Harrison pops out of his chair. “What the fuck? Is he dead?”

McKinley swings around to face him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? And no, he’s not dead. You think we’d be standing here if he was? What the hell is wrong with you, Harrison?”

Her brother bolts toward the door, and we both watch him go.

“I’ll never understand him,” McKinley whispers, and that makes two of us.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t go back out? Your grandfather—”

“Is as tough as nails,” she finishes for me. “Commodore will outlive us all. I’m nearly certain of that.”

“But what if they need to take him to the hospital?”

McKinley laughs quietly. “He’ll never go. Not for himself. He’ll have a doctor here within the next twenty minutes to do whatever needs doing, guaranteed.”

I know she’s right, and the last thing I want to do is get in the way of the chaos outside—or offer the press more chances to take pictures. But still, it doesn’t feel right hiding inside.

“Are you sure?”

McKinley nods. “Absolutely.” She strides toward the massive entrance to the room and pauses before it. “You can come with me to the library if you’d like to distract yourself while we wait.”

Go with McKinley, or stay and pace the living room by myself and feel completely useless? It’s not much of a choice to make.

I follow her out of the room. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but has Harrison always been that big of an asshole? I have a cousin who’s angry at the world, and I swear she’s been like that since birth.”

McKinley walks and talks at the same time. “He used to be different, actually. When we were little, he was fun and nice. I think it all changed when he saw Commodore take extra interest in Lincoln and not him, and when he asked why, my mother told him he wouldn’t get anything because Lincoln would inherit everything. I wish she never had. I wish none of us had ever known, because it changed a lot of things.”

“But you’re not like him . . .”

McKinley shrugs. “I guess I never saw a reason to be bitter. I didn’t expect a handout. I expected to work for everything I would ever get, because that’s the way Commodore has always been. Nothing is a given. Everything is earned. I started working at the resort when I was eight. I helped organize name cards and place settings for wedding receptions because I loved to watch the people come in, all dressed up, and then the bride and groom were so happy and in love.” She trails off, and it’s not a difficult conclusion to come to that she didn’t see a lot of love in this house.

“I started working about that age too. On the family farm. I was in charge of collecting eggs and feeding the chickens.”

McKinley stops in front of a wooden door that must be at least twenty feet tall. “Were your parents ever happy?”