Chapter 4 - The Brother in the Middle
Daniel was waiting in the driveway.
For once, he had nothing funny to say.
Emma walked straight toward him.
“Tell me you didn’t decide my life for me because you were worried about your friendship.”
He looked at me, then back at her.
“I was twenty-two and stupid.”
“That explains the haircut. Try again.”
He flinched.
I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
We went around the house to the back patio. Their parents were inside arguing affectionately about anniversary decorations, unaware that three people were quietly dismantling a five-year misunderstanding beside the grill.
Daniel sat first.
“Ryan had just lost his apprenticeship. You were leaving. You were both miserable.”
“So you helped?” Emma asked.
“I thought if something happened and went badly, I’d lose my best friend and you’d get hurt.”
“You made sure nothing happened.”
“Yes.”
The word sat between us.
Daniel looked at me.
“You asked what she’d said. I gave you my opinion like it was hers.”
Then he faced Emma.
“You asked whether he was seeing anyone seriously. I said he wasn’t a serious guy.”
“You knew what I meant.”
“I did.”
There was no convenient excuse.
No secret promise. No protective emergency.
Just a young man afraid of change who had found two people willing to believe the worst about their chances.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wanted everything to stay the same.”
Emma’s hands rested flat on the table.
“Things didn’t stay the same. We just got hurt separately.”
Daniel lowered his head.
I looked at the man who had slept in a hospital chair while my mother was dying. Who had helped me move her furniture. Who had shown up with groceries when I forgot eating was something people continued doing after funerals.
I loved him.
I was furious with him.
Both could be true.
“You don’t get to manage us again,” I said.
He nodded.
“No messages through you. No advice presented as facts.”
“Understood.”
Emma stood.
“I need time.”
Daniel didn’t ask how much.
That helped.
We went inside separately. Mrs. Carter took one look at our faces and quietly postponed her request for help hanging paper lanterns.
Later, Emma found me washing dishes.
“You always do that,” she said.
“What?”
“Find something useful when you don’t know what to feel.”
I handed her a towel.
“Works better with assistance.”
We washed an entirely unreasonable number of casserole dishes.
Then her phone rang.
Meredith again.
Emma dried her hands before answering.
I couldn’t hear the words on the other end, but I watched her spine straighten.
“No. You can’t list me as project lead without my approval.”
A pause.
“My site visit was personal.”
My hands stopped beneath the water.
Emma turned toward me.
“What photographs?”
She listened.
Then her face went pale.
“Send me the deck.”
She ended the call and opened her email.
The presentation loaded slowly.
On the fourth slide was my station.
On the fifth was the bakery layout pinned to my office wall.
On the sixth was a rendering of my mother’s counter, stripped of its name and labeled ARTISAN MARKET EXPERIENCE.
Emma whispered, “I didn’t send them this.”
I believed her.
The certainty surprised me with its force.
“I know.”
She scrolled farther.
Her name appeared beneath the words DESIGN LEAD.
Attached to the email was a message from a colleague.
Meredith said you’d secured owner cooperation. Is that right?
Emma looked up.
“I photographed the beams this morning. I uploaded them to my work folder automatically. But those drawings—”
“Were in the background.”
She closed her eyes.
“I’m so sorry.”
“This isn’t something you did.”
She looked at the screen again, and the uncertainty left her face.
May you like
For the first time since she came home, Emma looked completely sure of what she wanted.
“I need my laptop,” she said.
