"He's been making these little comments around the office - I think it's just the office so far - about how it's a shame that Mr. Reese has lost his edge."

I gape at them.

CJ continues, "How of course that's to be expected, he supposes, when someone gets into their 70's, and what an inspiration Mr. Reese is continuing to try to run a law firm and handle complex transactions, when a lot of people in his situation would just retire."

Now I'm fuming. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with my grandfather's mental acuity."

"I know, right?" CJ says. "And when he gets pushback - which he usually does - he just says oh, that's good to hear and that he was probably wrong on what he thought he was picking up on. But he does it with this skeptical look on his face."

"And if he does it often enough," Martina says, "even people who know better will start looking for signs that aren't there."

"Exactly," CJ says. They turn to me. "I'm ashamed now to admit I was starting to wonder myself before you had that talk with me. Once I started looking at Dylan in a new light, I realized he'd been planting these little seeds all along."

"That man is just vile," Martina says, her voice trembling with loathing.

"He's using it as another way to come at you," CJ tells me.

"What do you mean?"

"He's positioning you as some sort of Hail Mary pass by your grandfather to try to retain control of the law firm. And then he drops these little comments about how wouldn't have it been so much better for Mr. Reese to start giving some of the reigns to a local lawyer with experience, rather than bringing in his granddaughter from out of state who hasn't even been practicing law for much more than a year and expecting her to save the firm."

"The firm that doesn't need saving," I say slowly.

"It's almost diabolical," Martina says, squeezing the sides of her fountain drink cup so tightly I'm afraid the plastic lid is going to shoot off and spill the contents everywhere. "The question is, what are we going to do about it?"

"I think we need to go to my grandfather."

"Really?" CJ looks dubious. "What if he fires Dylan on the spot and Dylan starts spreading this stuff all over town?"

I consider this. My grandfather does have a reputation for taking decisive action. I can visualize him summoning Dylan to his office and then telling him to pack up his stuff, take his clients, and get out.

"You have a point," I say. "And if he's out of the firm, we won't know what he's up to."

"Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer," Martina quips.

"I'm not sure who said that," CJ observes, "but it's probably good advice."

"It might not be advice my grandfather would follow."

"Maybe there's a way we could set him up so that he traps himself," Martina suggests, and we all sit silently while we ponder that.

"Let's not mention it to my grandfather now," I finally say, "at least until we come up with a plan."

CJ nods. "There has to be a way to trip him up. Anyone who lies and schemes as much as he does is bound to make a mistake at some point."

"And when he does," Martina says, "we'll be waiting."

"Not just waiting," I say as the germ of an idea begins to form in my brain. "We need to be more proactive than that."

"What do you have in mind?" they both ask me, almost simultaneously.

"Let me think about it a little longer before I run it by you both. I need to sort a few things out first."

"Okay, just make sure you include me," CJ says, resting a hand on my arm. "Mr. Reese has really built something here. The firm is ethical, inclusive, and pays fair compensation. More than fair, if you consider the bonuses he passed out last year. I'll go to war to protect him and this firm." They meet my eyes. "That's why I was so upset when I thought you were going against everything I knew this firm stands for."

"I would never," I assure CJ, and they nod.

"I know that now."

"Well, then," Martina says. "All we need is a plan." She looks over at me as we get up from the table to go back to the office. "And it better be a doozy."

I get through the rest of the day managing to work, despite my mixed feelings about my decision not to tell my grandfather about Dylan's efforts not only to undermine me but to cast doubt on Andrew's ability to continue managing the law firm. In the end, I stick to my resolve not to tell him yet. At least not until I work out my plan to reveal Dylan not just to my grandfather but to the rest of the firm and possibly the rest of the Miami legal community for the lying creature he is with the loyalty of the fabled scorpion. Hopefully Dylan, like the scorpion who couldn't resist stinging the frog who carried it across the river on its back, drowning them both. It was the scorpion's nature, it explained. It couldn't help itself.

I'm hoping to put a trap in place where Dylan will not be able to resist the opportunity to cause more harm. And it will be his undoing.

* * *

The weekend arrives before I know it, and I find myself at loose ends. Brad is out of town, and Martina has plans with Gabe. I find out through Martina that Max is in New York City again, meeting with Gino. He did not invite me to come along.

I spend the morning gardening with my grandmother again, having insisted that my grandfather go out for at least part of the day and do something that's not work and that's not taking care of my grandmother. He grudgingly agreed to call up a few friends and see if he could put together a last-minute foursome for golf at the course he still maintains a membership at but rarely ever actually uses.

Apparently, he was successful, since he came outside to see us wearing quintessential golfing clothes, right down to the cap, and carrying what looks like a well-used bag of clubs on his shoulder.

Patricia takes in his outfit and recognizes what it is, and tells him to have a good game. When he leans over and kisses her goodbye I can't help but think how ordinary the whole scene seems. Moments like this - when she seems to be actually present with us - must bring him joy and break his heart all at the same time.

Gardening seems to be the activity that relaxes her the most. But today, when we sit back for a moment to take a break, she glances around like she's looking for someone, and her expression starts to be confused.

I've gotten so accustomed to reading every nuance in her face, the tone of her voice. I try to anticipate when she's going to become agitated and head it off with a distraction.

"Laura?" she says, a faint edge of panic sneaking into her voice. "Where's the baby? Where's Hadley?" Her brow creases. "Wasn't she just playing right there with her pail and shovel?"

My heart immediately starts to pound. Is this a memory from when I was a toddler? I still have no recollection at all of ever being here, despite the clear sense of deja vu when I came to visit my grandparents for the first time as an adult.

I need to calm her down, and part of me is also hoping she'll say something that will help me finally understand what caused the rift in my family long before my mom got cancer.

"It's okay," I tell her, "she needed a nap."

Her face visibly relaxes. "Oh, I guess I forgot."

"Mama?" I say, putting my hand on the frail arm as we sit together on the decorative wrought iron chairs drinking icy glasses of lemonade from the pitcher I made this morning. I don't want to upset her, but I know all the secrets to my family's past are right there in her mind. "I wish everyone understood each other."

My voice is soft, gentle, and she looks at me in bewilderment.

"What an odd thing to say, Laura." She frowns. "Are you having problems with someone in one of your classes?"

I realize she's slipped into another time. In a blink she's no longer thinking about a toddler in the garden. She gone back to some point when I was in school.

"No, Mama, I was just thinking about Daddy and Brandon."

He expression clears. "Oh, please don't worry about that." She leans closer, conspiratorially. "I know your young man wanted to do an internship with that social action group, but he's going to be so much happier working with your father. Andy says he'll be able to do pro bono work through the firm. And your father doesn't want to work forever."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you never showed any interest in the law, which is fine, but Brandon loves it and he's going to be an amazing lawyer." She actually gets tears in her eyes. "You see how his face lights up when he and your father talk about Supreme Court decisions and really anything that has to do with the law."

Now she's the one touching my arm, patting me reassuringly. "They have their little philosophical disagreements, but your father loves and respects Brandon. Someday Brandon will take over the law firm and Andy will retire." He eyes get a faraway dreamy look. "We've always dreamed of buying a boat and sailing around the world. That's how we'll spend our retirement someday."

"Sailing around the . . . Have you talked to me about this before?" I'm stunned. My grandfather wanted to retire and turn the law firm over to my father? My father actually worked in his office, presumably while he was in law school? My grandfather, who rules over conference rooms brokering big deals and masterminding complex litigation in his formal three-piece suit dreams of sailing around the world?

All of this is news to me.

"Oh I'm sure we've mentioned it, sweetie," Patricia says, then frowns. "Haven't we?"

"Yes," I quickly reassure her. "I just forgot for a moment."

"You need eat more fish," she chides me.

"Eat more fish?" I repeat slowly, not sure what she's getting at or if she's just done another time jump and thinks I'm a much younger Laura being picky about my dinner.

"Yes, yes," she says, "more fish. Especially salmon. It's the Omega-3 fatty acids. Very good for the memory."

The irony of my grandmother, who no longer knows what day it is or what she ate for breakfast, advising me on foods that promote memory is not lost on me. I reach over and give her a hug.

"I love you, Mama."

"I love you, too, Laura," she says, and I can't help but wish that just once she would look at me and see me, not my mother. That just once she would say I love you Hadley. But we often don't get what we want, and I need to be happy just for the chance to hold her and spend time with her. To feel her gentle hand brushing over my hair like it is just now as she hugs me back.

"I feel tired," she says.

"Come on." I stand up and take her hand, helping her to her feet. As I take her back inside, walk upstairs with her and settle her in for a nap, I feel this overwhelming rush of love for her.

And all I can think about are all the years that were wasted.

I want to know once and for all what happened between my father and my grandfather. I've been putting off having any serious conversations with my father, since I don't want to argue again about my decision to come to Miami and work for Andrew. I reflect guiltily that I haven't even told him I moved in with my grandparents. Another reason I've avoided it is that I still don't know what to do with the information I learned about my grandparents' reason for refusing to pay to the experimental cancer treatment in Sweden when my father showed up here and begged them.

My mother did not want him to know, and a big part of me wants to honor her wishes just as my grandparents did, and at such a high cost. But another part of me knows that secrets have torn my family apart. Maybe the truth, after all these years, is what's needed to finally put my family back together. And if I'm demanding the truth from my father about what caused that initial estrangement, then is it fair for me to hide from him the truth about my mother's decision not to go through any more cancer treatments? Or will that truth, as my grandfather believes, just hurt him more?

I'm so conflicted about what to do, and I wish not for the first time that I could just talk these things over with Max. But Max isn't my person anymore, and I don't want to pull him further into my family drama than he already is.

My dad spends his Saturdays doing volunteer work. Everything from building houses with Habitat for Humanity to canvasing neighborhoods door to door to encourage people to register to vote.

Sunday is his day to relax. I resolve to call him tomorrow and demand the truth about those long-ago events. And at the very least, I'm going to come clean about where I'm now living. And how deep my reconciliation with my grandparents has gone.

He's not going to like any part of that conversation. Our relationship has already been strained ever since my decision to move to Miami. I hope the truth will bring us closer together.

But I'm also afraid it might drive us farther apart.