Laura Lee
When I’ve re-read that one over and over again until I have it memorized, I lie back, clutching it to my chest, shaking with emotion.
Reliving the pain to our family, first from my dad, then from Rory was bad enough. But to see it through not only my father’s eyes, the way he was so concerned for me, for Wyatt, for Mom?
He put aside his own pain, the way I know he mourned, losing a daughter, because he knew the rest of us wouldn’t be okay without her. I don’t think he was, either, but he was willing to live with that.
My heart cracks open, hating her for running away and kicking us all out of her life. All the years with Mom wasted because she ran. The damage she did to the love of her life. To me.
But at least she came back to us.
Dad is still paying.
Top it off with the unexpected hit of my mom’s handwriting, hearing her come through the inked pages like that. It was a blessing to hear from her one more time, to feel her sass him from the past, it pulls a thick, watery laugh through the tears.
It’s soher.
I’m left reeling, devastated by seeing the damage from perspectives I never have before, and raw from all of it.
It takes days to recover from the emotional hit. But eventually, I send my sister a text.
Me
I’d like to meet.
Her response is instantaneous.
Rory Grady
Tell me where, I’ll be there.
Rory shows up early,because of course she does. She’s perfect like that.
While I’m still on my knees, sweating in the dirt, tending to my neglected garden on the side of my cottage—half for my mental health, half for the sake of my plant babies—I hear her heels clack along the stone pathway, making her way up to me.
Running a diner takes a lot more out of my schedule than a few shifts a week at the grocery store. Guess a few other distractions have stolen my attention away from my poor plants too.
My flowers look more like a jungle, overtaken by weeds and being suffocated out by creepers.
But hey, at least I’ll have a lot more time to work on it again once I lose the restaurant.
Once Wilder is gone.
Look at that, Amelia must be rubbing off on me. I’m seeing the bright side of a shitty situation.
I’ve been so absorbed in my own problems, I’ve hardly seen her lately either. Look at me, becoming a horrible friend just because I’ve got a business to run and some good dick to ride.
Though, in my defense, she’s pretty preoccupied with riding her own dick, and her own new job, and her own family reunion, so I don’t think she’s missed me all that much.
Still, I should set up a girls’ night with her and Gracie. Maybe Rory if we ever talk to each other again after this.
Fingers deep in the dirt—the closest thing I get to therapy—I dig around, rooting for the source of the problem until I find it. Grabbing onto the offending plant, I yank, pulling until my fingers feel raw, like the skin is going to snap and burst from the pressure, but I don’t stop. The pain in my hand gives me something else to focus on. An enemy to wage my war against that isn’t my sister.
The tension gives way, dirt spraying as the roots come loose, and this small victory feels disproportionately satisfying.
Tossing the weeds to the growing pile at my side, I brush off my hands, preparing to stand to meet Rory and go inside, but she surprises me by sinking down to her knees.
In the dirt.
