"You don’t know what I was about to say?"
"You were about to ask me if I’m seeing anyone new," she drones.
I guess I’m predictable. "You’re not on social media, so I can’t stalk you there, and you’re not exactly an open book. So, I have to ask you these personal questions."
"No, you don’t," she replies with a mouthful.
"You never tell me anything. We’re sisters. I should know everything."
"If there was something you needed to know, I’d tell you," she replies.
Journey’s phone vibrates on the table, and Isee Dad’s name pop up on the screen. Both of us stare at each other for a long second. From now on, any time our phones ring, we will panic, but we should realize, if there was something to panic about, the call wouldn’t be coming from Dad’s phone.
"Hi, Dad," Journey mumbles with a mouthful. "Yeah, I picked her up for an early breakfast." She washes her food down with a sip of coffee. "I know it’s only five-thirty." Journey covers the phone with her hand. "You left the front door open, idiot."
Oops."Sorry," I say, loud enough, so Dad can hear.
Journey leans back into her chair, appearing frustrated at whatever Dad is saying to her. "Yup, I’ll take care of it. No, it’s fine, I can do my photo edits later." I wish I could hear both sides of the conversation, but it sounds like Dad is asking her for a favor.
Journey ends the call and continues eating her pancakes as if nothing happened. "What did he want?" I ask her.
"For someone who’s sick, he’s still very much on top of things," Journey replies.
"Journey?"
"Mr. Crawley got food poisoning last night or has the stomach flu or something. He can’t come in today, and Brett won’t be in until around ten."
"I can go," I tell her.
"Okay. What’s the first thing you do when you walk into the shop?" Journey tests me.
I glance from side to side, wondering if this is a trick question. "Turn the lights on?"
"Do you have any idea how many machines are running beneath the shop?"
I see where this is going. "I suppose you know how to operate every single machine?" I ask.
"The ones needing to be monitored or checked, yes," she says. "Plus, we have a shipment coming in today."
"Well, it sounds like you need help, so you can show me the ropes. That way, when we need to take things over, we can."
"Mel, aren’t seeing the big picture here."
"You’re acting like I never spent a day at The Barrel House. I grew up in those back rooms like you did. I can figure it all out. Besides, when did you become an expert?"
Journey doesn’t snap back in true fashion. Instead, she takes another long sip from her mug. "The last time Dad got sick."
"So, now you know how to run the shop yourself?" I counter, feeling guilty for not helping Dad as much as Journey was the last time we went through this.
"No, but I can figure most of it out," she says. There’s uncertainty in her voice. She’s putting on a front, and I’m not buying the confidence. "We need to open the shop by eight."
"Okay, let’s do it.” I straighten my posture, proving my seriousness.
"You’ll have to see Brett again," she says, jiggling her eyebrows.
I close my eyes and pull in a sharp breath through my nose. "I don’t think Brett remembers anything from the night of that holiday party.”
Journey raises a brow. "I guess we’ll see, but it was so long ago. It’s probably best to forget about it. It’s not as big of a deal as you made it out to be back then."
