Free The Valentine Grinch by Sheila Seabrook

surely you don’t want
Dad at your wedding.”
    “For fifty-one years, he was my husband.”
    Morty tossed a crumpled wad of tissue at the urn.
“He’s dead. You should get over it.”
    Amanda exchanged a concerned look with Dane.
    Her dad took the seat next to her mom. “Ma, what’s
this about?”
    “My rights as a widow. I want George at the
wedding.”
    Grandpa popped up in the middle of the table, his
head and shoulders sticking out above the urn. “That’s right,
Elvira. You tell Morty how it’s going to be. Don’t you let him
stomp all over you.”
    Morty grimaced and rubbed his shoulder. “What about
my rights as the groom? I refuse to live out the rest of my life in
the shadow of George’s memory.”
    Silence swelled around the occupants of the table.
Amanda studied Grandma’s stony expression, Morty’s annoyance. When
she’d arrived yesterday morning, her grandma had been radiant, in
love, ready to marry the man who’d been in and out of her life
since they were children.
    Now, because Gramps couldn’t let go, her grandma
might be alone and lonely for the rest of her days.
    She sat forward and reached for the urn. Her dad
tapped her on the arm, halting her mid-reach.
    “Don’t touch that urn, young lady. Your grandma has
rights and Morty should respect them.”
    Her mom snorted and shifted her chair away from her
husband. “Don’t you dare listen to your father. As a matter of
fact, Tom, you can sleep on the couch tonight. Morty has a point.
Elvira needs to let go. There shouldn’t be three people in a
marriage.”
    Grandma pushed to her feet, hands
fisted at her sides, and faced her fiancée. “You’ve never
understood me, Morty Weatherby, not like my George. The wedding is
off. If I never set eyes on you again, I’ll be the happiest woman
alive.”
    Grandpa George cackled with delight. “Fricking
Morty. Your mother was a whore and your father was a bastard.”
    Amanda shot to her feet and grabbed the urn before
her grandma could get hold of it, which thankfully made her
gloating grandpa disappear. Setting it down on the table in front
of her, she kept one hand firmly on top of the marble box so no one
could steal it back.
    It was time for some tough love. If her parents’
wouldn’t do it, if everyone got mad at her, she could live with it.
But she couldn’t live with Grandma’s unhappiness.
    “I’m sorry, Grandma, but Mr. Weatherby is right. He
shouldn’t have to feel like he’s in competition with a dead man.”
Knowing full well there were fireworks ahead, but relieved she
wouldn’t have to stare at the ghostly figure of her grandpa
anymore, she continued. “Mr. Weatherby loves you and you love him.
It’s time to let Grandpa go.”
    As Grandma approached, her focus intent on the urn,
Grandpa stuck his head and shoulders through the middle of the
table, and gave Amanda a death stare. “Morty was so ugly, his
parents had to tie a pork chop around his neck so the dog would
play with him.”
    Grandpa turned his attention on his nemesis. “Morty
has to take Viagra to get it up. Morty is so slow, he thinks he’s
first. Morty is so—”
    Morty rubbed his arm again, a pained expression on
his face, and toppled onto the floor.

 
     
    Chapter Seven
     
    The ambulance arrived in record time and the
emergency personnel stabilized Morty before whisking him away.
Amanda grabbed the urn from the table and along with everyone else,
piled into her dad’s car for the short ride to the hospital.
    In the waiting room, she tried to pass the urn to
her grandma, but Elvira pushed it away and plopped down on a chair.
Surprised, Amanda stood back and clasped the urn to her chest.
    Grandpa George appeared beside her. “Bumpkin?”
    She shook her head, and when he fell silent, she
turned her attention back to her grandma.
    Gone was the radiant glow the elderly woman had worn
earlier. Now she looked old and frail and scared. “I don’t
understand. Morty just had a checkup. The old fool said his