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“The arm,” Grandmère said. Like a normal person, and not like she was telling me not to lift my pinky up when I drank my tea, or anything. “The robot arm he’s made.”
I blinked at her. “What?”
“We need one,” she said. “For the hospital. You have to get us one.”
I blinked even harder. I’ve suspected Grandmère might be losing her mind for…well, the entire time I’ve known her, actually.
But now it was clear she’d gone completely around the bend.
“Grandmère.” I discreetly felt for her pulse. “Have you been taking your heart medication?”
“Not a donation,” Grandmère hastened to explain, sounding more like her usual self. “Tell him we’ll pay. But, Amelia, you do know if we had something like that in our hospital in Genovia, we’d…well, it would improve the state of care we’re able to give our own citizens to such an incredible degree. They wouldn’t have to go to Paris or Switzerland for heart surgery. Surely you see what a—”
I ripped my hand out from hers. Suddenly I saw that she wasn’t crazy at all. Or suffering from a stroke or heart attack. Her pulse had been strong and steady.
“Oh my God!” I cried. “Grandmère!”
“What?” Grandmère looked bewildered by my outburst. “What is the matter? I’m asking you to ask Michael for one of his machines. Not donate it. I said we’d pay—”
“But you want me to use my relationship with him,” I cried, “so Dad can gain an edge over René in the election!”
Grandmère’s drawn-on eyebrows furrowed.
“I never said a word about the election!” she declared, in her most imperious voice. “But I did think, Amelia, if you were to go to this event at Columbia tomorrow—”
“Grandmère!” I sprang up from the couch. “You’re horrible! Do you really think the people of Genovia would be more likely to vote for Dad because he managed to buy them a CardioArm, as opposed to René, who’s only managed to promise them an Applebee’s?”
Grandmère looked at me blankly.
“Well,” she said. “Yes. Which would you rather have? Easy access to heart surgery, or a bloomin’ onion?”
“That’s Outback,” I informed her acidly. “And the point of a democracy is that no one’s vote can be bought!”
“Oh, Amelia,” Grandmère said with a snort. “Don’t be naïve. Everyone can be bought. And anyway, how would you feel if I told you at my recent visit to the royal physician, he told me my heart condition has gotten more serious, and that I might need bypass surgery?”
I hesitated. She looked totally sincere.
“D-do you?” I stammered.
“Well,” Grandmère said. “Not yet. But he did tell me I have to cut back to three Sidecars a week!”
I should have known.
“Grandmère,” I said. “Leave. Now.”
Grandmère frowned at me.
“You know, Amelia,” she said. “If your father loses this election, it will kill him. I know he’ll still be prince of Genovia and all of that, but he won’t rule it, and that, young lady, will be no one’s fault but your own.”
I groaned in frustration and said, “GET OUT!”
Which she did, muttering very darkly to Lars and to the receptionist, both of whom had watched our entire exchange with a great deal of amusement.
But honestly, I don’t see what’s so funny about it.
I guess to Grandmère, using an ex-boyfriend to jump to the head of the waiting list (as if Michael would even consider such a thing) to get a million-dollar piece of medical equipment is just a normal day’s work.
