At least the kids have kept in touch with their cousins through social media, and Sienna occasionally runs into Alex at the grocery store, though not often.
Arthur glances at me repeatedly. “Can we talk frankly?”
“Of course.”
He wastes no time. “Did you do it?”
I’m dumbfounded and appalled. “Dowhat?”
“Push her.”
I scoff because the question is ridiculous. “I can’t believe you’re asking me that.”
“I have to,” he replies, “because if I’m going to defend you, I need to know the truth. You have to tell me everything—every little, insignificant detail about what happened that day and every argument you and Sienna have had for the past ten years.”
Part of me wants to tell him to shove those questions up his ass, but I can’t because the whole world is against me, and I need someone in my corner, and my brother is someone who doesn’t like to lose.
I tip my head back and let out a sigh of frustration. “I swear on our mother’s life that I didn’t push her. But we were arguing. Apparently, people noticed, and it’s that goddamn Facebook page that created all these suspicions.”
Arthur remains focused. “What about your financial situation? Is the restaurant struggling? And did you ask Sienna for money?”
“Yes, to all of it,” I reply. “And I’ve been a total dick about it.”
Arthur makes a left turn, which is not the way to my house.
“Where are we going?”
“Not to your place, because reporters are camped out on the sidewalk.”
“Seriously?” I reach for my phone in my coat pocket. “I need to call the kids.”
Arthur keeps driving and says nothing while I notice all the texts from Amanda. I call her, and she answers after one ring.
“Hello. Dad?” She sounds panicked.
“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay? How’s Mom?”
“I’m fine. We’re both fine. What’s going on? Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”
My daughter is in a heightened emotional state, and I hate that this is happening. I squeeze my eyes shut and run my hand down my face. “I’m so sorry. They were grilling me, and I had to put my phone away. How’s Mom?”
Amanda speaks in a more measured tone, and I’m glad that she sounds calmer. “She’s out of surgery but still the same. I’ve been sitting with her.”
“Good. And how’s Connor doing?”
“Not great,” she replies, “but he went out to get McDonald’s. He just texted, and he’s on his way back now.”
Feeling exhausted and defeated, I rest my elbow on the car door and prop my head in my hand. “I’ll come to the hospital soon.”
“Are you still at the police station? Are they going to arrest you?”
“No, that’s not happening.” I speak firmly because I don’t want her to worry. “Your uncle Arthur just picked me up, and we need to talk for a bit, okay?”
“He’s a lawyer, right?”
She hasn’t seen him in years, and the fact that she has to ask this question piles on more guilt and regret. As soon as we end the call, I accept that my life has gone to shit. Sienna was right. I became obsessed with my career and viewed everything else in life as a bothersome interruption. My family included.
The car slows, and I realize Arthur is taking me to his house in the South End. We turn onto his street, and I gaze at all the mansions on wide landscaped lots. They must all have gardeners, handymen, andhouse cleaners. The house that Sienna and I share is far more modest. She’s the one who looks after the gardens. Butthis... this is what my father wanted for me.
