“You know that girl could have the whole world on her shoulders and be drowning, and never ask for a life vest. But can you blame her?”
Could he?He clearly didn’t know anything about her.
Ramona nodded, then wiped her hands on a paper towel. “Before I forget, I wanted to thank you. Seriously, Niko. You have no idea what it means, having you show up for these ladies and their little ones and their not-so-little ones. Some of them haven’t had an adult male in their lives who isn’t…” She trailed off, but he understood. “You give them hope, and that’s all people need, really.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “It’s the least I can do.Really.” He meant it. It truly was the absoluteleasthe could do.
He was turning to leave when he noticed the new computers, and he’d also noticed that the kitchen had been renovated, the roof got replaced, and there were new vans out front.
“The place looks great! Computers, roof, vans?—”
“Kitchen and bathroom renovations, round the clock security, staff insurance, and a new HVAC system.” Ramona exhaled with a smile.
“Wow, that’s great. Did grants come through?”
Her face scrunched as she blurted out, “No, it was Ti—” she stopped herself. “Aren’t you and Tiana together? I thought you were a couple.”
Okay, so context clues were telling him thatTianahad funded these improvements. So that was where her money went. Still, she had to have enough for herself to live in something better than a glorified shack.
The shelter’s phone started ringing, and Niko stepped into the hallway and lifted a hand in a wordless farewell, catching Ramona’s quick, grateful smile as she picked up. He paused on the threshold, thumbed at his phone, and half-heartedly scrolled through his unread texts. After a beat, he thumbed out a message to his sister, the one person who’d always had the blueprint for his brain.
Niko:Frankie, you home? I need to talk.
He waited, shifting awkwardly, until three dots appeared, then vanished, then blinked back in.
Frankie:Yes. Come by.
The tightness in his chest loosened by half.
The drive across Hope Falls was short and familiar, the kind of trip he could navigate on muscle memory alone. The mountain air had a bite to it this late in the year, and old pines swayed overhead, brushing against the deepening dusk. He always loved the Christmas lights on Main Street, strung between storefronts, casting geometric shadows on the sidewalk and the candy cane and snowman décor they had on the lampposts. It truly was a magical time. Maybe some of that magic could rub off on him.
When he pulled up to Frankie’s house, he spotted her on the porch, huddled in a threadbare hoodie with her Irish setter Lucy perched beside her like a bouncer. At Niko’s approach, Lucy launched herself forward, a blur of copper fur and uncontrolled joy, tail thumping a staccato rhythm against each step as she bounded towards him. He squatted and gave her a good petting while she covered his face in kisses. When he stood back up, hepulled out a beef jerky he’d grabbed from his stash in the glove box and gave it to her.
“You’re spoiling her, you know,” Frankie called down, arms folded against the cold.
He grinned up at her. “Uncle Niko will always be her favorite.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re gonna be like this when we have kids, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. I am not above bribing and/or buying my nieces and nephews?—”
“You don’t have to buy your nieces and nephews love.”
“Who said anything about love? I’m going for Favorite Uncle title every year. Top spot.”
Frankie rolled her eyes as if she was irritated, but her mouth was smiling. “Seriously, how old are you?”
“Alright, Yaya’s favorite. I don’t think you’re one to talk.”
Yaya made no secret that Frankie was her favorite grandchild, despite having sixteen. But she was her only girl, so that was the only reason Niko was okay with coming in second.
“Yes, and all I had to do was be born.”
Frankie flicked her hair as they walked up the steps, and Niko smiled. He loved seeing his baby sister so happy and sassy. He hadn’t seen her like that in…a long time. Lucy circled Niko’s legs as Frankie opened the door to let him into the foyer. The scent of linseed oil and turpentine hit him first, layered over with something sweet and yeasty from the kitchen. He glanced around, noticing the small changes since his last visit: a new coat rack, an oversized armchair with several pillows, and a cluster of thrift-store vases crowding the entryway table, each holding something wild or dried.
Frankie led him past the living room, where the low hum of a vinyl record spun something old and soulful, down the hall, and into the studio at the back of the house. The room had oncebeen a sun porch and had floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the backyard. Light spilled through the glass, pooling onto heavy drop cloths and a vast, paint-splattered table. There was art everywhere. Canvases in various states of completion leaned against every available surface, a riot of color and chaos that looked like a catalog of her moods.
He still couldn’t believe that his baby sister was married. And she was an artist. A real artist. Her paintings filled the space, there was an entire wall filled with work spanning from as young as five years old until she was in college. Liam had saved her paintings, unbeknownst to her, and displayed them.
