Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Macbeth,” he responds. We eat in silence for a moment before he looks at me pleadingly. “I have to go to the financial aid office tomorrow.”
I reach across the table and put my hand over his. “You know your schooling is paid for out of Dad’s trust.”
“Yeah, but—” Brandon begins, clearly torn up over the idea that he might not be able to afford his education.
“But nothing,” I assure him. “You don’t have to worry about money. You can cancel your financial aid appointment.”
“Are you sure?” he asks suspiciously.
“I’m sure,” I say.
“If there’s so much money in the trust, why do you have to bust your butt to make ends meet?” he wonders.
“The trust is only set up to pay for education,” I remind him.
“So why don’t you go back to school?” Brandon asks.
I sigh, setting my fork down and looking out the window. I know I should be in school. When I decided not to go for my law degree, I hadn’t planned to drop out altogether. I just needed a few years of peace before I return to the hallowed halls. School and life were getting to be too much, so I decided to take a break.
“I’ll go back,” I promise Brandon.
“But in the meantime, you’re helping other people get ahead?” he asks.
His words sting. I wish that we could just be good together, without all the judgment. I know Brandon’s trying his best, but I can’t help dragging all our baggage into the conversation.
“What do you mean by that?” I snap.
“Just that you could be studying for your own exams, not teaching some rich asshole—” Brandon starts in with the attitude.
“He’s not an asshole,” I correct my brother, thinking of Frankie.
“Sure,” Brandon agrees sullenly.
“Thank you for your concern,” I say diplomatically. “Let’s talk about something else, okay? Tell me about your podcast.”
He sneaks a glance at me with half a smile. “You don’t want to hear about that.”
“Okay,” I allow.
“Do you think Dad would be proud of me?” Brandon asks suddenly.
I feel the weight of his question on my soul. “Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?”
“I don’t know,” Brandon says, glancing around the cafeteria. “I just see all these other kids with their parents, and I feel left out.”
“We’ve got each other,” I tell him. It’s lame, and it doesn’t quite address his admission of loneliness, but it’s all I can offer. He’s right.
I see a smattering of parents along with their offspring, laughing and having a good time in the food court. I also wish our father could be here with us, but I’m not sure Brandon remembers how difficult our dad could be at times. He was still young when Dad was killed, and I didn’t share all the details of the police investigation with him.
“Do you want to show me the library?” I ask. Enough is enough. I don’t want to talk about depressing subjects anymore. If Family Day is going to bring out the worst in us, then we owe it to ourselves to ignore the tradition.
“Why do you want to see the library?” he asks.
“I want to see where you study,” I say.
“All right,” he replies.
We finish up our meal and bus our own table. Walking out of the cafeteria, the security guard gives me a nod. I wonder if he knows I snuck in under an assumed name. But since there are other parents around, he probably doesn’t give a hoot.
I enjoy the walk across campus with my brother. It’s times like these that I can almost imagine living a normal life. Maybe I will go back to school and tap into the funds that are still available for my education. Maybe. But for the moment, I’m committed to helping Frankie with his studies.
I latch onto Brandon’s arm as we march through the door into the library. There will be plenty of time to think about my tutoring job later. I want to enjoy the time I have with my little brother. I’m just so happy he can leave it all behind and immerse himself in the life of an average college student. I have to admit that in that regard, I’m a little bit jealous.
CHAPTER 10
FRANCISCO
Ileave the office for a little peace and quiet. That kind of thing is hard to come by around here. I can’t go out without my bodyguard, but I can at least go to the kitchen to get a scotch.
Inside the kitchen, one of Edoardo’s men is eating a sandwich. I give him a nod, and he picks up his plate and leaves. I tell myself I’m going to talk to Edoardo. I’m not running a boarding house here. I expect my men to work, not to eat me out of house and home.
I’m in a bad mood, and it’s not the man’s fault. I uncap a bottle from the cabinet and pour myself a glass. Ten years ago, I would have lit a cigarette, but I quit that habit after Alessia died. No matter how many years I put between me and those cancer sticks, they occasionally reared their ugly heads. What I wouldn’t give for one puff right now, to put things right in my mind.