Page 87 of Bite Me

“What do you know?”

“Are you sweating? Oh, how the mighty fall.”

I’ve always been Grandfather’s favorite. My brothers called me a kiss-ass, but being my grandfather’s favorite came naturally to me. Loyalty came easily when I didn’t understand who or what I was being loyal to.

I knew my grandfather liked me because I was talented, and if my grandfather liked me, that meant he was nicer to Florence. Or better yet, he acted as if she didn’t exist, which in my world is the better choice.

For him, I’m just the perfect embodiment of what the Everhart heir should be.

“Who’s sweating? I only want to know on what rare occasion Grandfather would ask for your attendance.”

He chuckles as he takes the wine glass I offer him, then grabs the bottle to pour more.

“You know, I really did miss you, little brother.”

I smile. He looks just as I remembered him, same brown hair, same bright suit—he always preferred lighter colors. I do see a little gray in his stubble, though, just like Dad has in his pictures.

The night moves on, and the bottles of wine on the tables multiply as the staff tend to the fire. Cool night air from the ocean wafts into the open windows through the billowing curtains.

I keep a careful eye on Emma. At the first sign of my grandfather making her uncomfortable, I will jump in, but mostly, they talk about cooking, chefs he knows, and restaurants in the city. Emma’s eyes sparkle with curiosity.

I wish I could enjoy this without the mountain of weight sitting on my chest. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Why is he here? Why now?

“So, how is Florence?” When I don’t answer, Daniel tries again. “She’s . . . okay, isn’t she? Truth be told, I wonder about her more often than not.”

“Did Grandfather ask you to probe me?”

His head jerks back as if he’s actually offended. “Of course not. I know you’re the only one who has contact with her. I have . . . tried to contact her a few times, and she refuses to speak with me.”

“I wonder why.”

Daniel wasn’t cruel to Florence like my brother John, but what he didn’t dish out in cruelty, he gave in indifference. He treated her like a nuisance, mocking her when she cried, if he wasn’t forgetting her altogether.

A memory surfaces as I keep my attention on Emma.

“No one is ever on my side. It’s like no one . . . wants me around.”

My sister cried when everyone forgot her tenth birthday. I’d been on a trip with my grandfather for the whole day and came back to the news of her locking herself in her room. Daniel rolled his eyes when I asked.

I pulled out a cupcake that I’d bought her from a bakery in the city and plopped a single candle atop.

“I’m always on your side. I’m glad you’re here. Happy birthday, Florence.”

“I doubt you’ll believe me, but this thing happens when you get older, where you start thinking of all the things you’ve done and the regrets you have. I don’t expect Florence to forgive me, but I do hope she’s happier now.”

“Florence is fine.”

He nods, seemingly content with that answer.

“I’ll let her know you want to speak with her,” I add.

“Thank you. And if she needs anything, let me know.”

I scoff.

“I’m serious. I want to be there for her . . . To be a better brother. I think it’s too late for us, but Florence is young.”

She’s also the least forgiving person I know. I don’t blame her for it, though. That’s what happens when you can’t trust your own family.