“You marrying that Australian jackass?”
“Dad,” Greta says, exasperated. “Come on. You can either be upset about the possibility of me getting married or upset about the fact that I’m not. Pick a lane.”
He grunts. “All I’m saying is that it would be nice to hear the news before Aunt Wendy. And Twitter.”
“I told you, there isn’t any news.”
“Well, clearly there was.”
“But it wasn’t true.”
“Still.”
They scowl at each other for a second, both frustrated.
After a moment, Mary clears her throat. “We were on our way down to the piano bar,” she says, seizing the opening to escape. “Maybe we’ll see you guys there?”
“Maybe,” Ben says a little too brightly.
Conrad gives Greta one last look, unreadable as always, then turns and starts walking toward the exit. Eleanor hurries after him, giving his arm a comforting pat. Greta watches him go, her mouth screwed up to one side.
“Don’t worry about him,” Davis tells her. “It’s a tough day.”
“I know,” Greta says. “But he doesn’t have to take it out on me.”
“And you don’t have to take it out on him either,” Mary says, her voice firm in a way that reminds Greta of her mom. “He loves you. You know that.”
“Yeah,” Greta mutters. “It’s just that he doesn’t always like me very much.”
Mary hesitates for a moment, then walks over and kisses the side of her head. “The love part,” she says, so quietly that only Greta can hear, “is more important.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Afterward, Ben suggests they go to the casino.
“You don’t strike me as a gambler,” Greta says, looking at him doubtfully.
“I’m not,” he says with a grin. “But I’m feeling lucky tonight.”
They start with blackjack, and each manages to lose fifty bucks by the time their drinks even arrive. Greta knocks hers back and suggests they quit while they’re behind. But then her phone rings.
“Be right back,” she tells Ben, weaving through tables and slot machines, trying to find an exit amid all the mirrors and flashing lights.
“Where are you?” Asher asks when she picks up. “It sounds like Vegas.”
“It feels like Vegas. What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing much,” he says. “Just calling to see if I should be picking out a tux for your upcoming nuptials. Thanks for writing me back, by the way.”
Greta ducks into the hallway. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”
“Sure,” he says, his voice full of mirth. “Wedding planning can be stressful.”
“Asher.”
“What?”
“You know it’s not true.”
“Well, it’s nice to hear it straight from the source,” he says, relenting. “I bet Dad was excited about the possibility.”
She can’t tell whether he’s kidding or not, and she doesn’t bother to ask. “Have you talked to him?”
“Not today.”
A ship’s officer walks past, and Greta returns his crisp nod before shifting to face the wall. “Did you know?” she says to her brother. “About the ashes?”
“He brought them?” he asks, surprised.
“Not all of them.”
“Good, because the girls want to spread some in our garden.”
Greta frowns. “Isn’t that a little morbid?”
“They’re ashes. Of course it’s morbid. All of this is. Where did you spread the rest of them?”
“On a glacier.”
He whistles. “Wow. She would’ve loved that.”
“I know,” Greta agrees, her throat suddenly thick.
“How was it?”
“Hard,” she says. “Really hard.”
“I bet.” Asher’s voice is so soft it makes her want to cry. “I wish I’d been there. But it’s better that you were.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know what it means,” he says, and she does. They both do. They’ve just never said it out loud before. Helen didn’t play favorites the way Conrad did; her affection for Asher was never in doubt, her love for both of her children a seemingly infinite resource. But everyone knew the bond she had with Greta was special.
“Thanks, Ash,” she says quietly.
“For what?”
“I don’t even know.”