Page 187 of Share with Me

“Five-point-four.”

“Even worse.”

“Well, she has at least several Strads she inherited from her grandfather. So yes, stuff like that doesn’t matter to her, I don’t think.”

“What matters to her?”

“People, I think, even before she was saved. More so after. She kept doing things for Grandma and me, buying us stuff, taking care of things. I’m thinking they were all primarily for me. She seemed genuinely happy to be with me and do all that stuff for us.”

“Why didn’t she pay off the house then if she kept pouring money on you?”

Ivan stopped what he was doing. “If I hadn’t broken up with her, she might have.”

“You’re a fool, big brother.”

“I’m not a beggar.”

“You could’ve saved Grandma’s house from being foreclosed on.”

“I don’t like handouts.”

“What are you doing now?”

“I told you I sold my last violin. I could help with groceries and such.”

Willow got up, hugged her brother. “No need. I wasn’t trying to be mean. I was only trying to help you think through this.”

“I appreciate that, Will. But truth be told, I don’t want Brinley’s money.” Ivan grimaced. “I want to be my own man, you know. But I can’t afford her. I can’t even get a job with my injury now, let alone marry and feed a family.”

“Marry? I thought you were just going out.”

“I wanted more, but I can’t have more. Look at me. I don’t have health insurance. I can’t even pay for therapy. My wrist will probably never heal right. This injury ended my career and any hope of making it with Brin—Brinley.”

“Let me go get my violin.”

“You don’t play the violin, Will.”

“Never mind. Inside joke.” Then she said, “Do we have a focus problem, Ivan? Did Brinley fall in love with your violin or the man behind the violin?”

“She deserves better than me.” Ivan sighed. “Such is my life, Will. You know that. It seems like I’m always a bottom feeder.”

“Why do you question everything God gives you, Ivan?” Willow opened the refrigerator to get a can of soda. She offered Ivan one, but he refused. He didn’t want to put her out.

“I don’t deserve anything.” Ivan walked around the folding kitchen table and plopped down on the futon in the living room. It sagged in the middle and was nubbly here and there.

“Yes, you do.” Willow came out of the kitchen after him and sat down beside him. That was the only seating in the entire living room not counting a couple of mismatched barstools next to an upright Kimball piano by the wall.

Willow had an apple on a paper plate and a knife in her hand. “You deserve death and eternal separation from God. You know that.”

She cut up a slice of apple and offered it to Ivan. He took it, grateful for the healthy dessert.

“Yet He sent His only Son, Jesus, to die for you and take your place,” Willow said. “So be thankful and stop questioning God.”

“It’s not that, Will.”

“You’re not questioning God? Seems to me like you have some sort of trust issue.”

“Trust issue? What are you saying?” Ivan chewed the apple carefully. Had to make it last. Savor every bit of it.

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