Chapter 4 - My Sister’s Version
Bryn asked to meet at a coffee shop halfway between our houses.
Audrey knew I was going.
Hannah, my closest friend from the library, knew too.
I had spent years confusing secrecy with loyalty.
I wasn’t doing it anymore.
Bryn arrived wearing sunglasses despite the rain.
She placed her phone facedown.
“You look tired.”
“So do you.”
“Cliff hasn’t slept.”
I waited.
She looked toward the counter.
For once, she seemed unable to locate the version of herself that usually handled uncomfortable rooms.
“I did send the email,” she said.
I kept my hands around my mug.
“I know.”
“Mom wrote the wording.”
“You attached my signature.”
“She said you’d approved the change over the phone.”
“Did you believe her?”
Bryn looked down.
“Did you?”
“No.”
The word came out barely above a whisper.
I leaned back.
There are betrayals you expect to hurt.
Then there is the particular pain of hearing someone admit they understood exactly what they were doing.
“Why?”
“We were behind on bills.”
“So you took my cruise money?”
“I was going to replace it.”
“When?”
“When the reception payments cleared.”
I stared at her.
She rubbed her forehead.
“That sounds worse when I say it out loud.”
“It was worse while you were doing it.”
She flinched.
Good, I thought.
Then hated how satisfying that felt.
“What was the project supposed to be?”
“It started as a memorial luncheon. Mom wanted something connected to the anniversary. Cliff said people would contribute more if it supported children.”
“And whose idea was my name?”
Bryn swallowed.
“Mom said donors would trust you.”
I looked out the window until the pressure behind my eyes eased.
For years, my mother had called my library job unambitious.
She had mocked my old car and my careful grocery budget.
But when she needed a trustworthy woman’s face on a donation page, mine had suddenly become useful.
“Where is the money?”
“In the business account. Some of it.”
“How much is some?”
“I don’t know the exact balance.”
“Who does?”
“Cliff.”
“Then you need your own lawyer.”
She looked frightened.
“Are you reporting us?”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“Laurel, I could lose my business.”
I looked back at her.
“My sons asked if their father’s death made them a charity case.”
Her face crumpled.
“I didn’t know Grant said that.”
“You didn’t ask what your children were hearing.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
For a moment, I saw the little sister who used to climb into my bed during thunderstorms.
I loved that girl.
I did not know how to rescue the woman in front of me without sacrificing someone else.
So I didn’t offer.
Bryn reached for her bag and took out a flash drive.
“What is that?”
“Copies of invoices. Messages. The brochure drafts.”
I didn’t touch it.
“Give it to your attorney. Have them contact mine.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“No.”
She nodded as though the word had physical weight.
Before leaving, she asked whether I thought Mom had really meant what she said about the boys.
“What did she say?”
Bryn froze.
I felt every sound in the coffee shop sharpen.
“What did she say, Bryn?”
My sister stared at the table.
“She said Evan was gone. That your household wasn’t part of the core family anymore.”
My chest tightened.
“She said the twins were Pikes. That this was a Halloway anniversary.”
I could barely hear her.
“But she used their faces to raise money.”
Bryn covered her mouth.
I stood.
“Laurel—”
“Don’t call my children until I decide it’s appropriate.”
Outside, I sat in my car with the engine off.
Then I called Dad.
When he answered, I said, “I need you to come home early.”
May you like
He didn’t ask whether I was being dramatic.
He said, “I’m on my way.”
