Sky's the Limit
Copyright© 2026 by aroslav
Chapter 19: It’s Not Over
I HAD SUNDAY BRUNCH with Grandma. We decided to be adventurous and went north to San Clemente. I knew of a nice little French café overlooking the beach. It wasn’t as elaborate as the last place we’d had brunch, but the food and coffee were exceptional.
“I was beginning to wonder if we were going to get any alone time to chat again,” Grandma said. “You’ve been so busy, I was worried about your health. Are you taking care of yourself?”
“Oh, Grandma! I didn’t mean to neglect you. It has been a little hectic lately, but I think my health is fine. I’m continuing my daily workouts and have even been managing to take time off from the store. Of course, most of that time has been spent campaigning.”
“Are you planning to make politics your career now?”
“Heavens, no! The more involved I became in this battle the less I wanted to deal with the political system. The chairman of the planning commission and the mayor were both charged with political fraud and bribery. Personally, I believe the entire planning commission was on the take in one way or another. Of course, there’s no concrete evidence of that, but we’ll see what changes in January. Until then, the meetings will be run by the vice chair and the deputy mayor.”
“I’ve been worried that your involvement might have limited your time with those two precious girls. Just looking at them, I can see the stars in their eyes when you are in the room.”
We ordered our brunch. Grandma had the house special omelet with pesto chicken and mushrooms. It sounded really good, but I went with the Croque Monsieur, which is basically a grilled ham and cheese sandwich but is so incredibly delicious it was difficult to talk much once the food arrived. Grandma and I are both coffee hounds, though, and the café’s coffee is incredible.
“I want advice, Grandma. The girls and I are ... I think we’re in love.”
“Which?”
“That’s part of the problem. I couldn’t choose between them if you put a gun to my head. I can’t imagine life without either one of them,” I sighed. “I’m worried that Pat and Marge won’t see that positively. They’ll think I’m a greedy pervert and I’ve seduced their daughters. They might even think I just want their share of the company.”
“Hmm. I don’t think you need to worry about that, but I’ll talk to Pat and Marge. I think you’ll find them more amenable to the idea than you imagine,” Grandma said. “None of us will understand how it works, but I for one don’t want to know. If the three of you are happy, I’m happy.”
“Thank you, Grandma. I’m not sure there will be anything to report, though, once I come clean with the girls.”
“What? You haven’t talked to them?” Grandma was truly shocked.
“Um ... That’s not the issue. Not exactly. Grandma, I believe they truly love me. We ... Well, we haven’t exactly figured out how it works yet either. We just do a lot of cuddling together in the nook and I’ve taken each of them out on dates. I don’t think most people can tell who I’m out with and assume I’m just with one or the other.”
“A complicated relationship should be explored over time,” Grandma advised. “I think it’s good that you are working on it before you jump into it too deeply. So, what’s the problem?”
“Jan Winslow,” I said.
“You can’t possibly believe the girls have really fallen for him just through his writing, can you?” Grandma laughed.”
I think their reaction to it is a precursor to how many young women—and some young men—will respond to his writing. It is very sensual. I wouldn’t put it past some old dolls my age to have a degree of infatuation with the boy.”
“I know they don’t think he’ll be an influence, but I’m afraid that when they find out about him, they will stop loving me.”
“Find out what? Is he incarcerated? A drug trafficker? A pedophile? Homeless? A multi-billionaire? A backer of the Waterfront redevelopment? What could possibly cause them to stop loving you?”
I took a deep breath and finally let it out.
“I’m Jan Winslow.”
Let’s just say that our Sunday brunch lasted another couple of hours before we finally headed back to La Alegria. I had to explain how the entire deception began and how I’d adopted the penname in college at the urging of Professor Dirkson. The harder part was explaining why I hadn’t revealed my identity when the manuscript first became a finalist. Eventually, she nodded.
“Well, you’re in a fine mess now. Just understand, grandson, I will support you as much as I can, but after Christmas, I’m headed to Australia. You’re on your own then.”
I don’t know what I expected from my conversation with Grandma, but just having told her was a big relief. Now someone besides Professor Dirkson knew my secret.
A few days later, Rich Thompson, the owner of the Sea and Anchor Restaurant called to invite me to lunch. He said he wanted to show his appreciation for my hard work in defeating the Waterfront redevelopment proposition. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted until I finally said I’d show up Friday at noon.
Rich met me with a couple of the other businessmen from the north end of the boardwalk. The boardwalk basically ended at Rich’s front door. In fact, he’d extended a branch walkway directly up onto his front veranda. Sol Samuelson owned a photography studio on the corner across the street from the Sea and Anchor. Tom Parkinson owned the Seaside Villas, a two-story, sixteen-unit apartment house next door to Sol. All sixteen of his tenants had signed the petition for returning the Waterfront District to its original boundaries.
We went to a private room where Rich had already ordered a Kosher meal for us. He was always respectful of other people’s customs and needs. His restaurant catered to just about every culinary taste.
“Rich, this is a great meal. Thank you for inviting me,” I said.
“Well, we don’t just get together often enough when it isn’t a business transaction. You’re a great customer of the Sea and Anchor,” Rich said.
“And of the photography studio,” Sol added. “That last photoset was fun to work on.”