Chapter 8
Good intentions becoming silence.
Liam looked strangely disappointed.
Perhaps part of him had expected a villain.
Villains are easier.
You can hate a villain.
Family is complicated.
“What about the photograph delivered today?”
I asked.
“That didn’t come from Martin,” Leo said.
“How do you know?”
“He’s been downtown since yesterday.”
“Someone could have delivered it for him.”
“He could have.
But the gate camera caught the courier.”
“Who?”
Leo turned to Liam.
“A woman.”
He held out his phone.
On the screen was a grainy image from the estate gate.
A woman stood beside a car.
Dark hair.
Forties, maybe.
Liam recognized her instantly.
“Maya.”
“Sophie’s aunt?”
I asked.
“Yes.”
Elena’s sister.
Leo nodded.
“She delivered it herself.”
“Why not come inside?”
Liam answered before Leo could.
“Because she hates me.”
“Do you know that?”
“She told me after the funeral.”
“What exactly did she say?”
His gaze moved to me.
“You’re becoming annoyingly specific.”
“It’s medically necessary.”
“It isn’t.”
“What did she say?”
He sighed.
“She said Sophie had lost enough.”
“That’s not ‘I hate you.’”
“It meant the same thing.”
“No.
It meant exactly what she said.”
Liam frowned.
“You don’t get to translate everyone’s words into the version that hurts you most.”
Leo looked at me with open admiration.
“I’ve been trying to tell him that for twenty years.”
“Quiet.”
I stood.
“So Maya brought Sophie’s photograph here.”
“Yes,” Leo said.
“She wanted Liam to know about the letters.”
“Apparently.”
“Which means she knows he wasn’t receiving them.”
Liam looked at the box again.
Then at Leo.
“Call her.”
Leo lifted an eyebrow.
“Now?”
Liam hesitated.
“Yes.”
The first call went unanswered.
The second went to voicemail.
Liam didn’t leave a message.
I almost argued.
Then I stopped myself.
Some bridges are crossed one plank at a time.
An hour later, my phone rang.
Since Tommy’s treatment arrangements began, the house had relaxed the no-phone rule.
I answered immediately.
“Hey.”
Tommy sounded tired.
But happy.
“Guess who has officially been accepted into the trial?”
I sat on the edge of my bed.
“You?”
“No.
Gerald the IV pole.”
I laughed so suddenly that tears came to my eyes.
“You idiot.”
“They start preliminary testing tomorrow.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like a lab rat with premium insurance.”
“Tommy.”
“I’m okay.”
That answer meant a thousand things between siblings.
Scared.
Hopeful.
Exhausted.
Trying not to make you worry.
I pressed my fingers to my forehead.
“I should be there.”
“You’re working.”
“I can come.”
“No.”
“You don’t get to tell me no.”
“I absolutely do.
You’ve been bossing me around since I was twelve.”
“You needed supervision.”
“I still do.”
His voice softened.
“Anna, I’m good.
Carla’s here.
Dr.
Mehta is here.
You’ll come Monday.”
“I can come tonight.”
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because you sound different.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“You sound like yourself.”
“I always sound like myself.”
“No.
For the last year, you’ve sounded like a woman carrying a refrigerator up a staircase.”
“That is weirdly specific.”
“I’m an engineer.”
“You’re not technically an engineer yet.”
“Cruel.”
I smiled.
Then Tommy asked, “Is the rich jerk less jerky?”
I glanced toward the hallway.
“Moderately.”
“You like him.”
“I’m his nurse.”
“That wasn’t what I said.”
“Goodbye, Tommy.”
He laughed.
“See you Monday.”
After we disconnected, I sat for a while.
May you like
Tommy was right about one thing.
I did feel different.
