The Promise of Us (Sanctuary Sound #2) - Jamie Beck Page 0,35

scalp.

His mother cast him a doubtful look. “Another one of our ‘agree to disagree’ moments, I suppose.” She rubbed his head, tugging at his hair as if she could make it longer by pulling at it. “But I don’t fault you for this supportive gesture. Your father is thrilled you lost the ponytail.”

Peyton came in through the back door, humming, almost as if she’d known when to show up and prevent an argument. She unwrapped the pink wool scarf from her neck, draped it over a chair, then slung her winter coat over it. Her skin still looked ruddy, and her upper-body movement was slow and deliberate, but that should all recede in the coming weeks.

“What’s with the powwow?” She looked at the table and rolled her eyes. “Oh, I see. The project.”

“These pages are great, Peyton.” Logan riffled through some diary entries, but his mother interrupted.

“Honey.” She held Peyton by the chin. Touching two of her kids in one day . . . a new record. “You’re very sweet to try to be an inspiration, but won’t you regret sharing all of these images with the world? Once they’re out there, you’ll never be able to put this all behind you.”

His mother’s face lit with maternal concern. She really could have been quite successful onstage if she’d ever had any real interest in the arts.

Peyton tensed. “‘All this’ will never be behind me, Mom. My future involves many checkups and always wondering if a few mutant cells are attacking some other part of my body. I’ll be aware of every little health hiccup for the rest of my life, however long or short that might be. If I can live with that, I suppose I can handle strangers I’ll never meet seeing me look like a bald, boiled lobster.”

Logan reached out to rub his sister’s back, knowing she hadn’t quite gotten comfortable with this idea. At least he could always count on her to defend his plans in the face of parental disapproval, though. “Attagirl.”

“What can I say? I’m feeling optimistic today.” She slid onto a seat beside him.

“What brought about this change?” he asked.

Peyton leaned forward with her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “I spoke with Claire.”

“Really?” Their mother took another sip of wine, her concerned expression replaced by one of satisfaction. “How’d you manage that?”

“I didn’t.” Peyton smiled at him. “Logan did.”

The look on his sister’s face lifted his heart in a way he hadn’t felt in all the months since she’d gotten sick. And yet an unexpected twinge tempered his joy. As much as he welcomed the first hint of light in his sister’s eyes, he suspected that conversation had depleted Claire. Not that she’d let anyone see behind her stoicism.

“Logan did?” their mom asked. “I don’t understand.”

“Logan’s hired Claire to redecorate his place in Chelsea and asked her to let me apologize. She didn’t feel comfortable denying his request while taking his money.”

When she put it that way, it sounded awful. A little too much like something his parents might do, frankly. He’d been a tad manipulative, but he’d acted in the best interest of both women.

“So it went well?” he asked, distracted by the idea he’d told himself only what he wanted to believe in order to get what he wanted.

Peyton shrugged. “She came to Thai Basil to get takeout and stopped by my table. She accepted my apology, but she’s not ready to be friends.”

“It’s a start.” Their mom tapped her fingernail against the wineglass, her mind already churning ahead. “Claire has always been a class act. It’s nice that she did it in public. When others see you two speaking, it’ll take some of the heat off you. Everyone loves the McKennas. The whole neighborhood defends and protects Claire because of her injury. Your affair with Todd really hurt the family name.”

“Mom,” Logan grumbled. “Not helpful.”

“What? Can’t we speak truths in this house?” She waved him away.

Truth. Was there such a thing, or did everyone view situations differently and derive their own truths? This was the kind of debate he’d enjoy with friends, but it would die right here on the kitchen floor if he posed that question to his mom.

She broke the silence. “Since no one wants to help me plan the gala, I’ll slink back to my office to work alone while you two do this. Before you shop this project outside these walls, we should have a family meeting and talk about the