Page 15 of Somewhere Without You
Katherine stiffened, her face tightening with anger. “Andwhat about your expectations?Ordo you not have any for him?”
“That’s none of your business,”I bit out.
“Itismy fucking business,” Kat argued, gesturing at the bruise creeping over my tawny eyes.
I winced, my stomach sinking.
“Youknowwhat?”I said, standingabruptly.“Thiswasa mistake.”
“Emily, wait,”she urged, rolling her eyes. She sounded so much like our mother.“I’m sorry, I’ll drop it.”
She wouldn’t, but I sat back downanyway.
Noise from the street filtered through the open windows, a blur of snippets from random conversations as strangers passed by.
“I needthatfile on my desk by Tuesday,”a sharp-suited woman demanded into her phone.
“Can we go to the beach?”a child’s voice piped up, small and hopeful, followed by a heavy sigh from her mother.
Sometimes I liked to tuck myself into other people’s lives,justfor a moment. I wondered how manyhaddone the same to me,watchedme walk by and, for a brief second, envied what theysaw.
The server returned, setting our meals in front of us.“Anything else?”he asked, hands clasped behind his back.
“No, thank you,”Katherine answered, already lifting her cocktail glass to her lips.
He nodded and walked away.
“Gran’s things willprobablygo to auction,”Kat said, breaking into the guacamole with a casual dip. Bits of steak and Pico de Gallo clung to the edge of her plate.“Most of itwasjunkanyway, and I don’t have the time, or the space, to sift through it all.”She didn’tlookat me as she spoke.“Thenthere’s the house. She left it to both of us.”
I stared at her, still trying to come to terms with the factthatGranwasgone.“What happened?”
Katherine sighed, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass absentmindedly.“What do you think happened? Shewasold, Emily. She got sick.Andthen, shewasjust. . . gone.”
A wave of nausea washed over me. “What do you mean shewassick?Andwhy didn’t you call me when you found out?”Raw guilt clawed at my throat. I couldn’tevenrecall the last timeI’dspokento her.
“What do you want from me?”Katherine’s voicewassharp.“Youweren’treturning my calls, my messages. Hell, Ievenemailed you. Youwerea fucking ghost.”
I thought about the endless phone calls, the voicemailsI’ddeletedwithout ever listening to. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t.
“I did what Icould,”she mumbled, tipping her glass back to finish whatwasleft.“Distance played a role, too.”
“When’s the funeral?”I asked.
“What funeral?”Katherine laughed.“Gran didn’t want one.Andevenif she did, who would come?”
I shrugged. “I would.”
“Would you?Orwould your husband find some excuse to keep you home?” she asked, bitterly.
I shot her a glare.
Katherine’s shoulders sagged as she let out a long breath.“I’m sorry. It’s been a rough few days and I’mjusttired.”
Iwatchedher, the anger draining out of me, replaced by a heavy sense of understanding. Katherine, always the one to carry the weight alone,wasstruggling.
“So, what?”I lingered. “We’rejustgoing to bury her and be done with it?”
Katherine shook her head.“Granwasveryspecific about what she wanted done. Ihadher cremated. I’ll be heading back next week to pick up the ashes.”
