2. Stevie #2
The simple mention of the nighttime project takes me back to a short time ago when I moved into the manor while my sister and her serial killer boyfriend’s underground empire took revenge on the men who captured and assaulted her. I’d like to not relive that nightmare anytime soon.
The rain raps at the glass window behind my head. “Fine. We can talk about it when you get back.”
Lux giggles as if keeping something humorous in.
“What?” I snap.
“Nothing.” Her voice is tight.
I roll my eyes and fold one arm over the other. “Lux.”
She blows out a breath, giving up. “Fine, I just think you and Sebastian would get along if you got to know each other better.”
“We tried.”
“Maybe try again?”
I pull my lips to the slide, annoyed at her persistence. “Us trying included breakfast, one session with their personal trainer, and a small collaboration on the nighttime project.”
Their team was working to take down Andrew Hughes, the heir to a well-known hotel chain. It was an intense time, and I do not wish to revisit that world either.
“But since you and his cousin are grossly obsessed with each other, I’m sure I’ll be around him more than I’d like, anyway.” I click on another email.
“That’s better than nothing,” she says. “And I’ll take it.”
I can’t help but laugh at my sister. “How’s the writing going?”
“Eh. I have done little in the last couple of weeks as you know, but I’m hoping I’ll be able to get into the zone once River and I are in France and eventually meet my deadline.”
“Give yourself some grace—I’m sure you’ll find the words soon.”
“Thanks, Stevie. How’s Nevermore?” she asks as we quickly catch up on other things.
I glance again at the rain outside as it blankets the forest trees. “Good. Kristine has been taking on additional administrative work, which has freed up more of my time.”
“That’s great!” Lux’s high-pitched voice vibrates through the phone. “That means you’ll have more time for your grave-rubbing art.”
Grave rubbing was something my mother used to do. And I took an interest in it early on, maybe to feel like I was closer to her and that we had something in common.
“Yeah, and I don’t have to feel as stressed. I’ve been prepping more clients again, too.”
“Aww. Taking care of them yourself has always been your first love,” she coos.
“Someone has to watch out for the dead, right?” I comment. “And I’m the best person to do it.”
“You are, Stevie,” she says. “I guess what we do for a living is a result of how we grew up with Dad, huh?”
“Exactly.” My eyes scan through a full inbox of emails to get back to. “Okay, okay. I need to get back to work. See you tonight.”
She laughs. “We’ll talk later. Bye.”
I end the call, toss the phone onto the desk, and wipe a hand down my face, ready to tackle my emails.
The restaurant was one of my mother’s favorites.
Or at least that’s what Dad always said.
I’m not entirely sure if that’s true anymore.
I was six and Lux was eight when our mother died.
Most of my memories are fragmented now. They only consist of a laugh and a sweet-smelling perfume.
And the feeling of warm fingers brushing hair from my face, but the details have faded more every year.
Dad remembers everything. Which is why the three of us sit in the same booth every year on my mother’s birthday.
The waitress sets down a basket of bread, and Lux immediately steals the only garlic knot.
“Hey!” I reach for the same one.
“I saw it first,” Lux says, popping a piece into her mouth.
I roll my eyes.
From across the table, Dad smiles into his drink, and for a moment, the years seem to disappear from his face.
Not completely. Retirement has softened him, but homicide has left permanent marks.
Even with him helping on a few cold cases, the lines around his eyes are still deep.
And the habit of scanning every room he enters are signs of a former detective—always a detective.
Lux inherited that part of him, but I never had. Which is probably why I spent most of my life feeling like the odd one out. Dad and Lux could spend hours talking about cases. Criminal psychology and investigation, things I understand but never loved. The dead interest me.
“How’s retirement?” Lux asks.
Dad snorts. “It would be boring if I weren’t helping with the cold case unit.”
Lux laughs, then takes a sip from her red wine.
The sound warms something inside me, because Lux and Dad look so similar when they smile. They both have the same sharp intelligence and the ability to read the room without trying. But me? Everyone says I inherited my mother’s softer features instead.
“How often are you taking on new cases?” Lux asks.
Dad shrugs. “I’m working on one right now. I don’t know how useful I can be, though. I’m hoping with the new advancements in forensics, we can close some of them, but we’ll see.”
“You are useful.”
He pointed his fork at her. “You’re biased.”
“You’re my father.
“Exactly.”
I watch their exchange quietly, taking slow sips of wine and bites of bread while the familiar ache settles in my chest. Not jealousy, but just that old feeling I’ve carried since childhood. Like I’ve been standing outside a conversation everyone else understood.
But my dad notices, like he always does. “What about you, Stevie?”
I glance up. “What about me?”
“How’s the mortuary?”
“It’s going well. And I’ve had more time to spend grave rubbing since Kristine has been taking on more.”
Dad smiles. “That’s great. Your mom loved spending hours in the evening at the cemetery.”
The table falls quiet. Not uncomfortable, just thoughtful, as the three of us are reminded she’s no longer with us.
I pick at a small string on the corner of a cloth napkin. “I understand that deeply.”
My dad’s expression softens. “Yeah.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes when I clean the stones…” I shrug. “It feels like I’m doing something for people nobody visits anymore.” My voice grows quieter as the same feeling of sadness that always surrounds me about my mother appears again.
“Mom’s grave always looked so lonely when we were kids.”
My dad’s eyes immediately drop while regret flashes across his face. Not because he didn’t visit, but because he worked so much back then. Grief nearly swallowed him whole. “You girls never told me that.”
I smile sadly. “You were busy surviving.”
Silence settles again.
Lux reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “You’re a good person, Stevie.”
I snort. “Because I rub graves in my free time?”
“Because you care,” she corrects. “And you give the pieces of art you create to your clients’ families. It’s a thoughtful gesture.”
My dad nods. “Your mother’s favorite thing about you, even though you were young, you always had such a kind and empathetic soul.”
I blink. “Thanks.”
He looks out the large bay window in front of us, lost somewhere years away. “You’re a lot like her.”
Emotion climbs unexpectedly into my throat, and I look away before anyone notices.
“Well,” Lux says, breaking the moment. “Maybe someday you’ll meet someone who appreciates what you do for a living. And who you have that in common with.”
I nearly choke, recalling a similar conversation with my cynical sister about her love life. “Weren’t we just having this conversation about you?”
“Yeah, and I was just like you. But then I found River, and now I know what it’s like to have someone who gets you,” she adds with a warm smile.
My sister is in love, and it’s changed her attitude about life.
Have I become the cynical one?
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” I force a grin, taking another sip. “And besides, special friends can fill that void,” I say, trying to be vague around my dad, about how I don’t want to commit to anything serious with anyone.
Lux and I share a light laugh at our dad’s reaction.
The tension between us dissolves instantly, just like it always does when we talk about difficult topics.
That’s the thing about my family. We all carry grief.
We have old wounds, but we bear them together.
Maybe I’ll never understand crime the way Dad and Lux do, and maybe I won’t ever be completely fearless, but being the softer, stranger one is who I am.