Shanna gripped her fork, then dropped it onto the plate. “Your mom told you, yes. Her name is Dolores, though you don’t remember her anymore. She’s my Gran.”
“We’re not starting—”
“No, we’re ending this.” Shanna leaned over the table. “Look into my eyes. Don’t you see they’re yours? Look at this.” She pushed the letter in front of her, next to the plate. “Isn’t that your handwriting?” She added the onyx bracelet to it. “You won’t remember me or Gran because we’re cursed, just like you. But you’ll remember events and objects. Tell me this isn’t your bracelet. Tell me you didn’t write this letter.”
Mom scanned the letter, her eyebrows steadily rising. Shanna clenched the edge of the table, willing her mom, the forces of nature, the universe, whatever wanted to listen, for something in Mom’s mind to come back.
Mom finally stopped reading and raised her eyes, big and pale and watery. “You are the Shanna from the letter?”
“Yes.”
“My daughter.”
Shanna’s heartbeat picked up. “Yes!” Could she finally remember? Did they break the curse?
Mom bit her lip. Her face was full of regret as she said, “I’m sorry for this. I’m sorry for leaving you. It’s been a long time, but I remember fractions of my trip back then. I don’t remember why, or for who, I did it, though …”
Shanna exhaled. “So you don’t remember me?”
Mom shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She gave her an apologetic smile. “You’re a wonderful girl, I’m sure …”
But she’d never be her girl again. She’d never get closure, satisfaction, for the childhood she’d lost. The one she couldn’t even remember.
“So.” Mom dug into her fish. “What do you say—do you want the store or not?”
***
“I thought you were dead,” Stan said.
“Nope. Still kicking.” Simon tried to shift in the tight space under his work desk. “Would you mind letting me out?”
Stan stepped to the side, and Simon crawled out, shaking his legs.
“I don’t understand,” Stan said. His voice had never shown much emotion, but Simon had never known him to lie, either. As far as he could gather, Stan was genuinely confused.
Chris was still hiding behind the sofa; despite looking in her direction, Stan gave no signs of noticing her. Simon let that be until he was sure Stan was on his side.
“It’s a long story,” Simon said. “Uh, where’s Everett? I need to talk to him.”
“That would be good. There must’ve been a misunderstanding.” Stan glanced at his watch. “It’s one in the morning.”
“Right. Yes. Not the best time to talk.”
“Or to be in your office.”
Simon rummaged behind his back, trying to find anything semi-useful as a defense weapon on the desk. He grasped a pencil. Stan didn’t look like he was threatening him, but he was strong.
And so, so big. How had he never noticed what a massive mountain of muscle his bodyguard was?
“All right, I’ll come straight out with it,” Simon said. “Are you on Everett’s side or mine?”
“Excuse me?” Stan still looked confused.
“Everett pronounced me dead so he could take over the company.”
Stan’s smooth forehead creased slightly. “That’s the most sensible thing I’ve heard in the last month.”
Simon’s grip on the pencil relaxed. “Really?”
