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I figured she’d be there at every Scott family holiday celebration, offering up that delicious cranberry sauce she always makes with the actual, whole cranberries. Handing out plants as Christmas presents. Waving sparklers at the Fourth of July barbecue.
I thought we’d get to do sister-ish things, like go shopping for clothes together and plan family vacations and maybe share a room in a nursing home one day. Sisters do that, right?
“Everyone knows you guys make each other happy. We’re going to fix this.” I squeeze Trent’s hand. “I want this wedding to be the best day ever.”
“I do, too. I thought everything was good. How can I get her back, if she won’t even answer her phone?” He lifts his miserable eyes to meet mine. “I tried to drive out to her mom’s, but you know they have that gate across the driveway. I couldn’t even make it to the house.”
It sucks to see him so down.
So unshaven.
So un-Trent.
My big brother co-owns a successful ski-touring business with Cole. He drives a big, shiny new truck, owns a cute, tidy house and is typically so on-top of everything.
It’s unsettling, to see him at a loss like this.
Think, Olivia.
How am I going to make this better? How am I going to fix this crazy mess? The bartender passes, setting a bottle down in front of me as she goes. I see her pause in front of Cole to collect his credit card.
“Some women buy their own drinks,” Cole grumbles, as he sets his worn leather wallet on the bar. “It’s called equality.”
It’s our usual song and dance.
The last time I was here with Trent and Cole and some other friends, Cole made a big fuss about me buying his beer because of some bet I lost. The time before that, I got him to foot the bill for the two glasses of wine I had with dinner.
But right now, I have bigger things to worry about than squabbling with Cole...
“I left my card in the car,” I tell him with a dismissive wave out toward the street.
“Funny choice, seeing as everything in this place costs money.”
“Would you quit distracting me?” I lift the drink and take a sip. “I’m trying to think.” I turn to face Trent again. “Okay, let’s start from the beginning. She left Tuesday night, right?”
“Yeah. After dinner. I grilled.”
The bartender hands Cole back his card. He slips it in his wallet and leans to one hip to get his wallet into the back pocket of his snug black Levis.
“What’d you grill up?” he asks Trent.
As if that matters.
“I don’t think the menu’s the issue here,” I say. “We’re going to talk about actual emotions, as frightening as that might be to both of you.”
Trent leans forward to speak past me.
“Burgers. Cheeseburgers, with that good beef you gave us. Mine was medium-rare, I grilled hers up so it was well done. She hates seeing pink in the middle.”
“Can we focus,please?” I wave my hands to break up the meat-grilling chit-chat. “What’d she say, before she left? What was her emotional state? You know… crying, yelling, silent treatment…?”
I can’t imagine Maggie giving anyone the silent treatment.
Then again, we all behave badly under stress. I’ve seen myself act like a two-year-old under the perfect storm ofcircumstances, so for all I know sweet Maggie threw a temper tantrum and rolled on Trent’s kitchen floor, balled up fists, screaming and all, before she scooted out of town.
“She was sort of sad,” Trent mumbles.
I arch a brow and deliver a disappointed teacher look at my brother. He’s a year and a half older than me, but sometimes I feel about a thousand times wiser.
