Page 80 of Last Wish Wedding

Mac still knelt beside the chair, one hand gripping his grandfather’s, the other pressed against his own mouth, as if physically holding back words or emotions. Truman looked down at him with infinite tenderness.

“Don’t go getting maudlin on me, lad,” he said gently. “This isn’t a surprise. We’ve known this was coming.”

“Knowing and accepting are different things,” Mac replied. His voice was steadier now, though his eyes remained bright with unshed tears.

“Well, I’ve accepted it,” Truman said. “Now I need you to.” He looked between Mac and Kelsey. “Both of you. No tiptoeing around. Just truth and as much laughter as we can manage in the time we have left. Bring that boy around more, I do enjoy talking to the lad.” They had brought Noah to see Truman after school the week prior, and the two had hit it off.

Kelsey felt something shift in her chest, a deepening respect for this man, mixed with grief for what Mac was about to lose. What they were all about to lose. “Okay,” she said.

“I’ll try,” Mac added, finally releasing his grandfather’s hand and rising to his feet. “But I’m not making any guarantees about the laughter part.”

Truman smiled, and the expression brought a momentary glow back to his face. “Fair enough. Now, wasn’t there talk of lunch? Dying doesn’t mean I’ve lost my appetite.”

Mac let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Turkey sandwiches. I’ll go get them.”

“I’d like a few minutes with my new granddaughter, if you don’t mind.”

After he left the room, Truman watched Kelsey with knowing eyes. “He hasn’t told you yet, has he? About the photographer.”

Kelsey’s breath caught. “You know about that?”

“My grandson thinks he can protect everyone by keeping secrets.” Truman shook his head slowly. “Some lessons take longer to learn than others.”

“What is it, Truman? The Prescotts again?”

The old man sighed, each word measured as if conserving energy. “It’s not my story to tell. But make him talk to you. Tonight.” He reached for her hand again. “Life’s too short for secrets between people who love each other.”

Kelsey felt the words like a physical touch against her heart. “We don’t… it’s not like that.”

“Not yet, maybe,” Truman said with a smile that held both wisdom and mischief. “But I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not watching. And how you look at him.”

Before Kelsey could respond, Truman’s expression shifted, a shadow of pain crossing his features. His hand tightened on hers.

“Truman? What’s wrong?”

“Just a twinge,” he said, though his breathing had quickened. “Would you mind… the oxygen?”

Kelsey quickly retrieved the portable oxygen concentrator and placed the nasal cannula. As she adjusted the flow rate, she watched Truman’s face carefully. The relief was almost immediate, but the episode had drained what little color remained in his cheeks.

“Better?” she asked softly.

Truman nodded, eyes closed. “He’ll need you,” Truman said suddenly, voice barely above a whisper. “When I’m gone. He’ll try to push you away. It’s what he does.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” Kelsey replied.

Truman’s eyes opened, finding hers with surprising clarity. “Good. Because so is the cell where his heart is imprisoned.”

The afternoon sun was warm on Truman’s driveway as Mac walked Kelsey to her car. Behind them, through the bay window, they could see Truman dozing in his armchair, oxygen tubing looped beneath his nose, a nurse quietly arranging his medications nearby.

Kelsey paused by her driver’s side door. “He’s resting comfortably now, but I adjusted his medication schedule. The morphine needs to be more regular.”

Mac nodded, his gaze fixed on the window. “I’ve never seen him look so… small.”

“Mac,” Kelsey said softly, drawing his attention back. “Truman said you know something I don’t about the photographer the Prescott’s have following me.”

Mac ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. His eyes scanned the quiet street before meeting hers. “Not just a photographer, it’s a private investigator.”

“You’re sure?”