We stared at each other.
Then I smiled slightly.
“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”
Her anger faded.
I slid the check toward myself.
“I’ll deposit it.”
She nodded.
“Good.”
We sat there another minute.
Then Tessa asked, “Does Clare hate me?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“I don’t speak for my wife.”
That seemed to hit her.
She nodded.
“Right.”
“She knows you’re here?”
“No.”
“Then whatever happens next is her decision.”
“I understand.”
“And seeing Lily is our decision.”
“I understand.”
“And you don’t get to pressure Mom.”
“I know.”
“And—”
“Ian.”
“What?”
“I know.”
I looked at my sister.
Really looked at her.
For most of my life, Tessa had occupied one of two roles.
The problem.
Or the victim.
Maybe this was the first time I had seen her as a third thing.
An adult.
Not a good one.
