Page 126 of First Chance

Becky looks at me knowingly, and with even more little sister amusement.

“Don’t start,” I mumble over Emory’s head.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s only 11 am.” She smirks.

I hold up my hand and walk back inside, ignoring her.

Chapter Forty-Six

Jo

“Do you think it’s okay for me to keep some of these even though she wasn’t my real grandma?” Emory asks as we go through the paintings upstairs.

“What do you mean?”

“I know I’m adopted. She didn’t even know me.”

“She would have loved you, and I think she’d want you to have something of hers.”

“How do you know?”

“Well, family is what you make it. Your mom and uncle love you so much, so I know she’d feel the same.” Who wouldn’t love the little girl I’m sitting next to, full of sunshine and glitter, dressed as a fairy princess?

“Did you know her?”

“No, I didn’t. I met your grandfather once, though.”

“He was nice, he played with me. Sometimes I wish I had a brother or sister to play with.”

“I had an older brother growing up, but he was mean. We never played together.”

“You didn’t have a sister?”

“No, I do have another brother. I didn’t meet him untilrecently, though. He’s nicer, he probably would have played with me as a kid.” I shrug, feigning indifference when it really eats me up inside. I missed out on so many years with someone who could have been good and decent in my life, but now we’re practically strangers, and it’s a hard relationship to navigate. Especially since I plan to leave.

“Look at this one!” Becky says from the doorway, holding a canvas. We had all split off into different rooms to start divvying out the paintings they wanted.

The one Becky is holding is a dusky evening in the wild strawberry clearing that Lochlan had taken me to.

“It’s beautiful.” The grass and trees, and the vines of ripe fruit, are in varying shades of dark green, making the strawberries look like rubies scattered in the thicket.

“You would think this place held some sort of lost treasure the way Lochlan always safeguarded it.”

“What do you mean?”

“He used to make me guess the password as kids before he’d let me in the clearing. It was his favorite place.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what else to say. I haven’t spoken to Lochlan in a few hours; he made himself busy and avoided me since our moment on the couch earlier.

“What was my favorite place?” He asks from the hallway. I can’t see him, but I can imagine his look of concentration as he studies the painting she turns to show him.

“Do you want to keep this one?”

“No. I have the real thing.”

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