He grunts, unimpressed with my inappropriate humor. “You said good kids,” he says suddenly, and I blink, staring blindly across my office. “You sound like you know them.”
I lean forward, picking a pen up off my desk and spinning it through my fingers. “Caught that, did you, old man?”
“I might not be as spritely as I once was, but my mind is still as sharp as a tack.” He chuckles. “Now, answer the question.”
“I wasn’t aware there was a question.”
He doesn’t seem to hear me. “It almost sounds like you are personally invested in these children, knowing them and their ages right off the bat. Bet you even know their names.”
“Pops…”
“You said this employee was going through a divorce, hm?” He’s like a crocodile in a death roll. He’s not going to let this go now that he’s got the taste of blood. “Messy situation, divorces. You usually avoidcomplicated, like it’s a virus that’s gonna peel the skin off your bones.”
“Beautiful imagery, Pops.”
“Add in your brother and niece, and I’m surprised you’re not running for the hills on this one.”
“Do you actually need me for the conversation?” I ask casually, throwing the pen back down. “You seem like you’re having a fine time on your own.”
He chuckles, and that’s my only warning before he’s yelling, “Louise!” I yank the phone away from my ear, but he’s still clear as day when he says, “Graft’s got himself a girl!”
“Jesus…” I sigh, tilting my head back and closing my eyes. “I thought we were talking about Thatcher.”
“Now we’re talking about you,” he tells me cheerfully, just as there’s a click, and my mother comes on their second line. “A girl, Grafton? Tell me he’s not kidding. I’ve been waiting for this day for years.”
I hesitate, because my father isn’t wrong. This situation with Lynley is complicated, but she’s also worth it. And she also deserves a family who backs her, not the assholes she’s been stuck with. “Yes,” I confess. “There’s a girl—woman,” I correct.
My mother makes a sound that I’ve never heard from her before, almost blowing my eardrums off. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this day?”
“Years,” I repeat dryly, flicking my thumbnail against the pad of my index finger. “Thatcher was married,” I remind her patiently, and she snorts.
“That nasty piece of work doesn’t count. And we love Thatcher and Angelica, we do, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to sit around and enable them.”
I frown. “You think that’s what I’ve been doing?”
For a long moment, neither speaks, and I can almost hear them communicating telepathically. “Not on purpose,” my father says gruffly. “Butat some point, you have to cut those ties, Graft, before he pulls you down with him.”
It’s not the first time I’ve heard these words, but the reality hits harder this time. I’ve always tried with Thatcher—less these days, honestly—but he is my brother and blood.
After Angelica turned eighteen, my parents took a big step back, telling Thatcher that it was time for him to grow up and take accountability for himself. Now, I’m thinking I should’ve done the same. I kept him out of my agency, but maybe I shouldn’t have offered Angelica the position as intern because it opened up the door to Thatcher’s special brand of poison.
“I hear you,” I admit after a moment.
“You do?” My mother’s voice is surprised before she covers it up. “Well, of course you do. We’re always right.”
“It’s not just about Thatcher anymore,” I tell her. “I’ve got other people in my life I care about, and they’ve been exposed to enough toxicity to last them a lifetime. I won’t expose them to Thatcher and Angelica. No more than I have to.”
“Oh, Graft…” my mom whispers. “They sound like they’ve been through a lot.”
“More than anyone’s fair share, Mom,” I tell her quietly. “They need a good family.”
There’s a beat, and then my father clears his throat. “When are you bringing them to visit? You know we don’t like the dreary weather there, so you’re better off bringing them for a holiday vacation. Lots of fun things for kids to do.”
I roll my eyes, knowing they are already out of the gate and running with their plans. “Might have a few things to sort out before we start going on vacations together.”
We fill my mother in on the situation withAngelica, and how my girl fits in, as well as everything I’ve done to help her. By the end of it, she’s fuming, her voice wavering, “I don’t know what happened to Thatch, but he’s made his choices, and he needs to learn to live with them. As for Angelica…”
“She’s an exact replica of both her parents,” I interject. My father lets out a humorless chuckle.
