Page 185 of Share with Me

Chapter Fifty-Seven

“Iknowyou don’t want to be here.”

Ivan listened to his sister, Willow, say those words and watched her dish out some sort of shrimp fried rice onto his plate. It didn’t look too great, but considering the circumstances, Ivan could eat anything.

He also knew that free dinner came with a price.

In many ways, Willow reminded him of Grandma Yun, who had never missed an opportunity to get down to business.

“I know you don’t want me here, either,” Ivan said. “I’m sorry I’m imposing on you.”

“It’s not that, Ivan.” She scraped the bottom of the pan.

Ivan sat down at the folding table in the kitchen that was even smaller than Grandma’s on St. Simon’s Island. Willow’s little rented house in DeKalb was only minutes from Emory, where she went to music school to get her master’s degree. To supplement her scholarship and student loans, she taught piano when she wasn’t in class and on weekends.

Willow had gotten a roommate to sublet the second room in the house. That cut her rent in half. But it had left Ivan nowhere to sleep except on the futon in the living room. He had felt uncomfortable all week long with two women walking around him in bath towels.

He had to get out of here.

But where could he go?

He was bankrupt.

Penniless.

Homeless.

He had sold his violin to someone Willow knew for two thousand dollars. That was all he had to live on, possibly for the rest of the year. Willow had taken pity on him and had not made him pay for his food and lodging at her house, but he knew she was stretching her own finances. He didn’t want her to get into debt on account of him.

Willow sat down across from Ivan. The table was small.

Ivan scooted back in his chair, and bumped it against the side of the refrigerator. “Sorry.”

Willow asked Ivan to say a blessing for their food. Ivan didn’t feel thankful at all. He made his prayer quick and short and practically meaningless. His heart wasn’t in it. It wasn’t that he was mad at God, but—

Well, was he mad at God?

Shouldn’t he be mad at himself?

“None of this would’ve happened if Grandpa Otto hadn’t taken out a second mortgage, and Grandma broke her hip and I had to take out third mortgage, and Brin hadn’t bought me a Strad that caused me to get beaten up and end up with a broken wrist.”

“Listen to what you just said.”

“What?” Ivan raised an eyebrow.

“You just blamed everyone else but yourself.”

“I’m just a victim of—”

“Uh-huh.”

Ivan cringed. “I see what you mean. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t dishonor our grandparents’ memories.”

“Tell me more about this Brin.” Willow seemed amused.

“Brinley Brooks. She is—was—my girlfriend. Well, sort of. We only went out for about a month and a half. So maybe I shouldn’t say girlfriend.”

“Was she at the funeral?”

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