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Arthur shook his head, noticing a framed photograph hanging
on the wall. “I don’t think I am.”
“A cousin, or handsome? Because you are certainly handsome,
even if you aren’t a cousin.” Minnie’s impish expression was
knocked away by Cora’s elbow digging into her ribs.
Wanting to escape Minnie’s energetic attention, Arthur
walked forward, looking at the sepia-captured face of the man
who was supposed to inherit his secrets. Out of his reach forever.
“I am sorry about your father’s death.”
“Did you know him?” Cora asked quietly.
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“Yes.” Arthur’s voice matched her whisper. Mr. Johnson had
been the one constant of his childhood. Wherever they were, he
found them, brought food and money. He’d been the only thing
that ever felt safe, the only man his mother trusted after his father
disappeared.
Cora and Minnie shared a look heavy with questions and the
conclusions they were jumping to. Primly clearing her throat,
Cora asked, “How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“So you were born before our parents got married,” Minnie
said, raising her eyebrows pointedly at Cora, as though demand-
ing Cora ask the question they both wanted answered.
Arthur opened his mouth to correct them, but the truth felt
too twisted. A part of him was deeply hurt by Mr. Johnson’s
absence when Arthur needed him most.
Let the girls think poorly of their father. I’m not staying, anyway.
Sensing that no explanation would be forthcoming, Cora
leaned forward to grab the case. “I’ll take your things up to your
room, then,” she said.
