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“Yeah. Staying with your parents is not the same as an adult.”
He chuckles, then his lips press together. “Did you see him standing at the back?”
“Who?” The sudden vitriol in his tone is alarming.
“My father.” I glance around and he adds, “He’s gone. But he was here. The fucking nerve.”
“He came all the way from Texas?”
Alden shakes his head. “No, he moved back over a year ago. Thought he was going to reunite with his sons. He can get fucked.”
Maybe that was what Oliver was talking about when he said Alden was under pressure. “What does Oliver think?”
“He says he doesn’t forgive him, but he tried to get me to talk to him.”
I take Alden’s hand. “Maybe you should talk to him.”
A scowl slams into me, and he yanks his hand away. “What?” He juts a finger toward his mother’s grave. “He is fucking responsible for that. It may have taken years, but he put her there. He put her in that bar. He broke her heart, left her with two kids and went off to live his fucking life, and you think I should forgive him?”
His anger shocks me. “No, I didn’t say forgive him. I thought…maybe it’d help you get some…closure or—”
“I don’t need any goddamn help from him!”
“Okay—”
“What the fuck do you know anyway, Ella? You left too. I don’t need shit from either of you.”
His words penetrate deep, throwing an ache into my chest as he yanks his car door open, gets inside, and takes off.
What the hell just happened?
Wiping a tear off my frozen face, I notice Tori approaching. She must’ve overheard some of that. “Are you alright?” she asks.
“I don’t know what that was about. I said the wrong thing, I guess, and…”
“Grief,” Tori says. “That’s what it was. It wasn’t personal, El. Give him some time.” She’s right, but it sure felt personal. Alden has never talked to me like that. I can’t even remember a time we were mad at each other. “Let’s go get your stuff moved in. Didn’t you say you needed to go shopping too?”
“Yes, I need a bed to start with. Let’s do it.”
CHAPTER7
“Are you working today?” I ask Tori, slinging my backpack of photography gear over my shoulder.
“Not until eight. I only have the GED class tonight.”
Tori is a teacher at the adult education center. Her original career plan was to teach middle school, but it took her less than a year to realize that wasn’t the job for her. Or to put into her words, “Fuck them kids.” She’s much happier teaching adults in night school. Even the pay is higher.
“I only have one property to photograph and it’s near Cedro’s. If you want to go with me, we could get an early dinner.”
“I’m in. You shouldn’t be going to these creepy, empty places alone anyway.”
“It’s my job,” I laugh.
It’s a job I’m lucky to have found, especially so quickly. A local real estate company hired me barely a week after I returned from Florida. They facilitate the buying and selling of residential and commercial properties all over the city. It’s my job to take photos and videos for the listings. It can be boring—I have no interest in architecture or design—but it pays well and has short hours. That allows me to continue to freelance at events.
The property I’m being sent to today is a small, commercial building at the end of a row of shops.
When Tori and I walk in, she looks around. “This place has seen better days.”
