Her eyebrows drew together. “While I was waiting for you, I called the dean of the fine arts school at Georgia Southern to thank him for his interest in Dylan. He was very cordial. During our conversation I asked him how Dylan’s drawings had come to his attention. He told me that his favorite niece’s little boy had been born with a hole in his heart, and that Dr. Grant at the Clinic for Pediatric and Congenital Heart Diseases had performed a fabulously successful surgery. Dylan was brought to the dean’s attention by Dr. Grant himself, who called the dean to alert him to Dylan’s application. The dean informed me that I’m very fortunate to have the esteemed Dr. Grant in my brother’s corner.”

He kept his face impassive. His heart thudded in his eardrums, which was stupid. His heart didn’t thud like this when he was cutting on a child’s aorta.

“I told you about the dean’s email concerning Dylan on Saturday,” she continued, “and you said . . . What did you say? I think you said, ‘Good for him.’ You most definitely did not say that you were the one who’d . . . who’d—” she sliced a hand through the air—“manufactured the dean’s interest in Dylan!”

“I don’t have the power to manufacture anyone’s interest. I simply called the dean to tell him about a promising new recruit.”

“And, no doubt, to ask him to keep us in mind for scholarships.”

“Yes,” he admitted.

Color flared on her cheeks. “So. Not only did you go behind my back to pull some strings, but then you didn’t come clean about your involvement when you had the chance.”

She was blowing this all out of proportion. “I know the college applications have been hard on you and Dylan. When I found out that he’d applied to Georgia Southern and realized I had a contact there, I wanted to do something to help. So I called the dean. But I planned to keep my involvement anonymous—”

“Because you knew I wouldn’t like it. But you got caught.”

“I got caught doing something good for your brother.”

She scowled at him. “Dylan and I are not helpless. We are not incapable. We are not incompetent! We don’t need a Daddy Warbucks to pull strings for us behind our backs!”

“I know you’re not helpless—”

“That’s not what your actions say.” A strand of hair slipped over one eye. She shoved it back. “Do you, with your degrees and your money, pity Dylan and me?”

“No.” But honestly, how could he not pity her? She was supposed to have accepted a full ride to Princeton.