“White. An unopened bottle, please.” She specifies, and his eyebrow lifts. “I don’t drink something unless I’ve opened it myself.” Alana puts the yarn cat on her lap and pours the wine until the glass is full. Then she puts the glass to the side and grabs the bottle and takes a swig.
Lena shifts on the couch for the third time in five minutes. At first, I think she's bored, but then her jaw tightens, and she presses a fist into the small of her back. Lance notices immediately.
He disappears into the kitchen without a word and returns with a glass of water and a bag of ice wrapped in a dish towel. The tension between him and Alana fractures for half a second. Whatever is going on between them is put on pause with a new problem to solve. Alana takes the ice from him before he reaches the couch.
"Left hip?" she asks quietly. Lena gives the smallest nod. Alana opens her purse but doesn't even look while her fingers search the inside of the bag, still watching Lena's face for signs of worsening pain.
“Are you getting a flare-up?” I ask. Lena has nerve damage from years of dancing and injuries. She’s had these as long as I can remember.
“You still haven’t gotten that fixed?” CJ shoots his ex a glare.
“She had surgery scheduled a few years ago.” Alana answers for her, matching his venom. “But something came up.”
CJ flinches, “Bitch.”
“This is going to be fun,” Craig mutters. He returns to his seat and reaches for Amanda’s hand. A quick glance. A gentle squeeze. Two deep breaths. “Thanks for coming, everyone,” Craig interjects into the mounting tension, bringing us back to the point before it can escalate. “Before we move forward, I think it’s a good idea to talk so we’re all on the same page. I feel like Alana is further ahead in the story. Grae and I are on chapter four, and CJ’s reading a completely different book.”
He stands and walks to the hutch I’ve never seen open before. There’s nothing interesting in it, a box and a few remotes. But Craig removes a green, locked box, ornate with gold swirls like it’s something holy. Something about it tugs at my memory, but all my brain shows me is a corrupted file error. He places the box on the coffee table and sits again.
“Alana, we have questions. We thought it would be best if you answered them in front of everyone. That way nothing gets lost in translation.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, looking between Craig and Alana.
Alana takes a chug of the wine. “And if I don’t want to answer the questions?”
Amanda speaks, “Then we won’t open the box.”
In his worst Brad Pitt impression, CJ asks, “What’s in the box?”
Amanda and Craig exchange a look. “Grae’s journal,” Amanda says. “And his cellphone from twelve years ago.”
What?
CHAPTER 26
Grae
Day 8
“What? You had it?” I almost get whiplash as I spin towards Amanda. She straightens, stiff-backed. Amanda and I don’t really fight, and for the most part, we don’t disagree much. She hates raised voices, and I am a people pleaser. Over the years, we’ve learned how to disagree and still meet in the middle.
“You gave it to me,” she says in a whisper. “You told me to hold onto it, and that if you ever asked for it, I should give it back.” She twists the ring on her finger. Another nervous tic she's picked up over the years. The metal spins endlessly whenever she's trying not to unravel.
But why would I give my journal to Amanda? Why would I trust her over CJ, or Mom, or anyone else?
“Where’s the key?” Lena asks.
“I lost it about seven years ago,” Amanda admits, then bolts from her chair and runs to the hutch. “But I’ve got a hammer!” She brandishes it in the air.
But Alana pauses before finally saying, “What’s the first question?”
Amanda and Craig exchange glances. “We’ll start with an easy one. Why did you buy Mastodon?”
Alana narrows her eyes and says, “Skip. Next question.”
In a desperate attempt to lighten the mood, I say, “It’s because she likes me and wants to protect me.” But her glare ices over.
“I already told you that wasn’t it.”
