But Grandpa isn’t in favor of the idea. He said parks are named after dead people, and Mom’s not dead yet. I hadn’t thought of that until he said it, and now I don’t want to tell anyone else my idea in case they have the same reaction. But it’s in my proposal.

“Does Charly need some help in there?” I rise, but Grandpa grabs my arm before I stand all the way.

“Let her be. Your dad’s got child locks on everything.” His words catch, and we exchange a look of understanding. The locks aren’t to keep Charly safe. They’re for Mom.

With a breath, I sit down again and Grandpa continues. “Hope keeps saying everybody needs to quit babying her. Charly’s learning to do things by herself.”

His steely eyes hook mine. “Same goes for you. Giving you that property won’t teach you to work to get what you want or to do things that make you uncomfortable.”

“Didn’t ask you to give it to me, sir.” I force the words out through clenched teeth. “Only for a little more time. At least until the hockey season is over.”

Dad reminds me all the time Grandpa was a military man back in the day. Giving orders is how he communicates. There’s love in his words. It’s just hard to hear them sometimes.

Grandpa lays a heavy hand on my knee, pulling my eyes back to his. “I know that team is important to you, but you should spend more time with your mom. We don’t know how much time she’s got left where she’ll know who we are. She needs us.”

I swallow hard and nod. Not because I agree—Mom barely knows me already — but because that’s the only thing I can do. There’s no use explaining to him that with the full-time nurse we’ve hired for Mom, Ineedsomething to do. I won’t be taking care of her as much as I have been. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t. She needs someone with medical training.

Even though my days caring for Mom leave me emotionally wrecked and physically exhausted, I fought giving them up. I’m the youngest in our family. I’ve had the fewest years with her. But taking care of her brought back memories of when I was too young to go to school, but my siblings were gone most of the day.

Mom and I were together from morning until late afternoon. First, we’d go to Breakfast at Britta’s,which was still Granny’s. I’d eat ebelskiver for breakfast, then she’d give me little jobs in the kitchen to “help” her. Then we’d go to the Garden of Eatin’ and prep for lunch and dinner.

Some people might say what Mom did was dangerous—taking me to work in restaurant kitchens—and she should have left me with a babysitter. But Mom made sure I was safe while also making me feel important enough to do a “big boy” job. She protected me without sheltering me.

And I hate I can’t protect her or keep her safe.

I could still be here during the day, even with the nurse. The problem is, the nurse Dad hired is my ex, Grace. That’s good for Mom, because Grace is a familiar face, but not for me. Gracewould like to getfamiliarwith me again, and that wouldn’t be good for either of us.

But even if I could find the words to explain all this to Grandpa, the emotions I can’t show him catch in my throat.

Noises come from the kitchen, and I push myself from the couch. “I’m gonna check on Charly. Just wanna be sure she’s okay. I won’t help her or anything,” I add with a touch of sarcasm.

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