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Only when the ranch is out of sight do I feel myself relax. With a sigh, I slump in my seat.
“Luna?”
My head rolls to the side to face Ben, and I almost groan at that sneaky little look on his face. “What?”
“Where did you sleep last night?“
44
JACKSON
“Lux!”
“I'm coming!”
When five minutes pass and her bedroom door stays firmly shut, I pound my fist against the wood. “Lux, I swear to God!”
An annoyed groan sounds from within. “I said I'm coming!”
“They're almost here!”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Oscar.” The door swings open, revealing my swearing, glaring, furious sister. “Happy?”
“Took you long enough.”
Bony elbows catch me in the stomach as she pushes past me. “I was getting dressed.”
I eye her outfit skeptically. She's wearing the same dress she always does, one of the ones that hang in her closet specifically for these visits, but with a huge chunky cardigan over the top. I wince before the next words even leave my mouth. “She's not gonna like the cardigan.”
Understatement; she’ll hate it. It's homemade—a Lottie creation from back when she liked us enough to make us things—and it looks like it.
Lux shoots me a dirty look. “She can kiss my ass.”
God, she's in a fucking mood lately.
Following my stomping sister into the kitchen, I find the rest of them gathered around the kitchen window, watching our impending doom inch its way closer, the atmosphere chillingly somber.
It says a lot, really, that a visit from our grandparents harshens the mood more than burying our mother did.
They didn't show up to the funeral. It was too short notice, they said. But they sent their condolences, of course, in the form of fat deposits in each of our bank accounts. I don't know why I was even surprised. They're too busy for holidays and birthdays and graduations; why would the death of the mother of their beloved grandchildren affect them any differently?
Something about their visit today feels… off. Worse than usual. For starters, both our grandparents are making an appearance; it was our grandfather that called. So, when two doors open instead of one, I’m not surprised.
But when a third does, my heart drops.
When I recognize the person getting out of the back seat, it fucking burns.
“Is that-”
I cut off Grace's shaky question. “Go upstairs.”
“What-”
“All of you, upstairs, now.”
I don't wait to see if they listen to me. The screen door slams off the wall as I throw it open and storm outside, porch steps groaning beneath my feet as I barrel down them. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“Oscar.”
