Then again, maybe a piece of her was jealous. Well, the remnant of seventeen-year-old Amelia was perhaps a little jealous. Ellie was living the life Amelia thought she’d have with Caleb when they dated back in high school. Not that she imagined her life would be better with the present-day underemployed, repressed-artist version of Caleb she knew now. But back then, Caleb wasn’t just her boyfriend; he was her best friend and the only person in her life who thought she could make it as a professional cellist. As a fellow artist, he knew what it meant to be passionate about your craft, and they often talked about their dreams of moving to New York and diving into that dynamic future together.
But those dreams were crushed when Caleb dumped her without explanation a week before her Juilliard audition. She canceled the audition. If she wasn’t even adequate for a relationship with Caleb, how could she ever be talented enough for Juilliard?
She had loved Caleb, but the devastation was from more than failing in a teenage relationship. Losing him brought back all the pain of losing her mom. Caleb’s rejection made her never want to lose anyone ever again. That was why she tried so hard with Steve, why she always wanted to please him even though she failed so often. It hurt badly enough when someone left your life because of an unexpected accident. It hurt in a whole new way when the person you loved left you because you weren’t good enough.
Steve tossed his jeans into the tall white hamper by their walk-in closet and yanked off his socks one foot at a time, bringing her back to reality.
“Yeah, I know. What is with you ladies and wanting to marry a doctor?”
Amelia scoffed. “What is this, 1955? I just meant that he is smart and clearly cares about people and wants to contribute to the family.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Steve lifted the covers on the left side of the bed and slipped under, readjusting his head on his pillow three or four times before settling. “I wonder if this means she’ll be willing to listen to some reason about Richard now.”
“Steve.” Amelia put her book down again, trying to measure her response so they didn’t get into another fight. “This isn’t just an Ellie decision. He’s my dad too, and I want to help take care of him.”
Steve turned onto his side, facing Amelia. His hand reached across the space between them until it rested on her forearm. “M, let’s not talk about this now. It’s been a long day, and I can only do one ‘what to do with Dad’ talk in a twelve-hour period.”
“Hey, you brought it up.”
Steve took his hand back and fluffed his pillow again, closing his eyes for a moment. “Yeah, I know . . . and I’m dropping it. I’ve got that big project in Staltsman tomorrow, and I’ve gotta be there at six. Hey”—his eyes popped open, head raised a little—“did you print me out that permit?”
Amelia’s throat tightened. No. She’d forgotten. Again. Though Amelia wasn’t an official Broadlands Roofing employee, she still helped out when she had a chance. Sometimes that meant acting as a secretary or even as an office-cleaning crew. Today she’d just ignored Steve’s text when she saw it was business related. She was too busy trying to not get pulled over while speeding to her gig. Of course, she promised herself that she’d check it later, that she’d actually do something for Steve the first time he asked; she’d been forgetting his various requests so often that he’d come to distrust her follow-through on any responsibility he placed in her hands. She was unsure when she went from the teenage caregiver of a little sister and broken father to the mess she was as an adult.
When Amelia didn’t answer right away, Steve shook his head like he was ashamed that he’d even hoped she’d answer in the affirmative. “I’ll just do it in the morning.”
“No.” Amelia threw back the covers, sending her book flying across the bed. “I’ll do it right now. It’s only”—she checked the digital clock on the side table—“eleven forty. I don’t have to get up early. You sleep. I’ll find the permit.”
Steve paused as though thinking through her offer and then closed his eyes again with a sniff. “Okay. It’s in the Gmail account. I think I texted you the permit number today.”
“Yup, I got it!” she said, almost a little too chipper as she flipped out of bed and snagged her phone off the bedside table. When her feet hit the floor, she wished she had pulled out her winter fleece pajamas instead of her summer shorts and tee shirt. April was too early to transition—the day had even been cooler than average—but all her warmer pajamas were either dirty or clean but sitting unfolded in the basement. She tried to ignore the sensation of goose bumps racing up her legs, stopping to grab her nearly threadbare sweatshirt off the back of the wing chair in the corner of the room before heading out into the dark hallway.
The house was silent and black. Her book light had kept her eyes from adjusting to the dark in her bedroom, so now the hall looked like it was bathed in ink. Every footstep sounded monstrous as she held her breath passing the girls’ rooms. They’d had enough excitement for one night, planning Ellie’s shower and talking about who would get to be the flower girl and who would carry the ring at the wedding. Last thing they needed was a late-night scare from a noise in the hall.
Descending the back stairs that led to the kitchen, Amelia swore the temperature dropped by ten degrees. She pulled her hands into her sleeves and let her thumbs poke out from holes on the side. She turned on the light behind the sink. A small pile of serving bowls and utensils still sat in the sink. Even after doing one full load of dishes with Ellie after dinner, there were still more waiting for her. More. Always more. That was pretty much what her life felt like right now. Everyone always wanted more. Steve, the girls, her dad, even Ellie. And now with the stroke, and the business struggling, she thought she might drown in demands. Well, too bad for them that she didn’t know how much more she had to give.
She turned away from the sink and examined the steel door in front of her. Steve always locked it at night so that if someone broke into the office, they wouldn’t be able to get into the main house. The single silver key hung on the key holder screwed into the wall. It rested against Amelia’s set of mysteriously disappearing keys right next to it.
She unlocked the door with a familiar click and slipped into the dark office by the borrowed light from the kitchen. With less hesitation this time, Amelia illuminated the office with a click of Steve’s desk lamp. The computer was about three times the size of the flat-screen computers the kids used at school. Steve found it easier and ultimately cheaper to keep the ancient pieces of machinery rather than replace them with fancy new computers and learn new software and new procedures and new . . . everything. Yeah, Steve wasn’t huge on “new.”