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I shake my head. I need to divert the subject quickly, or I will start bawling.
I glance back to August, biting my lip.
“Hey, are you okay? You look tired.”
“I’m worn out,” August answers slowly, before his mouth creases and he turns a dire look on Clara. “I’m tired of being lied to.”
Oh crud.
Wrong direction.
Clara draws herself up, lifting her chin. “If you have something to say, young man, be direct. I don’t appreciate insinuations.”
“I don’t appreciate deception,” August throws back. “She had Lester’s sketches, Aunt Clara. His developmental work. She’s going to use it to prove he created Inky first. Did he? Is there merit to the claim? Can she date the sketches to before your own?”
Say no, say no, I plead. I know it can’t be true. My idol wouldn’t do that. Clara’s such a kindhearted, thoughtful woman—she has integrity, a good heart.
Tell me everything I believed in as a little girl wasn’t a lie.
But she doesn’t say anything.
Her eyes lid and she looks at the window, her expression blanking into stubborn, glassy emptiness.
August slams a fist against the table.
The teacups bounce, clatter, splash.
With a muffled squeak, I scramble to pull my sketchbook and portfolio away.
“Damn it, Clara!” he snarls. “You can’t stay silent on this. This is the whole future of Little Key—your life’s work!”
“Yes, yes,” she says icily. “It was my life’s work, son. Now that work is done. What does it matter who owns or publishes the Inky books? They won’t disappear just because Miss Sullivan has taken over.”
“It matters to me!” August roars. “I won’t have her ruining your reputation, besmirching your good name, shitting on everything you built over all the years! Where’s your spine? Where’s your love? Where’s your pride? What happened to the woman who raised me?”
Clara turns a slow, heartbreakingly sad smile on August. “She realized some things are more important than owning an idea.”
I don’t understand.
There’s something weird there, like something haunting her, some terrible secret even deeper than this.
August must realize it too.
He goes silent, slumping back in his chair and staring at her in a silence that stretches on longer and longer, until I can’t take it anymore.
“If you win the case, I had an idea,” I venture slowly. Breaking the silence feels mortifying, especially when they’re still looking at each other and not me. “Maybe to keep Little Key afloat and revive interest in the brand, we could relaunch the pen pal program.”
“Pointless,” August mutters, crushing the idea and my heart as carelessly as he’d pulverize a dazed wasp under his heel. “Children these days text. Send DMs. They don’t write letters by hand.”
“Oh,” I say faintly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. The novelty probably would wear off pretty fast ...”
“Oh, don’t be stupid,” Clara snaps. There’s a thud under the table. August squints one eye and jerks his leg back, wincing.
“Ow!”
“I’ll kick you again if you ever speak to Elle so dismissively again,” Clara bites off, and I flush. “Apologize. And listen to her properly.”
To his credit, August looks a little shamed.
