Page 132 of Sweet Caroline
“Wherever I end up—” he starts. “Seattle or Lennox Valley orTimbuktu?—”
I can’t help but smile.
“I want you to know the house is yours.”
My amusement vanishes. “What?”
“The deed’s already signed over. The place is paid for. So you’ll only have maintenance and repairs to deal with.”
“Grandpa,” I say, shaking my head. “This is… No, I can’t accept?—”
“Nonsense,” he says, squeezing my fingers. “I know how much you love it here, Caroline. You’ve come alive since you’ve been living with me. You’re finally chasing after what you want and building your own life, on your own terms. It would make me happy to see you stay.”
“What about my cousins? Is it fair to?—”
He lifts a hand, cutting me off. “I’ve evened things out with their inheritance. And, if any of them give you grief about it after I die, I will personally haunt them.”
I blow out a laugh. “Quite the threat.”
He winks and pats my arm. “Anyway, just keep that in your back pocket.”
“What do you mean?” I tilt my head in question.
“Well,” he starts, his demeanor turning more serious, “something tells me your parents might think moving me to the city will sway you to do the same.”
My face falls. Of course. They’re trying to make my decisions for me, as usual. Dad’s always seen my move to Lennox as some kind of rebellious phase that would eventually end. And, without Grandpa here, he’d assume I’d have no reason to stay.
Setting my jaw, I get up once more and move to leave.
“Oh, and, for the love of God,” he calls after me, “find a way to work something out with Miles.”
I open my mouth to protest, knowing there are multiple reasons we can’t be together, but he holds up a finger to stop me.
“Don’t argue with a broken old man. I’ve seen how that boy looks at you.”
“Wha—? How does he look at me?”
“Like you hung the damn moon.” He picks up the book of crosswords and waves me away. “Now go give ’em hell.”
29
CAROLINE
The drive into the city does nothing to calm me down; it only gives me a chance to stew and get more worked up. Maybe it’s the heartbreak of the last few weeks, or maybe the lifetime of bending to my parents’ will, but I’m exhausted. And, while my personal demons aren’t contained in a liquor bottle, what I said to Miles still applies to me too: I owe it to myself to keep—or rather,start—fighting.
When I get to the house, I head straight for Dad’s office and barge inside.
“You think you can just decide where Grandpa lives?” I stride across the room, closing in on his obnoxiously huge desk. “Without even asking him? Or me?”
“I’ll have to call you back.” He hangs up the phone. “Caroline…”
“Where do you get off, thinking you know what’s best?”
Dad puts his hands up as if trying to slow me down. “Sweetheart, what’s gotten into you?”
“Caroline.” My mother’s voice comes from behind me. “I heard shouting. What are you doing here?”
My eyes jump between my parents as Mom drifts into the room. “You don’t care about Grandpa or what he wants, do you?”
