Page 12 of Hold You Close
“Fred,” I announce, glaring at him. “She calls him Fred.”
Ian runs a hand through his dark blond hair. “Look, just because you’ve memorized more random facts about them doesn’t mean you love them more than I do.”
“No, but it means I’m better qualified to raise them. You’re a nightclub owner, Ian. Gone all hours. And when you are home . . .” I let that sentence dangle for a moment.
“What?” he demands, his brow furrowing. “Fucking say it, London.”
Another gasp from my left.
I straighten up, lifting my shoulders, determined to show everyone that I am clearly the better choice. “I’m not sure your home environment is the best one to raise children in, that’s all.”
“And why’s that?”
“You want me to say it? You want me to talk about all the parties and the drinking and the women and the loud music?”
He rolls his eyes, which infuriates me.
“Some people are sleeping at three AM, Ian,” I snap.
“Some people don’t have lives.”
“Some people are as rude and insensitive at thirty-seven as they were at nineteen.”
“Some people hold a grudge for way too long.”
The attorney clears his throat as Ian and I continue to glare at each other across the table. “Mr. Chase, your sister and brother-in-law wished for you to be the primary guardian of their children. Are you prepared to assume that responsibility?”
“Yes.” He never takes his eyes off me.
“Good. Now if you’ll both be seated, I’ll finish reading the wills.”
Neither of us wants to be the one who sits first—it would feel like losing the standoff—but since I have manners (unlike some people), I take my seat once more. After tightening the knot in his tie, Ian sits too.
The attorney finishes Sabrina’s will and moves on to David’s, but my mind keeps wandering. I simply cannot get over the fact that Sabrina and David wanted Ian to raise their children. What were they thinking? Was it because he was blood and I wasn’t? But he’s irresponsible, stupid, and smug. An overgrown man-child, not father material. Sabrina told me many times that he needed to grow up and stop his partying. Did she think giving him her children was going to magically make him become an adult? They didn’t even ask him to watch the kids when they had a date night, let alone when they took a rare trip on their own! There was a reason the children were at my house when that plane went down—Sabrina trusted me to best take care of them. She knew I loved them like my own. And since it looks like I won’t ever have any . . .
I stop myself from going down that path. This isn’t the time.
From across the table, I sense Ian looking at me, and my body grows warm beneath my black suit. I shift uncomfortably in my chair and try to focus my attention on what the attorney is saying about estate taxes and beneficiaries. But a moment later it’s all too much, and my throat begins to tighten.
Sabrina is gone. My best friend for the last twenty-five years—since we were ten, and I was the new girl at school without any friends and too sh
y to say hello to anyone. I sat alone on the bus and fought off tears, feeling the other kids’ eyes on me and praying desperately that they wouldn’t make fun of my glasses or my lunchbox or my clothing or anything else children can be cruel about.
Then she got on the bus. I knew right away she was well liked by the way kids greeted her. Even the driver called her by name, returning her “good morning” and her smile. Our eyes met, and next thing I knew, she was heading up the aisle and sliding into the seat next to me.
“Hi,” she said. “Are you new?”
I nodded.
Her smile grew brighter. Wider. “I’m Sabrina. What grade are you in?”
“Fifth,” I managed.
“Same as me.” Her eyes were kind—big and blue, and framed by thick black lashes. The same eyes boring into me from across the table, but hers had been far friendlier.
We were inseparable after that. Her best friend had moved to California the previous summer, and we discovered we had a lot in common. Obsessed with boy bands, but still secretly liked to play Barbies. Dying to get our ears pierced but scared of the needle. Curious about boys, but disgusted by the thought of actually kissing one.
Every possible rite of female passage, we went through together. We told each other everything. We made no decision without asking the other for advice. We traded clothes and books and shoes and secrets.
