Page 10 of Vicious Arrangement
We have dinner every Sunday and sometimes during the week, but he tends not to call around when I’m either going on or off shift. And definitely not during it.
“My girl,” he says, voice a little tight, like he’s upset, and it sends my heart into freefall. “Can you come to my office?”
“Of course.” I stop outside the hospital, an ambulance whizzing by to the emergency section. A slithering cold winds through me. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” The assurance rings a little hollow.
And I start speed walking in the direction of his Chelsea office, glad it’s not too far from me, ten or so blocks but walking’s faster than a train if I factor in getting to the subway and then catching the train, along with possible delays which happen all the time with breakdowns and overcrowded cars.
Forget an Uber or a taxi at this time.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine. We’ll talk when you get there. Marla will wait for you.”
I disconnect the call and push myself faster, cursing the traffic lights against me as I dodge and dart around the people on the streets. The hospital is a public one, and it’s on the west side, so I don’t know why my walk suddenly seems to take three times as long.
It’s the panic that bubbles like acid in my veins.
Ever since I can remember, there’s been me and Gramps. He’s all I have and I’m all he has, and the last time he wanted to talk face to face about something was when he told me he had cancer.
But he’s a cancer survivor, having gone into remission three years ago.
Cancer can return. Or other things can happen. He just went to a funeral for an old friend of his, and he’s had other health scares in the past.
My heart thumps harder as I speed walk, as fast as I can.
“He didn’t want to talk on the phone, so?—”
I make myself stop. This isn’t going to help, working myself up and it won’t stop whatever he has to say either.
But the thing is, I can’t. I love him, and yes, maybe I’m overprotective, but he’s a good and loving man, the only father I’ve known. I was so young when my parents died, and I only know them through Gramps and photos.
The cancer returning is a fear I usually keep locked away tight.
Because it’s insidious and?—
“Stop.”
It’s just after six when I arrive at Sanderson Inc.
The building is quiet, and the security guard lets me in. I press the elevator to the top floor where the executives and Gramps’ office is.
I hate the stillness and quiet. I know everyone’s gone home. Maybe the janitor is here on a lower level, or a junior staff member on another floor, but up here, it’s quiet as the grave.
Walking as slowly as I can I make my way down the hall, past the empty offices and the lounge, and to the big glass doors, beyond which is Marla, his personal assistant’s desk, and then Gramps’ offices.
She sees me and smiles. “He’s in there, honey. Just knock.”
When she goes, I knock.
“Come in.”
I turn the handle and step inside the bright office with the curved arched floor to ceiling window, a warm and welcoming space I know as well as his home and mine.
“Gramps, are you all right?”
His shoulders slump as he breathes out and comes around his desk to hug me tight, kissing my cheek. “Better now I’m looking at you.” Then his voice changes. “Please sit, Aria. I need to talk to you.”
