She tore her attention from Drake, wondering if her attention had been obvious. Her cheeks warmed. “I’m glad we talked about the wedding. I’m thrilled for you, Emma.”
“Can I help you with the cleanup?” she offered.
“No, thank you. I saw Lark head into the kitchen a few minutes ago. She’ll help.” Maybe. Her sisters had sat far from one another during the meal. Would they avoid her in an effort to avoid each other?
How would they ever agree on what to do with Crooked Elm and the rest of their grandmother’s possessions if they never spoke to one another?
Once Emma left, Fleur busied herself with collecting empty trays and condensing leftovers onto a couple of plates. Then she backed through the swinging door into the kitchen, where Lark was already at the industrial-sized sink doing dishes, a borrowed canvas apron wrapped around her simple black sheath dress. But then Lark had never put much stock in appearances. Fleur’s brainy sister believed in getting the job done, and had zero patience for fools. Hot water steamed around her while she scoured a chafing dish.
A rush of love for her sister soothed some of the hurts of the day.
“Thank you so much—” Fleur began.
“No need for thanks. If I didn’t have a task to occupy my hands, I would have strangled our father. Jessamyn practically had to duct tape him into his chair to get him to stay at his own mother’s memorial.” Lark used her wrist to shove a hank of limp hair off her forehead.
Fleur scraped dishes and stacked them, choosing her words carefully since their father’s favored daughter had frequently been a sore subject for Lark. For that matter, their father was an even sorer subject. “You know how differently people cope with grief. Dad’s never done well with deep emotions.”
Her sister made a derisive noise. “Right. Like love for his own daughters. Tough stuff.”
Before Fleur could answer, the swinging door pushed open again, emitting a brief rush of conversation and Spanish guitar music. Jessamyn strode purposefully into the kitchen, balancing a tray stacked with glassware.
She looked so put together wearing her sleek designer watch, red-bottom heels and tailored suit. Jess’s hair was the same shade as Lark’s, but where Lark’s had never known a curl, Jessamyn’s waves were the stuff of shampoo commercials. Today she wore it tamed into an updo, where it was efficient and beautiful. Yet Fleur always liked seeing it twisted around her sister’s shoulders like a living thing.
“The food was incredible, Fleur,” Jessamyn announced as she settled the precarious load onto an empty spot. “I held it together through the whole service, but then one taste of the tortilla Española and I was overcome with nostalgia. It tasted exactly like Gran’s.”
Fleur’s throat closed up at the compliment, especially from Jessamyn, who prided herself on not displaying messy emotions. Fleur had held it together all day, too, but the reminder of why she’d worked so hard to feed everyone threatened to unleash the grief she’d tucked away for later.
She glanced between Lark, the brainiac therapist, and Jessamyn, the corporate shark, and wished they could share their hurts more often.
“Thank you. It was weirdly comforting to cook in her kitchen. I thought it would be hard, and in some ways it was. But eventually, it felt peaceful, like I truly would always have a part of her with me.” She blinked to keep the emotions at bay and noticed Lark had shut off the faucet to join them. “It almost seemed like she wanted me there.”
“Oh, hon. Of course she did,” Lark rushed to assure her, sliding an arm around her shoulders while Jessamyn reached to take her hand.
How sad that it took a loss in their family to bring them all together. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with them reminded her of how many years they’d spent happily under one roof, doing all the things sisters take for granted when they’re young. Braiding one another’s hair. Sharing toys and books. Sleeping lumped in the same bed during thunderstorms.
Or later when their parents fought, and the sound of angry voices vibrated through the walls.
She could sense the instant her sisters began to retreat. Unwilling for the moment to end, she squeezed Jessamyn’s hand tighter and clapped the other on top of Lark’s so she couldn’t let her go.
“Wait. I know you both have to leave tonight, but I want you to come back to the ranch this summer before we sell the place.” She hadn’t known she was going to ask it until the words left her mouth. Yes, she needed the money from the sale. But somehow she knew she couldn’t allow her finances to dictate what happened next with Crooked Elm.
“Fleur, my work keeps me so busy,” Jessamyn started while Lark protested, “I don’t know how I can get the time off—”
“Please. Just think about trying to make it happen. If the ranch is our only shared legacy, then we shouldshareit. However briefly.” She eased her grip on her siblings’ hands, understanding they needed to decide for themselves whether or not they would return.
But in the end, they both nodded.
“I’ll try,” Lark promised.
“Me, too,” Jessamyn echoed, backing away. “But I should go. Dad and I are flying to New York tonight. We need to get on our way.”
Fleur breathed easier, having secured that much from her sisters.
“Thank you for keeping him here this long,” Fleur called after her while Lark remained silent beside her.
Jessamyn waved an acknowledgment as she sailed out the swinging door. Lark returned to the dishes, shoving up her sleeves and cranking on the faucet.
They were a long way from the sisters they’d been once. And maybe they’d never have that kind of love for one another again. But Fleur thought maybe one day, there was still a chance they could be a family.