“Waytoo much.”
“It sounded better in my head.”
I hung up before he made a joke about giving head.
You could never be too careful.
Craig’s grandfather passed away at the age of a hundred and one.
Since my parents were already in D.C., Hera demanded the funeral take place as soon as possible so that the wedding plans could continue uninterrupted.
“She’s devastated,” my mother felt the need to explain to me on the phone, “but she knows that’s what Bill would have wanted.”
Yeah. I was sure Grandpa Bill cared specifically about Hera and Craig’s wedding while hospitalized with severe pneumonia as he succumbed to systematic organ failure.
“Yes. Terrible. Show must go on.” I chewed on my vegetarian chow mein in my suite’s room, flipping through one of my drawing books. Dallas felt much more bearable when I knew my family wasn’t in town. My new, cool hobby also kept me busy.
I could hear Ransom returning from the gym, and practiced admirable self-control by not peeking outside my room to see if he was in any state of undress.
“You should probably come to the funeral.” My mother sighed. “Show your support to Craig.”
My blood froze in my veins. Going there…seeing everyone…seeinghimagain…
“I didn’t even know Bill,” I argued softly.
“Does it matter? Craig is family.”
“Yourfamily,” I enunciated. “Not mine.”
Thinking of Craig as family made me want to rip my skin off and dump it in a bonfire. Especially after I found my own rhythm, my own passion in sketching right here. I dropped my sketchbook, sitting back in my desk chair. Ransom popped his sweaty face in my door, to check that I was alive. I waved him away.
“You’re coming to D.C., Hallie. I will not hear any excuses,” Mom said.
“Mom—”
“Pass me to Ransom, please.”
I felt like a thirteen-year-old negotiating curfew time. Groaning, I handed Ransom my phone. He stepped inside, wearing a soaked wifebeater and gray sweatpants with a promising bulge.
“Yes?” Ransom asked. “Yes,” he said again. Then “When?” And finally, “She’ll be there.”
He hung up the phone and handed it back to me. My eyes were hot with unshed tears.
“We’ll be leaving tomorrow,” he announced.
I rolled the statement off my shoulders, redirecting my attention to the sketchpad in my lap. It was fine. I would just let everything fly past me. Through me, maybe. Just as long as it didn’t stayinsideme.
“Brat,” he said, to draw my attention.
I picked up my sketchbook, flipping through the pages.
“Brat.”
Nothing. Not my name, not my problem. I’d hadenough.
“Hallie.”
I looked at him reluctantly. “Yes?”