Page 37 of Cabin Fever

Dahlia doesn't make it two steps into the room before I have her. She folds into me the way she used to when the fireworks got too loud. Face into my shoulder, arms squished between us. Over the top of her head, I look at Finn, and neither of us has to think to answer that question.

“He told me—“ Her voice is small against my collarbone. “Theo told me he lost clients last year.”

I sit her on Theo’s bed and settle next to her. Theo drops onto my mattress.

“He didn’t tell me and then ended up taking out these loans, and he hasn’t been able to cover payroll, and then—he didn’t say a word of this when we were planning! I spent so much money on the flowers and the—” She drops her head into her hands.

“Dahl, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make it better!” She sniffs. “Did you know he canceled things? Like, that’s why we ended up in the lounge. He found out there wasn’t a fee, so he started trying to make things cheaper . . .”

She goes on, but Finn and I are staring at each other. Mystery solved. Kind of.

“Wait, did he put those pictures in the slideshow?” I ask.

Dahlia frowns. “Why would he do that?”

I want to ask why he’d do any of this, but decide it’s not the right moment. “Fair.”

Dahlia groans. “He just started talking, and he couldn't stop, and then he cried, Harper. Theo doesn't cry. And I felt bad, but I was so—” She starts crying again.

“Okay,” I say, rubbing her back. “Okay.”

She pulls back to wipe her face, and her movements slow. Her eyes move from me to Finn and back. “Why aren’t you freaking out right now?”

“Hm?” My eyes go wide.

“You knew.” Not a question. Her voice doesn't even rise. “Both of you. You knew.”

“Dahlia—“

“How long?”

“A day,” I say. “Maybe two? And it wasn't⁠—“

“You?” She points at Finn.

He blows out a breath. “Since a few months after it happened. But I told him⁠—”

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t even matter. I just can’t believe I had no idea.”

And there it is. It was never going to be about the money.

I’m sucked back into my teenage brain when I sat in my room, hunting through every interaction with Dad, trying to figure out what I missed. But I hadn’t missed anything. He’d purposely deceived us, and I wasn’t supposed to walk through the world waiting for someone to be a liar. Even though now, that’s exactly what I do.

“He was wrong,” I say. “He acted like a coward, and worse, he didn’t trust you like he should’ve. You’re right to be mad.”

Dahlia nods, her face contorting. “I’m not even mad. I’m just . . .” She breaks in front of me. I hold her on my lap while she cries, and when her breathing finally slows, she says, “I’m so tired. I can't do this tonight. I just need to sleep.”

“Then that's the whole agenda,” I say. “Come on.”

I run her a washcloth while she stands at the tiny sink, and she washes her face on autopilot. Using my cleanser, then my moisturizer, the way she's been stealing my products since she was nine.

I pull back the covers on my bed and stack the pillows the way she likes them. One flat, one folded, and by the time she shuffles out of the bathroom in the T-shirt Finn dug out of his drawer for her, I’m holding the blankets up for her.

She crawls in, and I tuck the blanket around her shoulders like Mom used to.

She grabs my wrist. “You'll be here in the morning?”