Chapter 13: The Price Went Up

Dylan didn't wait for anyone to say it again.

He crossed the room, took the report out of my hand and read it standing up.

His lips moved on the name Rodney James Klingenberg.

Then he looked at Janie, who was still holding the door.

"You're my sister," he said.

"Half," Janie said. "I'm sorry you found out like this."

"Don't." He turned on Dad. "Is it true?"

Dad lowered his hand from his eyes.

"Yes," he said.

Dylan sat down on the edge of the cream quilt, hard.

"Since when?"

"May," Mom said. "She came in May."

"I booked the car." Dylan said it to the floor. "I made the booking. I told Sasha to find her own ride."

"You didn't know," I said.

"I didn't ask." His head came up, and his eyes were red.

He looked at me, and for one second I saw it coming.

"Why didn't you tell me it hurt?" he said. "You never say anything. You just carry the tube and go quiet."

"Dylan."

"If you'd said a word, I would have stopped."

"I said it was my meeting. I said it in the lobby in front of the client."

"You said it politely." His voice cracked. "You always say it politely."

That was fair, and I hated that it was.

Then he turned his whole body toward Dad, and the blame went with him.

"You let me do it."

"Dylan, sit with me and I'll explain."

"You watched me move her boxes."

Dad's mouth opened and closed.

"I carried them down myself. Her drafting table, her lamp. I put a sticky note on the box that said Fragile, because I thought I was being kind."

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