Page 75 of Lemon Crush

“I know I haven’t been in a great place for a while, Morgan,” I said quietly, getting to my feet. I didn’t want to have this argument. “But I lived for a very long time before moving here without you deciding what my behavior meant and what I should and shouldn’t do. Maybe I didn’t do things as perfectly as you could have, but I managed.”

“I’m only trying to help you.”

I thought about what Bernie said. That she wasn’tsupposedto bother me. Morgan was trying to handle me like I was a situation to be sorted. She knew what she wanted me to do, and she didn’t appreciate any deviations. “I know you mean well, and you were right that things weren’t fine with me. But I’m trying to fix that now. And I’m being productive again. Can’t you be happy about that, instead of poking holes into everything and expecting me to fail?” I shook my head, genuinely baffled. “I swear you seem more upset now then you were when I was hiding at home.”

“Because you weren’t making bad decisions then.” She covered her mouth and closed her eyes for a moment before reaching out to me. “I meant hasty, not bad. I just think?—”

“I know what you think, Morgan.” My face felt frozen. “And what you meant. Maybe you’re right. Maybe all my decisions are shit sandwiches and I’m better off going back to my cave until you tell me what my next step should be.” Part of me wanted to tell her she wouldn’t have to worry about me soon enough, because I’d be selling the house and moving back to California.

I couldn’t form the words. I wasn’t sure why. All I knew was I needed to leave before one of us said something we couldn’t take back.

I stood there stiffly, trying not to cry. “You said I could help with her last request. I’d like to handle the details on my own, if that’s okay with you.”

Morgan’s eyes were red-rimmed as she stared at me. “You want to be responsible for the boat, on top of everything else?”

“You took the trip. It’s my turn. If you think I can manage it.”

Nodding, she turned away quickly and disappeared into her closet. She emerged with a black urn with an engraved gold plate on top. “You should take her home. You’ll need the…measurements and everything. August, I hate this. I’m sorry, okay? Can I take it back, please? I don’t care if you join the team or work at the icehouse. It’s fine. It’s wonderful. It’s entirely up to you.”

“I wish you’d started with that.” I sighed and blinked against the sting in my eyes. I couldn’t cry yet. “I love you and I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? And Iwilldo this.” I clutched the urn against my chest.

“I know you will.”

I wished I believed her.

Before she could hug me again, I walked swiftly out of the room and toward the back door, where no one but the dogs would notice me. I felt too fragile. She’d read Mom’s journals and they’d been illuminating…but they hadn’t changed the way she saw me at all. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who thought I was a helpless mess.

It wasn’t easy, but I managed to get myself home and inside the door without letting go of Mom’s ashes.

“I need a drink.”

17

WADE

Every lightin August’s house was on when I pulled into the driveway and turned off my pickup. The old engine of the 65 stepside Chevy clicked and clanked as I sat there and read the text my sister had sent while I was driving.

Bernie: M’s not talking, but I think they had words. Tread lightly.

She wasn’t telling me anything I hadn’t already guessed when Morgan walked out of her room alone. She’d obviously been crying. When she said August had left with their mother’s ashes and without saying goodbye, all I could think about was making my excuses so I could get back here.

A smart man never got caught between two sisters. Particularly when one was an old friend and the other was the woman he might be falling for.

Might be? Had been. Already fell.

Staying away wasn’t an option for me, and if Morgan had asked my opinion, I would have told her that giving August spacedidn’t work. The last thing she needed was to be on her own, coming up with reasons to start shutting us out again.

Shutting me out.

She needed to be challenged. To feel necessary and enjoy life the way she used to. The way she was wired to. And whether she knew it or not, she needed me.

The music hit me before I opened the door. Familiar music, like those old songs Yvonne used to listen to over a glass of wine or three when she thought we were asleep.

Merlin sprawled between the living room and the stairs, staring at me with tired, mournful eyes until I scratched him behind his ears. “What am I walking into here, old man?”

The coffee table to my right was cluttered with open photo albums and a bottle of tequila. The ladder and tarp we’d used for painting the other day were still there, where the damage from the tree used to be.

Her sister’s house was only minutes away. How long had she been gone before Morgan decided to come back to the table and let us know?

---