Page 8 of The Opposite Effect

The annoying shrill of my cell phone wakes me from my slumbering state. Shifting my eyes to the alarm clock, a disgruntled groan rumbles from my parched lips.

Who the fuck is calling me at eight in the morning on a Monday?

Sundays and Mondays are the days Inked’s doors remain closed. Although we could trade seven days a week, from the beginning, Ryder scheduled his staff on a five-day roster to ensure a good work-life balance.

After running my hand over my newly clipped hair, I snag my phone off the bedside table. My sleepy eyes pop open when I discover who was calling me.

Fuck, what has she done now?

I dial a number I know by heart before pressing my cell close to my ear.

“Caramine Care, Daniel Beckett speaking.”

“Daniel, it’s Brax Anderson. I just missed your call. Is everything okay?”

He sighs down the line. “We had a fewissuesoccur this week that I’d like to discuss with you in person.”

Great.

“All right.” I swing my legs off the bed. “I’ll be there in around forty minutes.”

After disconnecting the call, I enter the bathroom to get ready while my brain tracks the events that transpired since the last time I received this same phone call.

Two hours later, I’m walking out of Daniel’s office.

“I’ll have a word with her before I leave, but I assure you the incident that occurred earlier this week won’t happen again.”

Daniel curtly nods before offering me his hand to shake. “She certainly keeps us on our toes. No one could ever accuse your grandmother of not having enough spirit.”

Laughing, I spin on my heels and stride down the hall. A lack of spirit isn’t something my grandma could ever be accused of having.

I’m not at all surprised when I walk into my grandma’s room at the assisted living home she’s a resident of to find her going toe-to-toe with an orderly unpacking her recently packed suitcase.

“You better not steal any of my panties. I’ve had those panties for four years and don’t want some young grub like you stealing them.”

She’s aiming for her voice to be vicious, but I hear slight laughter in her words. The orderly—who would be in his mid-thirties—cranks his neck to my grandma. Shock and a slight bit of horror are marring his face.

“Don’t look at me like that, young man. I know all about menand their weird fetishes these days. My navy-blue striped sailor boy legs vanished last month. Poof. Gone. Not seen hide nor hair of them in over a month.” Her words come out with a husky lisp since she doesn’t have her full set of dentures in place.

“Grandma, stop giving the staff a hard time. You know as well as I do that you’ve never owned a pair of boyleg panties.”

She huffs, crosses her heavily wrinkled arms under her chest, then strays her rheumy gaze to the gardens outside her window. “I’d own a pair if they let me out of this hellhole,” she mumbles under her breath.

Today has been my grandmother’s fourth attempt to break out of her assisted living facility the past three months. She only moved into this facility as the staircase in my apartment became too much for her to handle. Although we considered moving to a more suitable location, with me buying a share in Inked and the housing market rocketing in this area, we both agreed there was no viable option other than her moving into an assisted living facility.

We visited numerous aged care facilities the four weeks following our decision. Caramine Care was the last facility we visited. With its approach on free living, a bustling social calendar, and the fact it isn’t referred to as a facility for seniors, it seemed like the ideal residence for my grandma.

Obviously, we were wrong.

After gesturing to the orderly that I will finish unpacking the suitcase, I span the distance between my grandma and me. “What am I going to do with you, Grandma? Mr. Beckett said you nearly gave some of the other residents a coronary.” I crouch in front of her and peer into her shimmering blue eyes. “He said it took over two hours to get Mr. Peter’s heart rate back under control after the stunt you pulled earlier this week.”

She rolls her eyes but maintains her resilient stance, her lips as tight as her silver ringlet hair.

“Mr. Beckett would like me to inform you that although the hydrotherapy pool is set to a warm eighty-two-degree setting, it is not a bath.” I cough, clearing my throat. “Grandma, if you wish to remain living at Caramine Care, you must wear swimwear at all times while using the facilities.”

I try to keep my voice serious, but when the corners of my grandma’s red-painted lips curl into a cheeky smirk, any chances of me keeping this situation within chiding territory falters.

“If they don’t want their residents using the bathing facilities for their intended design, they should have clear signs displayed throughout the premises for old girls like me.”

---