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“It wouldn’t be the first time he’s stolen from your mother.”
My brain struggles to make sense of the words Terry’s just said. Darren wouldn’t steal. He’d—
My stomach knots.
He’d show up three sheets to the wind and demand cash. If that demand was rejected ... is it that much of a leap to imagine Darren stealing? His name is on the Inn’s accounts—it wouldn’t be hard.
After ten years of minimal contact, can I even presume to know what my brother would do?
Terry promises to be in touch, and it takes all my willpower to hang up without begging further. He’s given enough to the Inn.
I lean my head back in my mother’s office chair and rub my temples. The air blowing from the vents slides across my skin, and I attempt to breathe through the pounding in my head. I need Tylenol. Or coffee. Or a plane ticket.
7
HOPE
What are your professional goals?
The cursor blinks expectantly, waiting for my fingers to find the keys that will make an answer appear on the screen.
My professional goals are ...
No. Delete.
Goals are funny things ...
Absolutely not.
It’s hard to have goals when everything could be ripped away without warning.
Hard pass.
The admissions board does not need a thesis on my feelings about grief and the instability of the universe.
“This is awful,” I say to a framed photo of a smiling, oblivious Brandon.
“What’s awful?”
I startle at the man’s voice coming from behind me, and Logan chuckles. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Tanya and I needed your opinion. We were calling you, but I guess you didn’t hear.”
“No, I guess not.” I shut the laptop screen before Logan can read what I’m working on. “What’s up?”
“We need you to settle a debate for us.”
I follow Logan into the living room, where Tanya’s staring at the mantel. A photo of the three of us at the July 4 carnival sits in a gilded frame that certainly didn’t come off the registry.
The photo is from a lifetime ago—though it’s only a year old. A year since Logan offered me space in his home after my bad choices left me broke. A year that was only supposed to be a few months.
“What do you think?” Logan crosses his arms over his chest. Sunlight dings off the wedding band he picked to match the one Brandon used to wear. “Tanya wants to return it. Get something that matches our decor. I kind of like it. Gives the mantel some character.”
“I really hope you’re just trying to antagonize me.” Tanya shoots Logan a glare and turns to me. Though the wedding was almost a week ago, her dark curls still sparkle, thanks to the ill-advised dance floor glitter bomb. “Please talk some sense into him.”
I put my hands up in mock surrender. “Oh no. I’m not getting in the middle of this.”
“Lame,” Logan mutters as Tanya’s expression softens. A smirk appears a heartbeat later—and I’m struck, for the millionth time, by the knowledge that Brandon would have loved her if he’d gotten a chance to know her.
“Would it change your mind if I told you it was from Logan’s aunt who accosted you at the wedding?” she asks.
