Page 85 of Holding On To Good

Toby shrugged, word of his imminent demise bouncing off his easy demeanor like rubber balls on pavement. “All our days are numbered. It’s called life.”

Miles shoved aside his half-eaten salad and made a gimme gesture to the burger and fries. “You deserve to have Urban kick your ass just for saying that.”

“Agreed,” Verity said. “And you know how much I hate to agree with anything Miles says.”

Toby held Miles’s meal out to him, but before Miles could grab it, Verity intercepted it and set the plate out of Miles’s reach.

She jabbed the tines of her fork toward Miles’s salad. “Every. Last. Bite.”

The hair at the back of Urban’s neck stood on end. Miles blinked slowly twice. Toby rubbed his upper arms as if warding off a chill.

“What?” she asked when they all stared at each other.

Urban shared a look with his brothers. He figured his expression more than likely mirrored theirs—surprise, grief, and a strange sense of joy all mixed into one.

“You sounded just like Mom,” Urban said softly.

She set her fork down. “I did?”

They all nodded.

Toby grinned. “Exactly like her.”

“Right down to the don’t-make-me-box-your-ears tone,” Miles added with a wink.

Then he drew his salad plate closer and started shoveling it into his mouth.

When Verity was little, she used to ask them all endless questions about their parents. Did they get mad if one of the boys didn’t make their bed? Did they kiss each other a lot? Did they like mushrooms on their pizza? Anything and everything to try and get some sort of insight into the people she’d come from.

They’d done their best to keep their parents’ memories alive for Verity, but as the years went by, her questions became more and more infrequent. Life had gone on as it always did.

Now she was a few months shy of leaving for college and he wasn’t sure they’d done enough.

Yet more things about parenting no one warned you about.

How often you questioned yourself.

And how often you messed up.

Miles finished his salad and once again pushed the plate away, then leaned across the table to get to the rest of his food. The three of them ate in silence while one of Toby’s waiters stopped by and asked Toby a question.

It was only a temporary reprieve.

Verity and Miles would, eventually, come up for air. Toby would finish his conversation.

And any hope Urban had of getting the hell out of here without any further conversation about his mood—or, Christ forbid, Willow—would end.

With a family of six, peace never lasted. Not nearly long enough.

He ate faster but was only halfway through his meal when the waiter left.

“So, are one of you going to tell me what’s going on?” Verity asked as soon as her coworker was out of earshot. “Or should I guess?”

“Nothing’s going on,” Urban grumbled, but Miles spoke over him.

“Ten bucks says you guess wrong.”

“Make it twenty.”

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