Page 131 of Sterling Stone

“She’s an old woman with a heart condition. She shouldn’t be raising another child.”

I turn back toward my sister, disheartened by the lack of empathy from the save-the-children philanthropist she claims to be.

“Who says I’m old?” Trudy snaps, causing both of us to look in her direction, where she stands in the entryway wearing the bathrobe I wore when I first stayed here. She fills it out much better than I did. She also looks tired.

“And would you two keep your voices down. A woman can’t get some rest in her own home.”

“You’re nearly seventy,” Jolene reminds Trudy.

“I’m sixty-eight, I’ll have you know. And my ticker is ticking just fine again. The cutie at physical therapy says so.” She smiles at her own joke, but her eyes are wide and blazing at Jolene. “And what’s this about Simon?”

“I don’t think he should live with you,” Jolene argues, holding her head higher, poised like she’s the smartest person in this room and her word is law.

“And just where do you think he should live? With you? Jet-setting all over the world?” Trudy counters, slipping her hands into the deep pockets of her robe.

“I’m not jet-setting, I’m doing good deeds.”

Trudy snorts. “You’re following a certain doctor on trips he won’t take his wife on.”

Wait. What? I swivel my head toward Jolene.

“Aunt Trudy,” she quietly groans, shifting her eyes to me and back to that ultra-interesting teacup.

“Are you chasing?” My voice is hardly above a whisper, aghast that my sister sounds just like our mother. A woman she hardly knew. The person who abandoned her at two years old.

The three of us remain silent while I process that my sister’s idea of good deeds is doing a doctor who has a wife.

“He’s going to leave her,” Jolene mutters, still twisting the teacup. I want to pick it up and pour the contents over her head.

“You are not seriously falling for that shit,” I argue, arms flailing again. “You don’t actually believe that statement?”

I cannot believe this is the first I’ve heard of this situation.

Jolene keeps her gaze averted.

“Does he have kids?” The question flies from my mouth.

Jolene runs her finger around the rim of her cup. Her silence says everything.

He’s a cheater and he has children.

“Now.” Trudy’s tone is firm. “I’ll hear none of this nonsense about Simon.”

For thirty seconds, I forget Simon, still focused on the other elephant in the room.

My sister. Her braggard ways. Her good deeds. Helping children.

I shake the thought. The lies. And draw myself back to the issue at hand. Was Jolene wrong? Taking care of Simon is a lot. Maybe it is too much for Trudy. Maybe . . . maybe . . . maybe he should come with me.

But where was I going?

I don’t have a backyard.

Who’s fault is that, Tallulah?

Still the words tumble free. “She might be right.” I pause a beat. “These are supposed to be your golden years,” I remind Trudy. “Visiting grandchildren and raising them are two different things.”

“Simon isn’t hers,” Jolene states.