Love You More(61)

We step off the patio and hustle the short block to the parking lot.

“Are you scared?” Phoebe whispers, fingers locking around mine.

“No,” I lie, squeezing back. “We’ll find her.”

We slide into the car, slamming our doors in unison.

“Where to?” Dean asks, the engine turning over.

“To Joan’s house. My parents’ street,” I say. “We can look for her on the way.”

He nods.

Headlights stutter across the lot. The lake slips from copper to pewter.

In the backseat, Phoebe sits rigid, eyes fixed on the darkening road.

The silence in the car builds like weather.





Chapter 34


When we pull up to Joan’s house, Mick is pacing the front yard, phone pressed to his ear. Phoebe bolts from the car and runs across the lawn, collides with him, arms tight around his waist. He strokes her hair and tucks his phone into his pocket as her face tilts up.

Dean and I watch in silence before opening our doors.

“They found her!” Mick calls out.

“Thank God,” I say under my breath.

Mick walks toward us, Phoebe still clinging to him.

“Is she okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. She made it all the way to the Kwik Trip.” Mick shakes his head, exhaustion etched across his face, sweat darkening his gray T-shirt. He looks past me to Dean. “I’m sorry to interrupt your dinner.”

“Don’t worry about dinner—we were finished anyway,” Dean says. “We’re just glad she’s okay.”

Seconds later, a squad car eases up the street, light bars flashing silently. We watch a young officer step out and help Joan from the backseat. Her hair is wild, her cardigan misbuttoned, her shoes caked with mud—but she’s smiling.

While Mick speaks to the officer, Phoebe rushes in with a tangle of hugs and reprimands. “Gram! We were so worried about you!”

Dean and I stand off to the side.

“Oh, heavens. I’m fine,” Joan says, smoothing her pants. “I was just going to the store.”

“You can’t walk to the store at night! It’s too far!” Phoebe says.

“I just wanted to bake a cake for Erin. She won the spelling bee.”

My heart clenches.

Dean slides his arm around me.

“You mean me, Gram?” Phoebe asks.

Joan blinks. “Yes. You.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Gram, but it’s not safe for you to walk alone at night.”

“Oh. Pfft.”

“Feebs,” I say.

She looks up at me.

“Why don’t you help Gram upstairs and get her into some cozy PJs?”

Phoebe nods, then takes Joan’s hand. “C’mon, Gram. Let’s go inside.”

When I turn back, the officer and Mick are finishing up.

Suddenly, it’s just the three of us on the front lawn.

Mick’s eyes flick to mine, then to Dean. “I was only gone an hour.”

“I know,” I say. “It’s not your fault. This is too much for one person. We need to get her into a home.”

He exhales. “Can you guys come in for a minute? I was hoping to talk to both of you.”

“Sure,” I say.

Dean and I follow Mick into the house, through to the family room. We sit in a loose triangle.

“So I talked to a lawyer yesterday,” Mick says.

I nod, waiting.

“He says it would help a lot if we had a will—or anything in writing.” He pauses. “We can’t rely on Joan’s word—even without the Alzheimer’s.”

“I didn’t see anything like that when I cleared out Erin’s desk, but I’ll look again tomorrow.”

Mick nods. “I put Erin’s things in the garage. And you might want to look through Joan’s stuff, too.”

“Will do,” I say.

“What if you don’t find anything?” Dean asks.

“Then we’re intestate,” Mick says. “Probate will crawl, and we can’t touch Erin’s accounts until a personal representative is appointed. Meanwhile, guardianship is in limbo until someone files. We’ll need two petitions—guardian of the person for Phoebe’s care, and guardian of the estate for her money. The judge can grant a temporary order, but it only lasts six months, so the clock’s already ticking.” He looks at me. “I heard Cara’s thinking about filing.”

“Seriously?” I say, my neck suddenly hot. “Who told you that?”

“Grapevine. Apparently she thought you were making up our conversation with Joan.”

“Shit,” I say.

“If she files first, she’d probably get custody. She’d have a compelling case—probably better than either of us.”

“That can’t happen,” I say, my words coming out too fast. “Phoebe doesn’t want to live with them.”

Mick nods. “I know. We need to file.” He pauses, his gaze drifting. “I’m happy to handle one or both guardianships. Or I can yield to you. We just need a plan.”

Silence stretches.

“I have a question for you,” Dean says, looking at Mick.