Page 56 of Courage, Dear Heart

If it weren’t for our mother, we might not have survived him. She was kind, gentle in a way that felt like a reprieve from the coldness of our father. But she was also complicit in her silence, always trying to keep the peace, always urging us to understand that “your father just has high expectations.” She didn’t protect us—not really—but she loved us in her own way, and we clung to that.

The three of us—Sabrina, Elsa, and I—we leaned on each other. We still do. We’re a team, bound by the shared experience of growing up under our father’s impossible standards. When he ignored my sisters, I stepped in. When he tore me down, they built me back up. We were all we had, and it made us stronger, closer.

And now, sitting here, I can’t help but marvel at how far we’ve come in spite of him. Sabrina and Elsa venturing onto a different path, following their dreams, happy and successful.

I nod again, feigning agreement with whatever drivel he’s spouting now, even as my stomach churns. I’m counting down the minutes until he gets out of my office and takes his suffocating presence with him.

The thought of stopping by Jillian’s shop later keeps me sane. Maybe I’ll tell her everything. Or maybe I’ll let her laughter and lightness remind me that not everything in the world is cold and hard like my father. Either way, I know I’ll feel better as soon as I see her.

For now, I grit my teeth and endure because that’s whatI’ve always done. But the satisfaction of knowing that my cousins will knock my father on his ass is enough to keep me from gagging.

My father stands up. “Make sure to keep your mouth shut.” He barrels out of my office, not bothering to close the door. I allow myself to relax in my chair and close my eyes, rubbing at my temples—trying to thwart the forming headache.

A light knock on my open door brings me back. Megs is standing at the opening. She walks in when I smile at her.

“Megs, save me, please.”

She shakes her head. “Keep yourself out of that mess. You have nothing to do with it.” She winks at me. “That’s all I have to say about that.”

Oh, Megs, you witch. Nothing gets past you.“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I wink back at her.

She walks around my desk, goes straight to the lower drawer, opens it, and retrieves the folder my father gave me weeks ago—I forgot all about it. “You can’t avoid this any longer.” She drops the folder on my desk. “Your father is foaming at the mouth, looking for a neck to wring, and if he finds out you haven’t even looked at this yet”—she slides the folder in front of me—“your neck will be it.”

I push it to the side. “I’ll look at it later today.”

She slides it back. “Now, Elliott. Look at it now. It’s bigger than you think.”

I frown. What else does she know? I open the folder and skim the first page. It’s a purchase proposal for a single building located not far from where I live. Owned by Leonora Caruso, who has refused several offers to sell.

I look up at Margaret. “I remember her—I met her oncea year or so ago. A little old lady with balls of steel. My father is still trying to get her building. What’s so big about it?”

“Keep reading, Elliott.” She watches me like an old-time schoolteacher.

I flip through the pages listing all the escalating offers and refusals. Every attempt made to purchase the building, and then it jumps at me. No. No fucking way. This can’t be happening. Of all the thousands of buildings in New York, it had to be Jillian’s. “It’s a clusterfuck.”

“Language, Elliott.” In her eyes, I’m still a boy.

“Sorry, Megs. There’s no other word to describe it.”

“You have to tell her.”

“I know.” I blink at her. “How do you even know about me and Jillian?”

“You’re not the only one who lives in that neighborhood.” She leans in closer. “And Leonora is a close friend of mine.” Her voice is low.

“You’re her woman on the inside.” My voice is as low as hers.

She shrugs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I smile at her despite the churning in my stomach. There’s no stopping that headache now. “I’ll take care of this.”

She nods, walking backward. “Make sure you do.”

When she gets to the door, I call her, “Megs? Be careful. You have a neck, too.”

I come into the store as Angela is leaving. Jillian is wrapping up with a customer and I loiter on the opposite side of theroom so as not to intrude—take the extra time to calm my nerves. I have to tell her, but I have no idea what her reaction will be. What if she throws me out and never speaks to me again?

I walk back to her when the sound of the bell tells me the customer has left. She’s wearing a fitted sky-blue T-shirt, the hue a perfect match for the color of her eyes. But it’s not only the shirt or the way it clings to her—it’s the smile tipping her full, kissable lips that captures me completely. Her smiles come easier now, unguarded, and genuine, lighting up her whole face in a way that leaves me breathless. Being the recipient of one sends a zing down my spine, sharp and undeniable, traveling to places that have no business stirring to life right now. Her smile calms my nerves and makes me a coward. I need time. I’ll tell her. Soon. But not now. I can’t spoil that smile.

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