We’d never had a sober conversation about that night, and I could see why now. The long-ignored emotions came with too many sharp edges.

“You both should be proud of yourself,” David said. “You’ve both found a way forward.”

“I have,” Brit said.

If we were living in a rom-com, this would have been the black moment. I was Brit’s quirky, unreliable kid sister who had been holding her back. Now she finally had a chance at happiness, but I was stirring more cauldrons of trouble and blocking her bliss.

Settling into a silence, I took a bite of pasta. Thankfully, David picked up on my mood and began to chat about all things Brit, which seemed to shift my sister’s attention toward the positive.

Our dinner limped along for another forty-five minutes. Plates clean, bellies full, we enjoyed strawberry cake and coffee for dessert. Finally, at 7:15, I set my last plate in the sink and announced my departure.

“Thanks for dinner,” I said.

Brit handed me a plastic tub full of spaghetti. “Of course.”

David was behind me this time, as if the dinner had fused us all as some kind of family. “Don’t be a stranger. And keep us posted on your investigation. Who knows, you might unearth something valuable.”

“Do my best,” I said.

Brit hugged me. David stepped closer, as if judging whether he’d reached the next level, where hugs or maybe a kiss on the cheek were allowed. He wisely opted to hold back.

“Call if you need anything,” Brit said. “And don’t forget. Tuesday at ten a.m. We go over your books.”

She’d told me three times last week. “Got it.”

When I stepped into the night, I inhaled the cool air and crossed the sidewalk to my car, my sister’s and David’s stares trailing me the entire way. Behind the wheel, I started the engine, waved a final goodbye, and then backed out of the driveway.

The need to leave suburbia bordered on desperation, and I didn’t take a full, real breath until I reached the interstate. As the lights of the city grew closer, my thoughts turned to Richards. Talking about him had stirred too many unanswered questions, which I knew wouldn’t be satisfied by our one conversation or tonight’s with Brit.

My phone dinged with a text from Paul Jones as I pulled into my parking lot.

Paul: Looking forward to seeing pictures.

Me: I’ll have them soon.

Paul: Spreading the good word about your work.

Me: Thank you.

Paul: You’re on my radar. Let’s get a drink sometime.

Me: Sure.