“She cannot grow if her friends shield her from her errors.”
“Kimberley has a hard life. We think it’s best if we don’t make a big deal of her mistakes.”
“I want what’s best for her, too. I think we must disagree on what that is.” He speared me with a fierce stare. “You can only help her to grow when you trust her with the whole truth. Don’t contribute to her disability by holding her to a different standard.”
Status Report #8
Saturday’s Wish: Apartment inspection
Dear Boss,
Perhaps I spoke too harshly, but I must admit to tiring of the way Kimberley is treated. She is neither fragile nor a fool. She can learn from her mistakes, but she must recognize first that they exist.
The incident put me at odds with Sara, for which I am sorry. This assignment has been free so far of rancor with my mistress. Eight days could be a record for me. I have no intention to verify that.
Mason suffers from a deep distress, perhaps greater than today’s incident deserves. There was sadness, too, coloring his voice. I am concerned about what this might mean for him and Kimberley. I shall do my best to watch over him.
Regards,
Grant
13
Intent on the Stars
A year ago, I would’ve thought having a house to myself all weekend was wonderful. The reality was eerie. I was glad to have my genie nearby, even if he spent most of his hours in the lantern.
Since Kimberley had gotten yesterday’s wish, I’d had an extra 24 hours to wonder about the social media stuff left behind by my brother. I’d come to the conclusion that I would likely be learning more than I expected, and it unsettled me.
Procrastination was the preferred option for dealing with my fear. I treated myself to brunch out, came home and did chores, took a nap, went swimming, and showered. After that, there were a lot of books waiting for me on my to-be-read pile.
Finally, when I’d wasted away nearly the entire day, it was time for Sunday’s wish. I went to the sunroom and peered out the door into the twilight. “Grant?”
He spoke from behind me. “I am ready, Sara. Shall we sit in the dining room?”
“That’s fine.” I spun around and followed him to the table. The laptop was already there.
He logged in and opened a file to reveal a neatly detailed outline. “Sean had accounts on Tumblr, Twitter, and Instagram.”
“Okay.” All expected.
“Your brother had five email addresses.”
“Five?” I’d been aware of three.
“Yes. He was actively using only two of them at the time of his death.”
I shuddered at the D-word. “Passing” and “loss” were so much easier to take.
“You must consider each of your brother’s accounts and make decisions about what should be done.”
“Done?”
“Should we close them out?”
I fixed my gaze on the screen. Grant brought up Tumblr. My brother hadn’t posted since Thanksgiving, but I browsed backwards a bit anyway. A lot of reblogging, not much original content. “I think we can drop this.”
He inclined his head.
