“I’m not a beneficiary.”
“Oh.” I couldn’t imagine why Jahn wouldn’t have included his brother in his will. Technically they were half-brothers, but my dad had been three when Jahn was born, and they’d always been close. “Oh,” I repeated stupidly.
“You mother made a reservation at the Palm Court for tea. We’ll see you here at three?”
“I’ll be there.” I loved high tea, and The Drake was one of my favorite places in Chicago. Most of all, though, I just wanted to see my mom and dad.
I ended the call, then caught up with Flynn. He’d moved on to another painting, equally unsettling. A woman, Ida, slavishly dressed, her skin lumpy and discolored, her face drawn and sad. I looked at it and the other paintings nearby, each done in a similar style that showed all the ugly underpinnings of life. All the nastiness.
That’s what I didn’t like about the Albright images, of course. They made me remember that sometime, when I least expected it, someone was going to see all the way through my layers to my dirty little secrets, too.
I shuddered. “Come on,” I said to Flynn. “Let’s get out of here.”
We skipped the drink—I didn’t have time if I was going to make it to The Drake by three. “You want to come with?” I asked, certain my parents wouldn’t mind.
“Tea and tiny sandwiches and prissy harp music? Not to mention your parents grilling me about why I didn’t bother with the college thing? No, thank you. Besides, if you’re booked for the rest of the day, I may see if I can pick up the afternoon shift at the pub.”
I nodded, feeling a little guilty. Now that I’d moved out, I knew that money was tight. “Have you found a roommate? I know Kat’s been thinking about moving into the city.”
“I think you’re about the only one I’d be willing to share a one-bedroom apartment with,” he said.
“Are you going to have to move?” Now I really did feel guilty.
“Nope. I’ve got it worked out.”
I paused as we reached the main lobby. “Really?”
“What? I don’t look like a guy who knows how to make a buck?”
“Did you get a raise?”
He grinned. “You’re looking at a man with green flowing in.”
“Good for you,” I said, taking that as a yes.
We hurried outside, blinking in the sunlight, and Flynn hailed a taxi for me. I gave him a hug, double-checked that he didn’t want a lift at least as far as the hotel, and then gave the driver my destination.
He pulled out in the Michigan Avenue traffic and I settled back. The Magnificent Mile stretched out ahead of us, and I sighed, half-wishing I could tell the driver to just drive, drive, drive until I was certain that I’d stop stumbling over every bump in my life.
I loved The Drake and I loved my parents, but I knew damn well that seeing them was going to bring everything back.
Each day since Jahn died was getting a little easier. But then I’d turn a corner and it would be hard again. I’d catch the scent of his cologne. Or hear his name unexpectedly.
Or maybe I’d see the tears in my mother’s eyes.
I closed my own eyes and drew in a calming breath. This was one of those corners, and I needed to steel myself to get past it. To be strong for my parents, who’d always been strong for me.
The outside of The Drake has a sort of art deco vibe that I love. I could imagine girls in flapper dresses hanging out in the Roaring Twenties, much to the delight of the stuffy businessmen who were secretly thrilled to see so much leg and so much cleavage.