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“He did.” Kit’s arms ached to reach out to Viv, to hug her close the way she used to, but she folded them across her chest instead. “It’s been almost two weeks since . . .” Her throat closed. She looked away for a moment, focused on the rumpled bed. “I thought it was time to clean it up a bit. To maybe sort through Mom’s things. Would . . . would you like to stay for a while and help?”
Viv’s lip curled. “No.” She walked over to the dresser, swept her arm across the surface, knocking a pile of empty cigarette packs onto the floor, then picked up a small frame. “I can’t believe she kept this.”
Kit walked over to her side and glanced down at the frame in her hands. Behind the dingy glass, there was a picture of Kit and Viv. She studied it more closely, guessing they’d been around ten when it was taken. They sat side by side on the front porch steps of Teague Cottage, one arm slung around each other’s shoulders, their lanky legs sprawling in different directions.
A pang stole through Kit as she studied Viv’s face in the picture. Her eyes were bright—happy—with no trace of the dark circles or anger that plagued them now. Her cheeks were full, a healthy pink along the soft curves, and she smiled wide at whoever was behind the camera. Presumably, their mother.
“She said she was going to throw it away the day I moved out two years ago,” Viv said. “ ‘Burn it to bits,’ was what she told me. Said it was no more use to her than either of us.”
Kit winced, her hand raised, fingers poised above Viv’s shoulder. She lowered it back to her side. “She was sick, Viv. She wasn’t herself. Hadn’t been for a long time.”
“Who would be?” Viv stared at the picture. “Pregnant at fifteen, saddled with twins eight months later, and losing your mind in between?” Her tone hardened. “We were part of what caused it. Had to have been.”
“Don’t say that.” Royal’s deep voice filled the small room. He stood in the open doorway, glaring at Viv. “I don’t ever want to hear that again. Not in this house.”
Viv tossed the framed photo back on the dresser and faced Royal. “Where then? The truth is the tru—”
“There ain’t no truth in that,” Royal bit out. “Sylvie loved you girls more than l—” Voice breaking, he dragged a hand over his beard, stared out the window for a moment, then refocused on Viv. “More than life itself.”
Pain flashed across Viv’s face, and a humorless smile appeared. “That’s not saying much.”
Royal’s face reddened. “Viv—”
“I didn’t come here for this,” Viv said, gesturing at Royal, then Kit. “I didn’t come here for some Teague reunion. I came because I finally found something that I care about and—” Her lips pressed into a tight line as she glanced at Kit. “I don’t know how long you plan to stay.” She turned back to Royal. “And I don’t care what you think of me anymore, or how mad this makes you, but Beau and I have worked ourselves to the bone for almost three years getting our business off the ground, and the two of you have got to back off if we’re going to make a go of it.”
Kit clenched her jaw. “At whose expense? It’s not just a matter of choice, Viv. You’re talking about stripping Dad of his livelihood.”
“I didn’t set out to take anything, and I . . .” She looked at Royal, her gaze fixed on his chest. “I never intended to hurt you. I swear I didn’t. And you know how hard it is for me to ask anything of you. I just . . . need something of my own. Something I helped build. And I got to thinking that you might be able to tolerate it if you’d just give me a chance to . . . Please, Dad. I need this.”
Royal jerked away, his hand gripping the doorframe, knuckles turning white. “What’re you asking of me?”
Viv released a shaky breath and stared at Royal’s back. “Come to the Suttons’ place tomorrow afternoon? Around four? Take a tour with me and Beau, and just let us show you what we’re doing. That’s all I’m asking for now.”
Royal remained silent for a moment, glancing back at Kit, then Mackey, who had returned to the window and was watching them with wide eyes. “All right,” he said. “We’ll be there.”
CHAPTER8
“There they are!” Mackey shouted, pressing his nose between the ornate bars on the Suttons’ gate and pointing at a group of people walking down the driveway that led to the large house. “Hey, Cal! Hey, Beau! And there’s Viv!”
Smiling, Kit slipped her finger through the belt loop on the back of his jeans and tugged him back a few steps. “Not so fast, Mackey. When you visit someone’s house, it’s polite to wait to be invited in.”
Mackey frowned. “But wewereinvited. That’s what Viv said. She said to come today at four.”
“Yes, she did say that, but it’s always nice to let your host invite you in first.” Kit grinned and glanced at Royal, who stood several feet behind them on the dirt road. “You coming?”
Royal looked past her toward the gate, his eyes narrowing. “Viv didn’t say nothing about Nate Sutton coming out here.”
“Well, Pearl Tide Oyster Company is a third his, and he does live here, too, Dad.”
Royal scowled. “I know that. I just figured Viv would’ve had enough sense—or consideration for me—to tell him to sit this tour out and show us around herself.”
“Either way, we’re here now, and I don’t think Mackey’s going to let us back out and go home.”
“Who’s going home?” Mackey looked at Royal and pursed his lips. “I ain’t going home. No way. I’m visiting Cal and seeing the oysters.”
“Calm down, son.” Royal rolled his shoulders. “No one’s going home. I told your sister we’d take the tour, so we’ll take the tour. You’ll see Cal, and you’ll see the oysters.”
“You promise?” Mackey asked, his eyes skeptical.
