“I need to say this.” She squeezed her eyes shut, and shook her head quickly. “I lied to you, Quinn. After the funeral, a few weeks after, Mom called me and asked me to get in touch with you. She asked me to help them; she wanted to apologize. And I told her that you didn’t want to talk to her and that you couldn’t forgive her.”
Quinn blinked, like he was startled. His gaze of confusion swiftly became a glare ripe with accusation, and when he spoke, his voice was rough, thick with anger.
“Why did you do that?”
She opened her eyes again and met his squarely, her voice firm. “Because I was a coward. I was selfish and a coward. You finally moved to Chicago after the funeral, after what happened. And I wasn’t afraid anymore. You were like a bridge for me, an escape, a way for me to survive. I was worried that if you talked to Mom, you’d move back to Boston, and I’d be alone.”
“So you lied to me?”
“Yes.”
“And you lied to Mom? And Dad?”
“Yes.” Her eyes were glassy, but she didn’t cry.
“That kept us apart for years. Years.”
“I know.”
“I thought they didn’t want anything to do with me. I thought—” He stopped himself, his gaze growing unfocused, like he was remembering the years away from his parents. As though suddenly realizing something, he brought his wide stare back to his sister. “They thought I hated them?”
“Yes, it was my fault. And I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry.” He said the words like they strangled him.
“I’m so sorry.” She kept her eyes on him, absorbing his anger.
He stood suddenly, turning away from his sister and pacing to the fridge. “I can’t believe this.”
I held perfectly still, hoping that if I didn’t move, he would forget I was in the room, witnessing this deeply personal family moment.
He paced back to the table, his tone lethally calm while his eyes flashed. “You are so selfish. So fucking selfish.”
“I know.” She nodded, rolling her lips between her teeth. Taking it.
Watching this unfold was hard, maybe just as hard as watching her face her fears with Dr. West. Quinn hadn’t crossed any lines. His anger was justified. But it was clear he didn’t understand the nature of her disorder.
And it was also clear she had no plans to tell him. At least, not yet. It’s as though Shelly believes she deserves his wrath, his . . . hatred and dismissal.
“You wanted me in Chicago, but you didn’t bother to stay in the city. We had breakfast barely once a week for years, and that’s the only time I saw you. You never stayed. You never came when I needed you, when I needed family. I was on my own. But you wanted me in Chicago, not Boston.”
She dropped her eyes then, and they fell to the table. The urge to go to her was unbearable, to hold her, to take this pain from her. But it wasn’t mine to take.
This was her refrigerator.
“We had pancakes for twenty minutes, and then you had to go. I can’t remember the last time we hugged. Why the hell did you want me in Chicago?”
Her voice was meek, quiet as she said, “I loved you. I wanted—”
“No. Not a good reason. You don’t treat someone you love like that.”
She closed her eyes, nodding again. “No. You don’t. I was wrong. I was manipulative and wrong. And I wish I could go back and be better—for you and for Mom and Dad—but I can’t.” Lifting her chin, she opened her eyes and met her brother’s glare. “I understand if you can’t forgive me, but I—”
“Oh no. No, no, no. I’m going to forgive you.” He said this like it was a threat. “You don’t get off that easily.”
32
“When you fish for love, bait with your heart, not your brain.”
― Mark Twain, Notebook
* * *
*Beau*
Her brow drew together as she studied her brother. “You forgive me?”
“Not yet. I’m going to be angry for a while. Really, really pissed.”
Janie nodded at that, like she was mentally preparing for what it meant when Quinn was really, really pissed. Other than visible displays of concern for both Quinn and Shelly’s feelings, she didn’t seem too worried about him being pissed.
She didn’t seem afraid or alarmed, like he might take his anger out on her.
If it had been my father, my mother would have hidden all us kids.
But not Quinn.
No.
Quinn was a good guy, it was easy to see that now, even though he was angry. Actually, this moment made me realize I could tell a lot about a person’s character when they were angry. Quinn’s character was serious as shit, reserved, and honorable.
“And you’re going to make it up to me.” He pointed at his sister, his eyes a little wild. “You’re going to come to Thanksgiving. And Christmas. And you’re going to stay with us through New Year’s and we’re going to exchange gifts, so that means you have to go shopping.” He was quick to add, “No online shopping. You have to go to a store.”
Shelly made a face that was something between a grimace, a chin wobble, and a smile. “Quinn—”
“Mom and Dad will be there at Christmas, so get ready to tell them what you just told me.”
Now her face was all grimace but she nodded. “Okay. Okay, I will.”
My heart hurt for her, at the thought she’d have to do this all over again. But in the end, it would be worth it. In the end, she’d be stronger and she’d have stitched her family back together.
“And I want a portrait of Desmond,” Janie put in, glancing between brother and sister. When they just looked at her silently, she explained to Quinn, “I just figure, while we’re making demands, we should get her to paint a portrait. Right?”
Quinn stared at Janie, like he couldn’t believe the words out of her mouth.
But then Janie pointed to Quinn and snapped her fingers. “No. We want a family portrait. A nice one. Not any of that cubist garbage.”
I had to press my lips into a line to keep from grinning at her tangent.
Meanwhile, Shelly’s eyes shone with guilt as she watched her brother. And he continued glaring at her, as though trying to devise additional ways to torture his sister.
Abruptly, he said, “And we want you to be Desmond’s godmother.”
She stiffened, her lips parting in shock. “I don’t—”
“You’re going to do it.”
Shelly looked like she was struggling to swallow and her eyes—large with fear—came to mine. Help me, they said. Help me, please.
I cleared my throat, my gaze shifting from Shelly’s to Quinn’s to Janie’s, then back to Shelly’s.
“So, I have an idea,” I said to Shelly, giving her a small, encouraging smile.
Then I turned to Janie. “Can I hold Desmond, please?”
Janie frowned at me suddenly, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits. “Don’t wake him up.”
Not the resounding endorsement I’d been hoping for, but I’d take it.
“I’m good with babies. They love me.” I slipped my hand under his sleeping head, supporting the infant’s body with my forearm. Then I brought the little tyke to my chest. Damn, he was cute.
Standing, I gently swayed as I walked to where Shelly sat, watching me with dawning horror.
“No. No. This is a bad idea. Please, please, Beau. No.” She shrank from me, her gaze growing wild.
“Shh,” I hushed her and the baby, who’d stirred at the tension in his aunt’s voice. “Stand up, Shelly.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head, her chin wobbling again. “You know I can’t.”