“When are you going to get it through your thick skull that I just want you home?” She angrily rubs away a tear. “I have my own career. I know where I stood with Dad when he died. I don’t need the money, I don’t want it. I just want my brother to stay in my life.”
“I can do that without being shackled to this place.” My voice cracks; I’m dangerously close to breaking down. “Don’t you get it? If I come back, then leaving in the first place would’ve made no difference. The fight Sal and I had would’ve been for nothing.”
My voice rises by the end, full of pain and guilt. Kiara and Chester share a look, both of them silent.
“Oh, Jack,” Kiara whispers eventually. “It’s not like that.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Maybe it is.”
“No. Look at me.” She reaches out, takes my hand. I open my eyes. “Coming back now would be different.” She holds out the envelope. I can’t quite read the handwriting on the front, but my stomach sinks at the sight of it.
“What is that?”
“I didn’t want to give it to you until I was sure you’d actually read it.”
“It’s from Sal?”
“It’s a letter he wrote to you.” Kiara clears her throat. “I haven’t opened it. I don’t know what it says, but...”
I take it carefully, as if it’s some delicate glass object, not paper. My heart thumps extra hard as I tuck it into the pocket of my apron. I know what she’s hoping: that it’ll absolve me somehow. Ease the guilt dragging me down with each painful breath.
“I saw the picture in the office, by the way.” I drag my teeth over my lip, fighting the urge to open the envelope. Not now. Not like this. “Seems like we were having a good day there.”
“I can’t remember when it’s from.”
“Neither can I.”
“That’s a good thing,” says Chester.
Kiara looks at him, startled. “Why?”
“So many good memories, they start to blend together. What?” he adds, at our stares. “It’s true. I’m a sentimental man.”
“Course you are, babe.” Kiara leans over, kissing my cheek. “The photograph was Poppy’s idea. She wanted to put it in the entryway, so everyone would see it when they came in.”
“An opening night present?”
“Something like that.”
Chapter 50
Bouquet Garni
Poppy
Caroline’s bakery smells like sugar and chocolate.
Dad and I snag a table by the window, drinks in hand. A latte for me, plain coffee for him. I take a sip, looking around the familiar bakery as my heart squeezes tight. Caroline’s trademark is a purple heart, and there are shades of purple everywhere—the walls, the chairs, the décor, the pastry boxes flying out the door, filled with croissants and Danishes and muffins. A display case by the counter shows off her famous petit fours, along with all kinds of cakes.
I wonder if Jack has ever been here. If he has, what he ordered. A plain croissant, I bet. Simple and executed to perfection. My hands tighten on my latte mug.
Caroline emerges from the back, beaming as she wipes her hands on her apron.
“Beautiful in here as always,” Dad says in greeting.
“Hey, you two.” She hugs Dad, then me. “Poppy, it’s nice to see you here again.”
“I know, it’s been ages.” I also know what she isn’t saying. Nice to see me in regular clothes, not pajamas, with clean hair and even some makeup on my face. Despite the effort, I still feel like a hollow version of myself.
