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"He told me it was bad luck. The site for the adventure park wasn't suitable according to surveys he'd done, so he was moving across the country to try and build it in a better place. He told me he would make sure everyone who invested in the project got their money back."
"And you believed him?" The words break on the end, my voice scratchy.
"I was thirteen, Clover! I was a kid who loved and trusted my Daddy. Why didn't you go to Mom or Goldy?"
I hate that she has a point. "Mom and Dad were already fighting all the time and she was so sad. I didn't want to give her another reason to be angry at Dad. I thought you and I could fix things."
"And me?" Goldy asks coming into the kitchen. "Why didn't you talk to me?"
"You adored Dad," I say, too exhausted and achey to consider my words. "I didn't think you'd believe me."
Goldy nods. "He really took you with him to convince people to invest in his park?"
"Yeah. He told me people trust kids. He also told me I had a gift for persuasion and could talk a person into anything. If he'd stuck around, I think he would have tried to train me up as his con-artist apprentice."
"I'm sorry I didn't believe you," Daisy says. "I never should have taken Dad's money for college and I wouldn't have if I'd known he wasn't paying for all of you to go to college too. I wouldn't have taken it if I'd known how dirty the money was."
"Whydidhe pay for your college?" Goldy asks.
"She was the good investment," I say, because it's obvious to me. "She always had amazing grades in school and she got accepted into NYU. Dad probably wanted her to come work for him."
Daisy looks so sad. "He almost cut me off when I told him I was majoring in English Lit. I took on a minor in business accounting just so he'd keep paying my tuition. When I refused to work for him, he stopped talking to me entirely."
I snort. "You lived in New York City on your pitiful publishing salary with no help from Dad?"
Daisy raises her chin, her eyes flashing. "I lived in a three hundred square foot apartment with four roommates, Clover. I did it all on my own, so whatever ideas you've got about me thriving on Dad's dirty money, you're wrong."
I slump. It turns out I am the asshole here, once again. "I guess it's possible I made some incorrect assumptions," I mutter.
"I get it," Daisy says gently. "You were just a kid and you were betrayed by the person who was supposed to take care of you. I can't imagine how hard that must have been."
"I'm not a kid anymore, though." I'm on the verge of tears. What the hell is wrong with me? "I should have talked to you."
"You should have. I'm your sister. I hate that we've lost so much time."
"Because I assumed the worst and didn't trust you."
"We all have trust issues," Goldy says. "Which makes perfect sense considering we were raised by a con-artist, but I have to tell you, Clover, life is pretty amazing when you stop expecting the worst from people and give them a chance." She's got that dopey smile on her face she always gets when she talks about or thinks about or is around her boyfriend, Henry. I can't help smiling with her. It's amazing to see my sister so happy.
I yawn, my brain feeling like mush. There's something I want to tell them. Something important, but I'm so tired and the world has gone a bit fuzzy around the edges. "I think I need a nap," I say around another yawn. "I'm sorry, Daisy. Can I buy you lunch to make it up to you?"
"Are you okay?" Daisy asks. "You look flushed all of a sudden."
"I'm just tired. I might have a bit of a cold. I'll see you after my nap."
My bed has never looked so good. I need a shower, but I'll just lay down for a few minutes first. I drop onto the bed with a sigh, but a chill wracks me after just a few seconds, so I kick off my shoes and snuggle down under my covers. I'll just close my eyes for a few minutes…
"Good morning, sleepy head," a male voice booms.
I groan and pull the covers over my head, which feels like its wrapped in cotton and kinda of jiggly, like jello. I roll my head back and forth on the pillow to test it out. Yep, my brain is jello and I can't breathe through my nose.
"Don't tell me you're sleeping in?" Noah asks. "Who's going to force me to jog an extra mile?"
"We can go in the morning." My eyelids are heavy and I'm in no mood to exert the effort to lift them.
The bed shifts and I assume Noah just sat on it. I'm not coming out from under these covers to check. "Uh, Clover, it is morning. It's after seven in the morning."
It takes a few seconds for his words to penetrate my brain. After seven? What day is it? My heart sinks. Oh, no, I have a training session that was supposed to start half an hour ago.
