My heart sinks just slightly when it goes to voice mail.
“Hi, it’s me, Catherine.” How many Catherines does he know? “Catherine Wright,” I clarify, and then roll my eyes at myself. “I just found the envelope tucked in my cupboard. I wish you hadn’t done that. Thank you, but . . . you really shouldn’t have.” Maybe I should have given this some thought before calling. “This is way too much. I get that you want to cover the income I’ve lost, but I’ve only been off two weeks. I wouldn’t earn this much in four months. And I didn’t do what I did for money. Even after I found out who you were, I still didn’t want your money. I’ve told you all this already. It’s like . . .” I’m struggling to articulate what I want to say. I did a better job with Kate Wethers, even when I sounded like a love-struck girl. “It’s like you’re handing me a reward for saving your life. Like you put a price on your life and apparently it’s worth . . . I don’t know, what is this?” I thumb through it again. “Five thousand? Six? You’re worth way more than six thousand dollars.” I gasp the second the words leave my mouth and register in my brain. “Wait! That came out wrong. That doesn’t mean I want more money. I don’t want any of it.” I groan. “God, I hate leaving voice messages.”
I turn to find Brenna standing in her bedroom doorway in her Olaf pajamas, staring at me with wide, curious eyes. I must sound like a crazy person right now, ranting at someone on the phone for giving us money, when for her entire life, she’s heard me talking about things we can’t afford.
I take a deep breath, and when it sails out my lungs, some of my steam goes with it. “I appreciate the gesture. But I just can’t accept it. I need you to take it back. Good night.”
I hang up, wishing there was a way to delete my voice mail and start over. I briefly consider calling back and leaving another, more civil message, but I’m afraid it’ll only make this entire situation more embarrassing.
Then it occurs to me: Was he screening my call? Has he been waiting for me to find the envelope?
I frown. “What day is it, again?”
“Thursday.”
I dart over to turn on the TV and search out the Flyers game. My stress over the money temporarily vanishes as I see the score. “They’re going to win!” There’s only thirty seconds left in the game and the Flyers are ahead by two goals. Brett is guaranteed to be watching the game right now and on the edge of his seat. No wonder he didn’t answer.
I sigh with relief as the seconds count down and the buzzer goes, and the Flyers collide into each other in a sweaty heap of joy. At least Brett will be in a good mood when he listens to my ranting, rambling message, and then dismisses my request entirely, as I assume he’s going to.
“Come on, Brenna. Let’s go read that book.”
Chapter 16
I still can’t hear a knock on my door without tensing up, it seems. Not even when I’m expecting someone. Like my parents, who are coming here to watch the Weekly broadcast with me.
Mom called earlier today, adamant that I bring Brenna to their house to watch the interview together. I refused. I haven’t left the house since Wednesday, except to ride with Vince to take Brenna to school, and I have no intention of doing so until it’s all over.
So she told me they were coming here and hung up before I could tell her not to. That I’d rather send Brenna to her room, turn all the lights out, and watch it alone, almost as terrified today as the day I told the police and the DA that I was recanting my statement.
I rush to the door, not because I’m eager but because I don’t know who might be lurking with cameras in Rawley’s parking lot and I don’t want to subject my parents to that.
My plan is to hide behind the door and shut it the second they cross the threshold, but when I see Jack and Emma trailing them, I forget about potential spies in the bushes.
“Uncle Jack!” Brenna shrieks, tearing across our living room to throw herself into his arms.
“Jack?” I can’t help but stare up at him. He left for college last fall and didn’t come home for Christmas because the flights were too expensive and a seventeen-hour drive in the winter wasn’t smart. In that time, he’s packed at least thirty pounds of muscle onto his six-foot frame and grown his short dirty blond hair out into a shaggy style.
“Got any food?” He chuckles, patting his hard stomach before wrapping his arm around my neck and pulling me into a hug.
“What the hell have you been eating in Minnesota?”
“That’s what I asked him,” Emma jokes, pushing the door closed behind her.
Her round blue eyes settle on me as she tucks a strand of hair—cut to her shoulders now—behind her ear. I’ve always envied her for that auburn shade. It’s so much richer than my ash-blonde. She inherited other things I have coveted, too—a C-cup, long legs, and a brain that can solve complex math equations effortlessly. “Hey, Cath.”
“Hey . . . I thought you had an exam today.”
She shrugs. “Yeah, I finished it and jumped in the car to get here in time.”
“Wow, that’s . . .” That’s a three-hour drive. That’s something I’d never expect Emma to do on my expense. We used to be a lot closer when we were younger, but we drifted, and then I became the older fuck-up sister who put our family through hell and she became the angel child who could do no wrong. I know I embarrass her. She told me as much.
Wait a minute. I turn to Jack, who’s holding a squirming and giggling Brenna under one arm like a football. “Weren’t you supposed to be in Cancún until Sunday?” He was definitely there. He has the burned nose and golden tan to prove it.
“Managed to get an earlier flight back. Just walked through the door a half hour ago.”
“Yeah, cutting it close.” Dad throws a playful punch at Jack on his way to claim the La-Z-Boy. “Your mother said you had leftovers?”
I head straight for my fridge to pull out the containers I packed. “Sandwiches and salads. Beer, too. Want one?” Keith stocked the fridge for himself, but I’m sure he won’t mind.
“Yes, please,” Jack calls out.
“Have you somehow aged by two years since you went away?” Mom shakes her head at me, taking one for my father.
Jack groans and settles himself into the love seat. “Why did I agree to come home this summer?”
“Because you missed me!” Brenna grins wide as she climbs onto his lap. She’ll be all Uncle Jack this and Uncle Jack that for the next week.
He tickles her ribs. “Not as much as you missed me.”
Not as much as I missed him, I realize, watching the two of them now.
“How old are these?” Emma asks, through a bite of a sandwich, wiping her mouth of croissant flakes.
I can’t read her expression. Is she about to comment on how they’re not fresh? “They’re from the interview on Wednesday. They should still be fine, though.”
“They’re really good.” Emma takes another big bite, her finger picking up a loose twig of rosemary as I let myself relax. “They’re fancy.”