The other houses our family owns—including this house—are in foreclosure. The investment accounts are empty. Donald and Theresa have been selling art to live on. Anything they hadn’t sold yet went up in literal flames last week.”
My mother doesn’t say a word. Uncle Archer puts his hand on her shoulder and speaks slowly and patiently, his voice full of kindness and concern, like a doctor delivering a diagnosis that’s going to hurt like hell, but not actually kill you.
“They spent it all. Every last penny. The Story estate is gone.”
Milly breaks, and balls go flying across crisp green felt. She just keeps getting better and better at pool. The last time I visited her in New York—when she took me to some swanky “entertainment complex” where all the tables were rimmed with fluorescent lights—she came uncomfortably close to beating me.
“Somebody’s about to give you a run for your money, Jonah,” Enzo calls from behind the bar. He returned to work at Empire Billiards right after Thanksgiving, although he still does a couple of shifts at Home Depot every week. Just in case.
“You’ve been practicing without me, haven’t you?” I ask as Milly watches the last of the balls drop into a corner pocket.
“I’m stripes,” she announces, giving me a coy glance from beneath her lashes.
There it is. That’s the look that gets me every time. I forget where we are and reach for her, plucking the pool cue out of her hand so I can pull her close. Her silky hair is long and loose, and I brush it from her face before I kiss her. She lets out a soft sigh and melts into me, and I forget all about the endless three weeks since I saw her last.
I also forget about Enzo, until he coughs. “Parent. Parking lot,” he says, and I release Milly a few seconds before my mother walks through the door.
Not that she’d mind. She loves Milly, and she’s the one who invited her to stay with us after Christmas. But I’m trying to keep the awkward factor low so that Milly won’t ever hesitate to come back.
By train, of course. She wasn’t kidding about the bus.
“Mail came,” Mom says to Enzo, dropping a thick pile of paper on the bar. “There’s a new catalog from ServMor Bar Supply, if you’re interested.”
“I am,” he says, plucking it from the stack with reverence. Ever since his stint at Home Depot, you can’t keep Enzo away from DIY projects to improve Empire Billiards. We don’t open for another hour, but he got here early to install what he claims is a more durable bar rail.
Mom turns to Milly and me. “I’m going to make myself a burger and some fries before we open. You two want anything?”
“Same,” I say, with a questioning look toward Milly.
“Me too,” she says. “Thanks, Mrs. North.”
“Of course! Anything for you, Enzo?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Okay. Just give me ten or fifteen minutes, kids.” Mom disappears into the kitchen. Enzo tucks the catalog and the rest of the mail under his arm.
“I’ll be reading this in the office for the next ten minutes,” he announces, ducking out from behind the bar. “Do with this empty room what you will.”
I moved a respectable distance from Milly when Mom came in, but close the gap now with a grin. “Where were we?” I ask, circling her waist with my hands.
She stretches on her toes to peck me on the lips, then pulls away. “We were about to call Aubrey, remember? I promised I’d FaceTime her at four.”
“Goddamn it,” I say, but I don’t mean it. I’m looking forward to catching up with Aubrey, too.
I wasn’t sure what would happen when the three of us left Gull Cove Island at the end of July. We’d just lived through the wildest, weirdest month imaginable, and it was hard to tell whether the intense relationships we’d formed with one another would last in regular life. Especially with all the estate stuff in such a colossal mess. It turned into a Story sibling showdown: Allison and Archer on one side, trying to untangle what was left and settle it fairly; and Adam and Anders on the other, dodging creditors and accountability while slapping nuisance lawsuits on anyone who’d ever worked with Donald Camden.
At first, I couldn’t believe all the money was gone. But in the end, it very nearly was. Donald, Theresa, Fred Baxter, and Paula had lived high on the hog for twenty-four years, surrounding themselves with the