“You’ll have majority ownership,” I say, “like you should’ve had when Grandpa died.”

“Damn straight, I should’ve.”

“Deal?” I extend my hand.

He grunts, rolling his eyes like he might throw a punch rather than accept it. “One more thing. I want help around here. You’re always doing this or that for my brother⁠—”

“My father, yeah.”

“I got chores, and my back isn’t⁠—”

“Fine, whatever.” I push my hand closer to his chest. “Deal?”

Slowly, he shakes it, smirking with devilish satisfaction.

“I’m proud of you two. Such growth.” Christie claps. “When do we get Marnie? I’m going to wear my turquoise blouse.”

“I’ll bring her by later if she agrees. She has to say yes for it to work, so you better make it good,” I warn, dropping my uncle’s hand.

“Should I pick some flowers or something?” Roy scratches his head.

“It’s not a fucking date. Just be…” I glance them over. “…clean and sober.”

Wade grunts.

“Tipsy okay, Grady?” Christie clarifies. “It’s Saturday.”

“I’ll grab the Lysol for the bathroom. And breath mints,” Roy says, rushing to his trailer. “Maybe a candle or two.”

Wade and I share a distressed glare. This is going to be a nightmare.

18. Marnie

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Marnie

Walking home from a four-hour Saturday shift at the funeral home, I’m physically and emotionally exhausted. Liam wanted me there for Grandma Johanson’s service, but when Seagrovians (all former customers) noticed me working there, attention unfortunately diverted from the deceased to me.

Liam sequestered me in my office after that.

But boring office work tires as much as being a busy bee. My hip aches. My giant jellyfish bruise is only a large yellow smudge now and only hurts after standing too long.

Walking home doesn’t help. But I’m lucky that the funeral home is close enough—I haven’t been able to buy a new/used car yet. Not because of money—I have the awful severance (still uncashed) and the insurance payout for my old car. It’s just a matter of logistics—how do I go see cars when I don’t have a car to get me there?

A problem for later.

It’s a beautiful day, leaning toward spring. Daffodils peek through the mulch around the Pike’s flower beds, and the grass will be long enough to mow soon. My subdued black pants and gray blouse absorb the sunshine. I’m ready for jeans and a t-shirt. Maybe a pain pill. And time with the cats.

Edging down the road to my house, I spot Grady’s truck, tailgate down, and him with his sister sitting on the back. She has a sketchbook propped up, hands moving furiously. He leans against his hands, watching me approach from the tops of his eyes like I’m frustrating him again.

His intense stare warms and scares me at once—is that even possible?