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“But you still feel responsible for them, right? At least, I assume so, since that’s how it is with my siblings. I can’t imagine not feeling that way.”
“Oh, the protective streak will never go away. If anything, it gets worse. When they’re adults, they don’t want to listen to you, and sometimes they’re right not to.”
“Or, they should have. Like Franc should have listened to you about marrying his ex.”
Laurent’s eyebrows pinched together, his easy smile curving downward. “He told you about her?”
I nodded. “Said you and your grandfather warned him against her, but he didn’t listen.”
Laurent scratched at the five o’clock shadow. “He usually doesn’t like to talk about it. He must trust you.”
A sudden blast of shock closed my throat, cutting off my voice.
“And while marrying her was a mistake, it brought Gio into our life, so technically, it’s probably the best mistake he’s ever made.”
Gio slid across the floor to the top step. My hands immediately flew up. “Be careful!”
“Sorry, Quinn,” Gio said as he dragged an oversized duffel bag behind him. It flopped against each step with a thud, and I was about to help him out when Laurent hurried up the stairs and gathered the bag from him.
“What’s that?” Laurent asked, motioning to the box tucked securely beneath Gio’s arm.
He held it up with a big smile. “I’m going to beat you again!”
“I think it’s my time to win,” Laurent said.
“Nuh uh!” Gio shook his head, wet strands of hair flying out.
“He’s undefeated in Battleship,” Laurent said. “I think he cheats.”
“I do not!” Gio declared with a stomp of his foot that made us chuckle. “You’re just a sore loser.”
“Give me that.” Laurent took the game from him, placed it on the ground and tickle attacked Gio, who let out a delighted squeal.
I stood back and watched, missing my brothers and sisters more and more. I needed to call them, even though I chatted with them yesterday. Maybe I needed to take a trip home for a few days so I could give them each a hug.
Then again, I wasn’t ready to go home. The dust might have settled, but it was still fresh on the ground and could easily kick up again. It was better I stay away, hidden in this small town.
Though our day at the museum told me I wasn’t completely safe. It was only a matter of time before someone recognized me, and Franc found out everything. Honestly, all he had to do was Google my name, and he’d find every sordid detail. Except… I didn’t give him my real name. At least not completely.
I used my stepdad’s last name. I always wanted to change it, but never did, and moving somewhere new, starting fresh, I figured why the hell not? Quinn St. Clair was the new me, and as far as I was concerned, Quinn Fraser didn’t exist anymore.
Gio and Laurent headed out, and I watched them pull away. When the taillights of Laurent’s BMW disappeared, I went into the house. I knew Gio wasn’t home, but I wanted to get dinner in the oven for Franc. He worked hard, and I was happy to give him one less thing to worry about. With Gio gone for the night, he could kick his feet up, pour himself a glass of wine, and relax.
I got the roast beef and red potatoes in the oven and wiped down the counters. Franc never asked me to clean, but Mom raised me to not only clean up after myself, but to keep a clean house. As I got older, cleaning became a time for me to unwind. Music helped, so I put a pop station on, grabbed the mop, and danced myself around the kitchen, using the handle as a microphone.
It was one of my favorite things to do with Mom. Though she always had some eighties hair band on, and I preferred a mix of modern and some throwbacks. As if the universe knew what I was thinking, Elton John’s Tiny Dancer came on.
I closed my eyes and swayed to the music, belting out the lyrics as if they were a part of me, and in a way, they were. Mom loved Elton. I knew all his songs, and each one could recall a dear childhood memory. Tiny Dancer was my fifth grade Winter Concert. I don’t remember a single song I sang in the chorus for that performance, but I remember Mom and I belting outTiny Danceron the way there.
I finished the kitchen and moved on to the hallway. I picked up a few pairs of Gio’s shoes and returned them to the shoe closet. Tina Turner’sThe Bestcame on, and I moved across the floor dancing as if Tina Turner were there with me, and I was competing for her praise. When the chorus chimed in, I flung my head, whipping my hair around me with everything I had. I kicked my foot up in a half skip half dance move and spun around, pulling the mop close.
I belted out the main lyric and opened my eyes only to find Franc arms crossed, leaning against the closed door, an amused smile on his face.
My hand tightened on the mop’s handle, and my legs froze to the ground. Heat crept into my chest, centralized, then scattered in all directions.
“Please, don’t stop on my account,” he said.
Rain drops darkened his shirt, his brown hair was damp, and droplets of water slid down his forearms.
