Another day, another freaking crisis. She needed to get rid of this guy before her youngest sister got home. If Brynn thought they were losing the house—well, Allie had to make sure that didn’t happen.
“Mr. Buchanan?”
A red-faced Dave looked at her with pity. “Sorry. These things are tough,” he said. “The economy’s bad for everyone right now.”
God, Allie was so tired of pity. So tired of empty platitudes. She squared her shoulders and clung to her purse strap with both hands. “This isn’t a bank thing. We’re not in foreclosure.” Realizing how defensive she sounded, she swallowed and tried for a softer tone. “Can I see that?” Allie nodded at the clipboard.
“Sure, of course.” Dave handed it over and stared at the Garcia’s house next door. With its freshly painted exterior and decorative yucca plants, it was the complete opposite of Allie’s raggedy place with peeling brown paint and a crumbling driveway.
She read through the form, making a few mental notes. “Mr. Buchanan? I need you to put off this appraisal until tomorrow.” She held out the clipboard.
“Not possible. Look, I’m sorry for your troubles, but I’ve got a job to do.”
Allright, Dave, time to pull out the big guns. Allie widened her eyes, glanced up at him through her lashes, and took a deep breath. “Please? Just twenty-four hours, that’s all I’m asking.” She placed a hand on his forearm and squeezed. “Please, Dave?” she whispered.
He gulped and licked his lips, his eyes darting back and forth. Finally, he let out a gusty breath. “Okay, what the hell? But I’m coming back tomorrow. And I’m getting in the house, one way or another.”
Allie smiled. “Thank you.” Ma’am my ass.
He sniffed and hitched up his jeans before climbing into his truck.
She had bought herself some time, but how was she supposed to get their house back in twenty-four hours? And what if she couldn’t?
She closed her eyes for a second. Focus. One thing at a time. Groceries first.
Allie made three trips, hauling bags into the house. As she shoved a box of cereal in the cupboard, she heard the front door slam. “Brynn, is that you?”
She stuck the milk in the fridge and glanced at the kitchen doorway to find her fifteen-year-old sister propped against the jamb. With a bulging backpack, she looked like a turtle ready to topple over. Brynnie was pale. And too thin.
“How was your day?” Allie asked.
Brynn studied her thumbnail and shrugged.
“You hungry? I could make you—”
“No, thanks.”
Allie grabbed four potatoes out of the bag and dropped them in the sink. “What about your geometry test? Did you kick ass and take names?”
Brynn scuffed her toe over the worn, beige linoleum, causing a high-pitched squeak. “It was easy. Boring.”
“Your art teacher emailed me this morning.” Allie glanced over her shoulder. “She said you didn’t want to enter your drawing in the art show this year.”
“So?”
“That’s the drawing of Mom, right? The one of her in the hospital.” Their mother had been beautiful, even if she had lost all her hair and forty pounds. Her frame was thin, her face gaunt, but her smile was radiant. Brynn had captured that. “Mom was proud of that picture, Brynn. And your teacher said you could win an award.” Allie scrubbed at the potatoes and blotted them with a paper towel.
Brynn rolled her eyes. “Who cares about awards? I’m not showing it. Ever. And why’re you making so many potatoes? Dad will be late and Monica won’t be home.” Digging a hand in her pocket, she whipped out her phone, her thumbs flying over the keyboard.
“Have you heard from her?” Allie asked.
“Right. Like she talks to me.”
“She skipped school again today.”
Brynn ignored her.
“Did Monica even get on the bus?”
“No.” Brynn paused and glanced up. “One of her stupid friends picked her up at the bus stop. As usual.”
Fantastic. Banking her anger and frustration, Allie dried her hands on a dish towel. “We’re having pork chops for dinner tonight.” Pork chops were Brynn’s favorite. That’s why Allie’d bought them, even though they weren’t on sale. She knew the chances of Brynn coming out of her room for dinner were almost nonexistent, but she kept trying.
“I’m not hungry. Sometimes…I just wish we could all be together again.” She said it so quietly, Allie barely caught the words.
“We can be. I’ll text Monica and tempt her with chocolate cake. A family dinner would be nice.” The cheerful note Allie forced into the words grated on her nerves. She knew what Brynn meant. But if she thought about it right now, she’d completely fall apart. And she couldn’t do that in front of her little sister.
“Monica would never pull this crap if Mom were here. I miss her so much.” Brynn pressed a hand to her abdomen. “I remember how it was before she got sick.”
Allie remembered too. The house had been filled with chatter and laughter and the smell of her mother’s sweet perfume. But the chatter had been replaced by Monica’s bitching and Allie’s nagging. Deep lines of stress and worry etched their way across her dad’s face, and he seemed older than his fifty years. Losing Mom changed everything. For all of them. And Brynn was right. Monica wouldn’t dare act like this if Mom were alive. Allie was doing her best, but she made a poor substitute parent. And Monica resented the hell out of her for it.
Allie glanced away from the pain in her sister’s eyes. “Dinner will be ready soon. Do you have homework? When is that English essay due?”
“I know what I need to do,” Brynn said. “You don’t have to keep reminding me. I’m not a six-year-old.”
Allie stepped forward, her hand outstretched to pat Brynn’s shoulder, but her sister turned and walked out of the kitchen. As Allie’s arm fell, so did the fake smile that left her cheeks sore.
She wanted to follow Brynn, hold her close, tell her everything would be all right—even though it was a lie. Everything will be fine. It gets better. We’ll be okay. Lies. She said them over and over and felt like a fraud every time.
A hug wouldn’t make Brynn feel better. Wouldn’t bring her mom back. Wouldn’t heal her family.
Allie glanced at the wooden doorjamb Brynn had been leaning against and the growth marks her mother had charted. Each sister had a different color. She traced a finger over her own red marks. This was her family’s history.
Crossing her arms, Allie cast her eyes over the dated kitchen, took in the red-and-white-checkered curtains and the rooster wall clock. Her mom loved that stupid rooster.
Allie made a promise. Take care of the family. She was supposed to hold everything together, but she was failing. Big time.
Losing the house would be like losing her mom all over again.
She had to talk to this Trevor Blake, make him understand, beg if she had to. Allie was prepared to do anything to keep the promise she made. She would take care of everyone—starting with the house. She was going to get it back.
And she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
***
Trevor Blake sat behind his polished desk and stared at the girl—woman, really—who’d come to plead her father’s case. Her lips were full and pink. Her cheeks were bright with color. She was flustered, nervous, hand trembling as she repeatedly tucked her pale hair behind one ear.
Lovely. Although that uniform should be burned. The bright green waistcoat hid a spectacular pair of breasts.
“So, that’s why we have to keep the house.” She looked at him and waited.
Chin propped on his palm, he stared at her. Truly lovely. He roused himself and straightened in his seat. “I don’t care, Miss Campbell.”
With wide blue eyes, she stared back. “Excuse me? I don’t understand.”