In Rita抯 back pocket, Miriam抯 notebook burned hot, like a glowing coal. As if to say, And what exactly are you going to do about me?
A hose-toting fireman passed, sending Rita a harried but sympathetic look. Realizing an actual tear had escaped and was rolling down her cheek, she lifted the whisk-clutching hand to swipe away the offender, splattering literal egg on her face.
揙h, come on.?
Denial, fatigue, and humiliation ganged up on her, starting in the shoulder region and spreading to her wrist. Secure in the fact that no one could hear her strangled sob, she hauled back and hurled the whisk, watching it bounce along the cobblestones leading to Wayfare抯 entrance.
No more.
She felt Belmont before she saw him. It was always that way with her oldest brother. For all she knew, he抎 been standing in the shadows, watching the flames for the past hour, but hadn抰 felt like making his presence known. Everything on his terms, his time, his pace. God, she envied that. Envied the solitary life he抎 carved out for himself, the lucrative marine salvage business that allowed him to accept only jobs that interested him, spending the rest of his time hiding away on his boat. When Belmont sidled up beside her, she didn抰 look over. His level expression never changed and it wouldn抰 now. But she couldn抰 stand to see her own self-disgust reflected back in his steady eyes.
揟hey won抰 save it,?came Belmont抯 rumble.
Her oldest brother never failed to state the obvious.
揑 know.?
He shifted closer, brushing their shoulders together. Accidental? Maybe. He wasn抰 exactly huge on showing affection. None of the Clarksons were, but at least she and Belmont had quiet understanding. 揥ould you want them to save it, if they could??
They were silent for a full minute. 揟hat抯 a million-dollar question.?
揑 don抰 have that much cash on me.?
His deadpan statement surprised a laugh out of Rita. It felt good for two-point-eight seconds before her chest began to fill with lead, her legs starting to wobble. The laugh turned into big, gulping breaths. 揙h, motherfucking Christ, Belmont. I burned down Mom抯 restaurant.?
揧eah.?Another brush of his burly shoulder steadied her, just a little. 揥hat she doesn抰 know won抰 hurt her.?
Exasperated, Rita shoved him, but he didn抰 budge. 揂nd they call me the morbid one.?
Belmont抯 sigh managed to drown out the sirens and emergency personnel shouts. 揝he might be dead. But her sense of humor isn抰。？
Rita once again thought of the journal in her jeans pocket. 揧ou抮e right. She抎 be roasting marshmallows over there. Starting a hot, new upscale s抦ore trend.?
揧ou could start it yourself.?
No, I can抰， Rita thought, staring out at the orange, licking flames. She抎 already started quite enough for one night.
*
Rita and Belmont were sitting silently on the sidewalk, staring at the decimated restaurant, when a sleek white Mercedes with the license plate VOTE4AC pulled up along the curb, eliciting a sigh from them both. Rita shoved a hand through her dyed black hair and straightened her weary spine. Preparing. Bolstering. While Belmont抯 modus operandi was to hang back, take a situation抯 measure, and then approach with caution, her younger brother, Aaron, liked to make a damn entrance, right down to the way he exited the driver抯 side. Like a Broadway actor entering from stage left into a dramatic scene, aware that eyes would swing in his direction. His gray suit boasted not a single wrinkle, black shoes polished to a shine. His golden-boy smile had made him a media sensation, but for once it was nowhere to be seen as he approached Rita and Belmont.
Aaron shoved his hands into his pants pockets. 揊uck. Right??
揧ep,?Rita said, swallowing hard.
Her politician brother did a scan of the dire scene, brain working overtime behind golden-brown eyes inherited by all the Clarksons. Except Belmont, whose eyes were a deep blue, on account of him having a different father. A fact that Rita forgot most of the time, since Belmont had been there梐n unmovable presence梥ince the day she was born. Aaron had come later. The second coming.
揂re you all right??Aaron asked her abruptly, a suspicious twinkle in his gaze. 揧ou must have been in there a while with the smoke. The soot around your eyes棓
揌ilarious, dickhead.?Her heavy black eye makeup and general fuck off appearance were a constant source of amusement for her clean-cut younger brother. 揧ou have a funny way of showing concern.?
揟hank you. What do I need to handle??Aaron adjusted the starched white collar of his shirt. 揇id you make a statement yet or anything??
Rita allowed the steel to leach from her spine. 揑抳e been kind of busy just sitting here.?
揜ight.?Aaron feigned surprise at finding Belmont on the sidewalk with them. 揓esus. I thought you were a statue.?
揌a.?
揧ou smell like the ocean.?
揧ou smell like the blood of taxpayers,?Belmont returned.
揥ell.?Rita finally found enough presence of mind to yank the smoky apron over her head, chucking it into the street. 揑 think I just remembered why we haven抰 hung out since Mom died.?
Truthfully, even before that rainy afternoon, the time they抎 spent together as a family had felt mandatory. Organized by their mother and fled from in almost comical haste.
揙h. My. God.?
At the sound of their youngest sibling, Peggy抯， voice, all three of them cursed beneath their breath. Let the family reunion officially begin. It wasn抰 that they didn抰 love their baby sister. And in many ways, Peggy, a personal shopper to San Diego抯 elite, was still a baby at twenty-five. Her big Coke-bottle curls and cheerleader appearance guaranteed that she got away with just about everything. Including neglecting to pay her cabdriver, if the irritated-looking man following her with a receipt clutched in his fist was any indication.
揌ow did this happen??Peggy hiccupped, playing with the string of engagement rings dangling from her neck, as Belmont wordlessly paid the cabdriver. 揑 just had dinner here two weeks ago. Everything seemed fine.?
Rita battled the compulsion to lie down on the sidewalk in the fetal position. Oh God. Her mother had bequeathed her an award-winning restaurant and she抎 burned it down. On Rita抯 first day back.
Aaron was busy scrolling through his phone, the screen抯 glow illuminating his perfectly tousled dark blond hair. 揕ook at the bright side, Rita. Now you can pursue your dream of being a Hot Topic register girl.?
Rita barely had the strength to flip him the bird. 揓ump up my ass.?
When Peggy approached Rita couldn抰 look her in the eye, so she focused on her younger sister抯 toes, which were peeking out of strappy silver sandals. 揌ey. I抦 glad you抮e okay.?
Rita抯 throat went tight. 揟hanks, Peggy.?
揑抦 sorry about the restaurant, too. I know how much you loved it. How much Mom loved it.?Her youngest sibling nodded and cast a discreet glance over her shoulder, turning back with a charming half smile. A smile responsible for four marriage proposals over the past three years. 揗om probably would have wanted me to talk to those firefighters, though. Am I right??
Rita groaned up at the sky.
Meet the fucking Clarksons.
Chapter Two
Unable to stand the undercurrent of blame radiating from her siblings any longer, Rita came to her feet and walked toward what remained of Wayfare. She hesitated for the barest of seconds when she reached the yellow tape, but shrugged and ducked beneath it. Her Doc Martens crunched in the charred debris, which had cooled overnight as they sat across the street, watching the smoke dissipate. Even demolished, she knew which rooms she walked through, exactly which table numbers the black metal legs belonged to. She toed aside a burned piece of wood and spied the wrought-iron Bonjour! sign Miriam had brought back from Paris on one of her many trips.