“Still do,” he says. “He’s a nice guy. He was stupid when he was young and broke it off with you, but most guys are stupid at that age.”
“Even you?” I raise an eyebrow and watch as he laughs.
“Especially me.”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
“Nah. I work crazy hours at the firehall. It’s a tough job to have and maintain a good relationship. Unpredictable and dangerous.”
“I think you speak from experience.”
Our salads are set in front of us, and our water glasses refilled, and Scott continues.
“I’ve had a few girlfriends. I think chicks think the fireman thing is hot, no pun intended.”
“Oh, yeah. I can vouch for that.” I lick ranch dressing off my thumb. “Super hot.”
“But in reality, it’s being gone for days at a time, getting called in on your days off, and just generally not having a life of your own.”
“You make it sound so glamorous.”
He grins at me, and I can feel the shift in us. Things are going to smooth out and be fine. It might take some work, but I think I finally have my brother back.
“There’s something else I have to tell you,” he says, his face set in serious lines now. “And I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”
“Am I an aunt?”
He smirks. “No. Mom died, Sarah.”
I blink at him and drop my fork onto my plate. “What?”
“She died. I just got word yesterday. I guess it was a few weeks ago. They found her in her car, about a hundred miles away from where she’d been living.”
“What happened?”
“Foul play, but I don’t know what kind because they wouldn’t tell me. It’s an ongoing investigation.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“He wasn’t with her. Authorities found him passed out in their camper, stoned and drunk. He claimed that he kicked her out months ago. Didn’t care where she was or if she was dead.”
“Jesus,” I breathe and stare down at my salad. “What did they do with her remains?”
“Cremated her. They’re sending her here, and I guess I’ll bury her with her parents.”
“June bought the property with the cemetery. No new internments.”
Scott sits back at the news. “She bought acemetery? Why in the hell would she do that?”
“It’s attached to the church, and she’s going to turn that into a house.”
“Who would want their backyard to be a cemetery?”
“You’ll have to ask her. The point is, I don’t know if we can bury mom there. Maybe June will make an exception for us.”
“She probably will,” he murmurs. “I wasn’t sad, Sarah.”
My gaze returns to his. “What do you mean?”