“What...” She trailed off, uncertain what to say. There were a million questions she wanted to ask, and a million ways for him to dodge her.
A trickle of anger undercut her joy at seeing him. It surprised her, that anger, but she supposed she’d been carrying it around for a while. “Fuck you, Jackson. How could you not come home for Paul’s funeral?” Oh, she tried to keep the tinge of bitterness and judgment out of her tone, but she feared she failed.
Yeah, that anger and resentment was real. It didn’t matter what Paul and Jackson’s relationship had been at the time of their brother’s death. Hell, Paul had been estranged from her like whoa. She’d still wept when she learned he’d died alone and cold on a hiking trail, had rushed home to put her arm around Sadia.
Jackson nodded, not a trace of surprise on his broad face. “So, we’re leading with that, huh?”
“Yeah. We’re leading with that.”
“I couldn’t come then.”
“Was someone stopping you?”
He ran his hand over the back of his neck. “A few guards. I might have been in a jail cell in Paris.”
The anger vanished. She stared at him in shock, every fear she’d had about her brother rushing back. He’d always been so good. A little surly and quiet, yes, but he’d walked the straight and narrow far more than she ever had.
Being accused of arson had pushed him over the edge, it seemed. Dear Lord, had he spent the past few years bumming the world and getting tossed into jail cells? “For what?”
“It was nothing.”
“It was something, if you were in a foreign jail.”
“I had to pay a fine. No big deal. But, yeah, I missed the funeral.” He walked away and sat down on the porch steps, linking his hands between his legs. “How was it?”
She wanted to grab his arm and snuggle close to him, force him to love and hold her, but she’d already pushed her luck. She didn’t want to shove him right off the porch onto an international flight.
Tentatively, she sat on the step, with a good amount of distance between them. “It was a funeral. Pretty small.” Most of the friends Paul had were ones he’d made after she’d left town. He’d cut ties with most everyone they’d grown up with. Not surprising, since most of them were also either friends or employees of Nicholas. Sometimes both.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come.”
She deflated, all of her resentment gone. “I guess you had a good reason. I wasn’t any closer to Paul than you were, at the end there. But he was still our brother.” It was easy when you were estranged from someone to always focus on their weaknesses, but Paul had been a pretty decent big brother before life had come between them. Stubborn and sometimes annoying, but protective and loving too.
“Yeah. I know.” Jackson cleared his throat. “I should have contacted you after, at least.”
“And Sadia.”
He looked out over the yard. Livvy wondered if he was comparing it to their old home, where they’d been surrounded by woods. Here, the houses were close enough she could see Carol’s television on in the living room next door. “Did her family come to the service?”
“Yes.” Sadia’s parents had left early, but her sisters had hovered around her.
“Good. That’s good.” He rubbed his nose. “I got your e-mail about Mom.”
“I assumed.” She’d worded the e-mail carefully, laying out the facts only. She figured Jackson had the right to know about their mom, but as angry as she’d been over him not coming home for Paul, she hadn’t been ready to guilt him into rushing home for their mom.
It had been her decision to come here. Jackson could make his own decisions.
He rolled his big shoulders, like he was trying to get rid of an annoyance. “I was in the state anyway.Thought I could at least check on you.” His eyes cut to hers. “How’s Mom?”
“Not bad. She’s getting around with the walker now. A physical therapist comes a few times a week. She’ll be walking with a cane soon, probably.”
“Thought only fragile old people broke their hips.”
“She’s not young anymore, Jackson. And it can happen to anyone who takes a nasty fall and has a touch of osteoporosis. Luckily, Aunt Maile was able to get help for her immediately.”
Jackson’s smile was faint. “Aunt Maile. She still a chatterbox?”
“Who isn’t a chatterbox to you?” Livvy grinned, though. “Yeah. Still hoarding yarn. She helps Mom a lot, especially when I’m at work.”
