Dan Eveson.
Chapter 8
Coping Strategies
JOHANNA
Faint? No. I don’t faint, nor do I lose consciousness at any point.
My awareness of my surroundings fades as key questions thunder through me.
What was Max thinking?
Why Dan?
Why didn’t Max tell me?
Someone presses a cold compress against my forehead and tucks a warm blanket around me. Both my hands are held tight to either side as I lie on a sofa. Overlapping voices call my name and worriedly discuss whether to get me a drink or call an ambulance.
“No ambulance.” I blink, and four worried faces snap into focus.
Anamaria and Bebe hold my hands. Caity has the compress. Corin’s behind me with the blanket, hands resting lightly on my shoulders.
“You left us,” Caity says.
“It was a surprise.” Heat floods my cheeks. I stand, pulling my hands away to cross them over my chest and push off the blanket. “When?”
“The first meeting is set for Tuesday.” Corin scoops up the blanket, folds it in quarters, and lays it over the back of the sofa. “It’s on your work calendar.”
“No, when did Max make the change?” My voice stays even, until I break a little and a whiny add-on slips out: “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“I don’t know just when.” Corin sighs and runs a hand through his hair, leaving runnels that my fingers ache to smooth. “He talked to the lawyer the first week, signed documents the second, and only then told me what he wanted.”
After which pain and the need for ever-stronger medication reduced Max’s periods of lucidity, and all we could do was watch and keep upping his meds. He’d had time to talk to me, maybe not much, but some, and he’d let it slip. He was dying, and I forgave him for dealing with things as best he could.
Nevertheless, his silence about these changes hurt.
He could have warned me! I wouldn’t have tried to change his mind. Maybe asked for his reasons, or—too late now.
“Is this going to be a problem?” Corin asks as he returns to his place at the far end of the table.
“No.” I huddle against the back of the sofa. “Not unless he makes it one.”
“Aunty Jo, who is this guy?” Anamaria asks. “Who was he to Uncle Max? If we’re going to have to deal with him, it would help to know something about him.”
“I don’t know who or what he is now,” I reply.
“A partner in a small, local accounting firm with a reputation for painstaking accuracy.” Corin ticks off on his fingers. “Alpha. Lives in Cleaveland Heights. Unmarried, unmated, and nopack—though he does have children, grown and older than Anamaria, a daughter and son, twins, both betas.”
All very respectable. He’s done well. Not at Max’s level, but few can match that.
“He’s planning to attend the meeting Tuesday,” Caity adds. “I asked him after the memorial service.”
“That’s all nice and good, but …” Anamaria leans forward to lay a hand over mine, just as Max used to do. “Who is he to you? Or who was he?”
“It’s a common story.” I shrug, looking away but not taking my hand from under her stroking fingers. “Beta seeking pack meets omega and starts dating, then separately meets alpha and does the same. Eventually introduces them in the hopes they’ll like each other. They start as friends and seem to get along on three-way dates, but when they go on a few dates on their own, something goes wrong. Alpha demands beta choose between him and omega. Beta declines. Alpha says not choosing is a choice. Alpha storms away. Beta and omega live happy ever after, mostly, until it ends.”
A bare bones story, delivered in a steady tone. My face stays dry, though my cheeks and neck flush.
