“Ashe’s day is ruined. Do you have any idea what this wedding cost? Treat him the same as any other menace,” Cora adds, wagging her red-tipped nails at me. “You cannot show him favoritism because he’s your nephew.”

Though confident that Uncle Jim will be fair, if not tougher on me, Cora’s hypocrisy fills the room like a bad smell. She doesn’t even try to hide her nepotism at Sunny’s Beach Market—her husband handles the books, her son runs the store, and he’s engaged to an employee working under him. It all feels wrong.

Or maybe I’m looking for somewhere to shift the blame.

With his typical blank-faced stoicism, Uncle Jim bypasses their requests with a simple, “I’m sorry for your distress. Any news on Marnie?”

“Not yet,” Cora says, her voice cracking.

“She’s in everyone’s thoughts and prayers.” He lays a gentle hand on Ashe’s back before moving toward us.

He eyes Wade and Dad with a cocked brow, probably surprised to see they haven’t come to blows yet. It’s the first time they’ve been in the same room together in years.

“Wade. Mack. Christie,” he lists, nodding to each before landing on me. “Grady, we need to talk.”

“Whatever you need.”

“Let’s talk down the hall,” he says, motioning toward the door.

Cora and Ashe watch from the window while the officer gives me a breathalyzer test. It’s negative. A nurse takes my blood, and I answer his questions until the nurse from earlier reappears, her bobbing heart headband gone. She goes to the waiting room doorway, clearing her throat for the room’s attention.

“Miss Strange is out of surgery,” she says, her voice monotone. “We’re moving her from recovery into a private room now. The doctor⁠—”

“She’s okay?” Ashe cuts in, relief sweeping over his face.

“She’s still recovering but lucid,” she says quickly, and the room lets out a collective sigh as if that’s an affirmative. All it means is that she survived surgery—a definite relief, but not a complete answer. My uneasy gut twists with more discomfort, especially when she says, “The doctor is speaking to her now, and she’s asking for Ashe?”

“That’s me,” Ashe says, like he’s surprised. “I want to see her.”

Cora lines up behind him, as if that means her, too. Then, Wes, looking unsure, rises from his chair, hugging the clipboard, and joins his wife, which I imagine is his usual modus operandi.

The nurse glances between the three faces. “You’re her family?”

“Yes, we’re her family,” Cora says with certainty, “and we need to see her.”

She motions for the threesome to follow.

“I need a bathroom,” I tell Jim, who nods before re-entering the waiting room.