Page 221 of By A Thread
I dug into my backpack in a frantic search. I finally found it at the bottom under a banana and last month’s issue ofLabel.
The letter from the foundation.
Lady George Administration Memory Care Grant.
Lady. As in Faith’s club, Ladies and Gentlemen, where he’d first touched me.
“Please, no,” I whispered.
George. George’s Pizza, where we’d first met. My stomach dropped.
Administration. The admin pool. Where I’d fallen in love with him.
No. No. No.My head didn’t want to believe it. But my heart, that stupid forgiving traitor, was fluttering with idiotic hope.
I dialed the nursing home. “Sandy in the office, please?”
I waited impatiently while the transfer went through.
“This is Sandy,” she answered brightly.
“Oh thank God. It’s Ally Morales. I have a very important question.”
“Yes,of course, Mr. Swanson. I’m happy to help.”
“Is Deena there?” I guessed.
“Absolutely. That’s confirmed.”
“I’ll keep this short. Did Dominic Russo have anything to do with the grant for my dad?”
“Uhhhh…” Sandy’s nonanswer was damning. “I don’t think I have that information currently,” she said in a voice two octaves higher than normal.
“Sandy, are you lying to me or Deena right now?”
“Sometimes both options are viable,” she said.
“Has Dominic Russo visited my father?” I asked.
“Well, with HIPAA, I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” she said lamely.
“Oh my God.” I rolled my eyes. “Call me when Deena goes for her blood of children break.”
I put my head between my knees and tried not to barf everywhere.
“You okay back there?” the driver asked nervously.
“Fine,” I lied. “Absolutely fine.”
I sat back up and grabbed the sale paperwork out of my bag. The buyer’s entity was listed front and center.
Alominic Trust.
I made a half groan half whine.
The driver swerved to the side of the road. “Lady, please don’t barf in my car.”
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