Chapter 28
Cora
I'm torn between the instructions given by Rebecca and Eddie telling me not to do anything without him present.
I have to schedule both Chris and William to come to the house, but honestly, reaching out for a special dinner at any other time than around the holidays is going to be weird.
I sit on the edge of my bed, wishing I could teleport myself to any other moment in time than this one, but going back a month to a time when my sister still existed isn't possible.
I shoot off a text to William first, knowing it'll take longer for him to respond before firing off one to Chris.
Chris: Who is this?
I frown down at my phone, realizing just how infrequent we message each other. It's been over a week since I had to replace my phone, and I still haven't given him my new number.
Me: Cora
When his name flashes on the screen, I send it to voicemail, quickly shooting off an explanation.
Me: In line at the grocery store. Can't talk.
I hate that I have to lie to him, but just the sight of his name on my screen made my throat clog with emotions. I have no idea how I'm going to face either one of them, knowing Sadie is gone and they're about to find that out .
Chris: I'm down for a home-cooked meal any day of the week. Saturday works for me!
One down one to go, and as long as I thought I'd have to wait, William surprised me by texting back less than an hour later agreeing to come home for dinner on Saturday. I really thought I'd have to beg, making it even more suspicious.
I head downstairs, only giving his closed door the briefest of looks. The kitchen is my happy place, although I spend so much time meeting with potential donors for Chapter One, I don't get to spend as much time in here as I'd like.
"I was going to do that," I tell Faye when I see her at the stove, pan grilling the chicken I left in the sink to thaw.
She waves her hand, dismissing me in the same manner she did Eddie earlier.
"Care to explain why that man is here?" she asks over her shoulder.
"He's here to go through Sadie's things. We've hit a roadblock in the investigation."
I see the sadness in her eyes, and despite not knowing that Sadie is gone forever, she knows my sister has been lost for a very long time, and if anything she seems saddened that I haven't accepted it as well.
I consider that maybe that's William's problem. Maybe he has just given up hope that she could change, not that he wished her dead so much that he hired a hitman to rid her of our lives completely.
"I was going to make salads," I tell her when she pulls the chicken from the pan before tossing sliced peppers and onions into it.
"Nonsense. You're too skinny. Carbs. You'll have carbs."
"Carbs," I mutter as if they solve every problem.
"Get the tortillas from the pantry," she insists pointing her spatula in that direction. "The good ones. I don't want any of those cardboard ones."
An unexpected smile crosses my face at her tone. I pull out both kinds of tortillas because I'm well aware of how easy it is at this point in my life to get off track, and with the recent upheaval in my life, I need some normalcy and that includes low-carb, high-protein tortillas.
Faye frowns at the two packs in my hands. "If he eats those damn things, you throw the whole man out."
I huff a laugh as I drop them to the counter and turn back around to the fridge to get the other things we'll need to make this a proper meal.
Eddie comes down right at six, but we're a little behind, fajitas taking more time than the salads I'd planned to make.
"Something smells amazing," he says, and I watch the shift in Faye immediately. As much as she claims to not like strangers, she has to stop herself from smiling back at him.
He winks in my direction, telling me he noticed it too, and I see the challenge in his eyes as if he's planning to make the woman like him come hell or high water.
"Simple fajitas," I explain. "You'll need to thank Faye. I was going to make salads."
He scrunched his nose up as he lifts a hand to his flat stomach. "I'd wither away."
She scoffs as if she proved a point, but I'm frozen in place, remembering the way those muscles lining his abdomen flexed every time I lifted off him last night.
I swallow and turn back to the fridge. "Would you like something to drink?"
"Water would be great," he says, and I feel like both sets of eyes in the room are drilling into my back when I open the refrigerator door.
"Faye?"
"Whiskey," she says, pulling a chuckle from Eddie, but the woman isn't joking.
She drinks a healthy pour before bed every night. When I told him earlier that she takes her medicine at dinner, the whiskey is what I was referencing.
"Oh, she's serious," he says in a conspiratorial tone when Faye leaves the room to carry a dish to the dining room table.
I hold up the bottle between us. "She says it's the only thing keeping her alive."
"Let me help you," he says when Faye putters back into the room and begins to pick up the plate with warmed tortillas on it.
"Fine," she says with another wave of her hand. "Do what you wish."
He gives me a sly smile before leaving the room.
Before long, the three of us settle around the dining room table, and I can't count the number of meals I've had here. Coming together as a family was always important to my mother, so we ate nearly every meal besides breakfast here. Even when it's only Faye and me, we eat at the table. It would be strange to do it anywhere else.
I do my best to keep my eyes off the chair beside me. It was where Sadie always sat, although it had been years since she came into the house for anything other than seeking out something to pawn or sell for drugs.
I chance a look in Eddie's direction, finding him watching me, and as strong as I've tried to be, the sad look on his face as if he can hear every thought in my head threatens that clog of emotions to lodge in my throat.
"I'd like the recipe for the chicken if you have it," Eddie says, distracting Faye when I have to lift the napkin from my lap to dab at my watering eyes.
"Chicken," Faye says as if he's an idiot. "Just chicken."
"There has to be seasoning on it," he counters, trying to keep her distracted.
"Yes," she says but doesn't explain further .
We eat the rest of the meal in silence, both of us watching each time Faye lifts her glass of whiskey to her lips as if she's sipping water rather than ninety-proof alcohol.
Before long, Faye stands, nodding in his direction before patting my hand and leaving the room, carrying her plate to the kitchen.
"I take it that's her medicine?"
I huff a laugh. "That's it."
I wait until I hear her climbing the stairs before speaking again.
"I reached out to my brothers. They'll both be here for dinner on Saturday."
"That fast?"
I dip my head, moving food around my plate but not feeling hungry enough to eat anymore.
His plate is empty, making me wonder if we offered him enough to keep him full through the night. But he's a grown man, and he knows where the kitchen is if he gets hungry.
I feel hateful for even thinking that, and mentally I blame it on exhaustion, and maybe part of me sort of hates that he didn't argue with me when I told him last night didn't matter, not that I did it because I thought it would lead anywhere.
He stands when I do, grabbing more than just his plate from the table when he follows me into the kitchen. We set about clearing the table, packing leftovers for the fridge and doing dishes, me washing him rinsing and drying as if it's the most natural thing to do.
I'm grateful that he doesn't immediately disappear after we're done, opting instead to follow me into the den. It takes out a little of this morning's sting.
"This room is so different from the ones at the front of the house," he says, walking toward the bookcase and running his finger along the selection there .
I read mostly on my tablet these days. The books on the shelf were my parents’.
"William does a lot of hosting here when he's not in DC," I explain. "They have to be more formal. This room has always been the room we spent time in as a family."
"When I first walked in," he says moving to the French doors that lead out to the back garden. "I imagined it being your space."
"Honestly," I say walking up beside him and flipping the light so he can see out into the yard. "It's only one of two places I really feel comfortable here other than my bedroom. My other fave spot is out there."
"I imagine it's beautiful when it's in bloom," he says, his eyes drifting over the winterized garden.
"Hundreds if not thousands of flowers bloom out there every spring and summer. I've considered making it a cut garden, but William thinks it's rude to invite people to your house to pay to cut their own flowers."
I watch his face transform, a frown drawing down the corners of his mouth with my explanation.
"I think it's rude to tell people what they want out of life is rude," he says, his gaze dropping to meet mine in the reflection. "I'd like to see it one day in full bloom."
"My mother was such a great gardener," I say rather than confirm that I'd like the same. His offer is just something people say to keep the conversation alive. It's not like he'd really want to come back here at some point to look at flowers. "It's so tranquil and serene out there with nothing but the birds chirping and the breeze pushing its way through the plants."
"Are you the only one who followed your mother's flower-growing path?"
"The boys were never interested. Dad liked them because Mom liked them. Sadie was allergic to bees. The one time she did go out there, she destroyed as many plants as she could swinging around a fake wooden sword Dad bought her at the local Renaissance Fair because she was angry he wouldn't buy her a real dagger. I can only imagine what she would've done with it if he had gotten it for her."
He doesn't chuckle, and I wonder if he might've if things were different. If I were telling this story and my sister was alive and doing well in life, would the reaction be the same?
"When I have the chance to really sit down and think about her, I realize that she had always been extremely destructive. I think she was never happy, and she wanted to take other people's happiness from them. I think she wanted people to live in misery with her."
"I've known men like that," he says. "They're difficult to be around because just their presence seems to suck joy from the room."
"Exactly," I agree. "And I feel hateful for even thinking about her like that now that she's gone."
"Death doesn't change who a person was, it simply ends the chance that they could change."
His words hit home in a way that makes my sadness deepen. He's right, of course.
"Other than the garden, what else gives you joy?"
"Work," I say easily. "I take a lot of pride in my job."
He steps away from the doors and turns to me.
"That garden was your mother's. Your job was your mother's," he says. "What do you have that's yours and yours alone?"
I look up, staring into his eyes, and not a single thing comes to mind.