“You too.”
I stare out into the void, letting my thoughts consider everything that’s happened until now.
Val’s right. Today was a lot. Even from the outside looking in on the Elliott clan, I can grasp the picture. She has a sister who needs her support and one who needs ... Well, I’m not sure exactly what Jackie Harper needs, but it’s nothing from me. She’s married with a kid. Her life is good.
I can only stand here and hope that one day I’ll be included by Val’s side.
My thoughts revert back to church, trying to remember bits from the pastor’s talk, but I’ve got nothing. All I remember is the one song they sang about gratitude. I don’t really understand that depth of feeling, but the melody, something in the music tugged at me.
“Look up lyrics for ‘Gratitude,’” I tell my phone.
“‘Gratitude’ by Brandon Lake?”
I have no idea. “Yes?”
The software reads the lyrics, and they sound familiar. I search for the full audio next, and as soon as the song starts, I know it’sthe same song. A man sings instead of the woman who did so at Val’s church, but the mood emitting from the video is unmistakable. It’s the same tune.
I listen to it on repeat a few times, searching for ... something. But when I finally decide to head back inside, I realize I have no idea what I’m looking for. I’m not sure why the song touches me, I just know it has.
And maybe that’s enough.
22
Val
As soon as Fran walks into the house, I hustle to the front of the condo, where she’s taking off her jacket.
“What did Dad say? Is he really upset?” I bite my lip, waiting for her to answer.
Fran stares at me, then bursts into tears. My own eyes immediately well up, and I gather her in an embrace. We don’t say anything for a long while. I simply weep with her until she calms. I take the time to wipe my face with my hoodie sleeve before I pull back and look into hers.
“What happened?” I ask softly.
“He’s livid. Nothing Ann said to calm him down made anything better.”
No surprise there. Dad never listens when super angry, simply rants until he runs out of steam.
“She actually left because she couldn’t take his mood any longer.”
My mouth drops. “Really?”
Fran nods. “She accused him of being hypocritical and unfair.” Fran shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. He’s mad. He has a right to his feelings.”
“Not if he made you sob like that.”
My little sister gives me a look as if to sayWhat else can I do?
I totally get that. She heads to the kitchen and fills the electric kettle with water. I stand in the entryway and watch, feeling helpless. If I could’ve taken our father’s wrath, I would.
“Want some tea?”
“Yes, please.” I open the cookie jar. “Three cookies left.”
She smiles. “Want to split the third one?”
I nod as I retrieve the goods. I plate the desserts, then place them in the microwave for thirty seconds. Fran and I like our cookies warm and gooey.
Fran brings two mugs of hot water and sets the cups down on the kitchen table before coming over with the tea box. I scan through the offerings and grab a honey chamomile. Fran reaches for the Irish Breakfast and adds a splash of milk to her cup.
