Page 4 of A Very Grumpy Firefighter

When I glance at the screen and see that it’s my mom calling, not Lymric, I almost hit decline, but I know that she’ll just keep calling until I finally do pick up.

“Hey, mom.”

“Lilou! There you are!” My mother says scoldingly.

Her tone sets me on edge instantly. She always answers the phone like this. As if I’m a thing that she’s misplaced.

“Yep. What’s up?” I ask as I fit my key into the lock on my door and twist.

I kick the door open, set my purse down on the table by the front door, and then kick the door closed after me, taking out some of my annoyance on the poor wood. My favorite ivy plantthreatens to fall off its shelf as the wall rattles, and I hurry over to save it before it can fall and break.

“I have some sad news, baby,” she starts, though I notice that she doesn’t sound all that sad.

“Okay…What is it?”

“Grandpa Joe had a heart attack,” she says, and my knees buckle.

“What?” I gasp as I sink down onto my small sofa in shock. “I…I just talked to him yesterday,” I whisper.

The sound of loud voices comes from her end of the line, and she laughs at whatever is said, not caring or noticing that she’s just dropped a bomb on me.

“He’s stable now, I guess, but he has to be moved to a full care facility. The hospital said that they would send over some options for you,” she says, her voice raising to be heard over the music and voices on her end.

“Are you going to go see him?” I ask her.

“I can’t get away, baby,” she says, and I tense at the nickname.

She’s always called me baby, and I hate it. I’ve asked her to stop, but she never has.

“Of course,” I say bitterly, but she doesn’t seem to hear me.

“I also can’t help with his new place. Money is just a little tight right now.”

My stomach drops as I think about my bank account balance. There’s no way that I can afford a facility for him by myself. Not a good one anyway.

“You can’t help even a little?” I ask her, and she sighs.

“No, baby. Sorry.”

She doesn’t sound sorry at all, and I want to yell at her and remind her that this is her dad that we’re talking about, but I know that it wouldn’t do any good so I bite my tongue.

“Let me know what you decide,” she says, and I grind my teeth together.

“Will do.”

She ends the call, and I want to scream. Instead, I close my eyes and count to ten.

My mind is racing. I can’t believe that this is happening. I talked to him yesterday morning, and he had seemed in such good spirits. He was making plans to come up to Wolf Valley and see my tiny apartment. We had joked about him trying to fit on my couch, and I had promised that he could have my bed for his trip.

Now…

I should go see him. I’ll figure out a full-time care facility and then head down to Santa Barbara to help him get settled.

Anger bubbles to the surface as I think about how callously my mom pushed him off onto me. I never knew why, but my mom always seemed to hate her dad. Grandpa Joe just said that they had different priorities and left it at that. I think that meant that he was disappointed in her life choices, in the way that she always treated me like an afterthought. He was always there for me though. The summers spent with him were some of the best times of my life.

My phone dings with a new email, and I see that it’s all of the information that the hospital forwarded to her.

I shouldn’t be surprised that I have to handle arrangements and paying for things. My mom has always been a flake, more concerned with herself.

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