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If she were mine and I was hers, I'd take a moment to appreciate the beauty that is her naked body, wet and shiny. Instead, I look away as I wrap the towel around her.
"Want me to help you dry your hair?"
"No thanks. I'm really tired. I'm just going to watch TV in bed and maybe take another nap in a bit. Go help your step dad."
I hold her elbow as she steps out of the tub. I did something wrong, but I have no idea what. "Can I bring you some clothes?"
She smiles, but her eyes are sad. "I'm okay, Asher. I'm safe from drowning in the tub and I can dress myself. Your parents need you more than I do."
"They aren't expecting me—" I glance at my watch. "Well, they won't be upset if I'm a little late. I'm just going to help them look over some paperwork and—"
"It's fine, Asher. Go. I'm no good for company now."
"Call me if you need anything," I say. "I can be back over here in ten minutes."
"I promise. I'll call you if I need anything at all. But I won't need anything. Take care of your family."
I walk out of her bedroom and out of her house, every step feeling wrong. I'm supposed to be taking care of her. I'm not supposed to be walking away. That feels true down to my soul.
But I don't turn back, because she asked me to leave and I have nothing to offer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Clover
"Good morning," Honey says with a bright smile that makes me wince and step back almost as much as the sunshine streaming in through the kitchen windows. Honey frowns. "Still not feeling well?"
Physically? I've slept for two days and I'm feeling almost back to one hundred percent. Emotionally, I feel like I've been rolled over by a street paver and then my heart was pulled out of my chest and dissected by a college biology lab. "Dad conned Asher's stepfather out of his life savings. Because of our father, Asher's stepfather lost everything and is now sleeping at Asher's apartment because Mr and Mrs. Winfield's condo burned and they don't have the money to cover the losses."
Honey stares at me for a long moment, her smile vanishing. "We have to make it right."
I exhale a relieved breath. "I have to make it right and I'm going to. I'm going to give Mr. Winfield the partial inheritance we just got from the lawyer."
"What about the gym?" Daisy walks into the kitchen and right up to the island where I'm pouring myself a mug of coffee. "You could use the money to buy the gym."
"It's not my money." I press a hand to my chest, but not because I'm going to lose the money or the gym. It's losing Asher that's breaking my heart. "Every penny Dad ever made is dirty and I don't want it. I'm giving it back to the people he stole from."
Daisy doesn't look surprised, but Honey looks like she's on the verge of tears. "I never thought about it that way. None of the inheritance is really ours."
"No," I say, more sharply than I intended. "You're going to use that money to help animals in need. You're paying it forward. You had nothing to do with Dad's criminal acts."
"Neither did you," Daisy says gently. "You aren't responsible for what Dad did."
"Is that what you tell yourself to feel better about your part in it?" The words come out harsh and sharp. I'm sad about losing Asher and I'm angry at Dad for leaving me in this position and I'm still angry at Daisy, no matter how unfair it is.
"I don't tell myself anything," Daisy says. "Dad made his choices and the people he conned made their choices. Do you have information about the people he conned once he left Catalpa Creek? Are you going to try to reimburse every person he ever took money from?"
"No," I say, a bit frustrated that she's so damn calm. "Mrs. Geraldine could only find the list of people he stole from in Catalpa Creek. She said he specifically asked that the information get to me."
"So you could make it right," Honey says. "Dad must have known how upset you were about what happened."
I sigh. "I'd been asking him for years for a list. He refused to give it to me while he was alive, so I don't see it as a gift that he left it to me in death."
"But maybe it's a sign he felt bad about what he made you do?" Honey asks.
"Stop trying to make him a good person," I shout, having totally lost it now. All my years of yoga and meditation and practicing patience and control are doing me no good at the moment. "He was a horrible person with no redeeming qualitiesand all the money in the world will never be able to make up for what he did."
"He left," a new voice says. We all three turn to see our mother, Henrietta Weston, standing in the entryway to the kitchen. Her hair is cut short and close to her face in a stylish pixie and it's pink. She's wearing loose-fitting, wide-legged pants and a white blouse that makes her look a bit like an avenging pirate.
