Chapter 11: Brunch

The terrace of the Pfister was glassed in for winter, and the sun poured through it.

Chloe had taken the best table.

She sat at the head of it in a cream wool dress, with five women around her.

I knew every one of them.

They were wives of Wendt Capital's investors, women I had sent Christmas cards to for seven years.

She had put the pearls on again.

"Annika!" Chloe cried, and she stood with her arms wide, as if I'd come home from a trip.

"Everyone, this is my sister. She's had the hardest year."

I stopped at the edge of the table.

Soren stayed by the door in his grey coat, close enough to watch and far enough to be nobody.

"Sit, sit," said Chloe. "Mimosa?"

"I'm fine."

"I thought we could clear the air. In public, so nobody has to wonder."

She turned to the women with that soft, brave smile.

"I want you all to know I forgive her. Carter and I forgive her. Everything that happened was a misunderstanding."

One of the wives, a thin woman in a navy suit, reached over and patted Chloe's hand.

"You're so good," she said.

I stood there and looked at my sister's face.

She had the same eyes our mother had.

She had cried those same eyes red on the night the hospice nurse took our mother's hand off her chest for the last time.

I decided I was done being her older sister.

"Chloe," I said. "Your left earring is crooked."

She touched it.

"Is it?"

"Let me."

I stepped behind her chair and put my hand against her ear.

She went rigid.

Before she could speak, I gripped the pearl in my fingers and turned the post.

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