Helen Brenna - Her Sure Thing

Figures.

An awkward silence filled the air. A hug seemed too familiar. A handshake too distant. One thing was certain. He seemed to have aged even since their mother’s funeral.

“Well, give each other a hug, for crying in the beer!” their father said, laughing.

Grace stood and they hugged briefly.

“How are you?” Carl said as he stepped away, his gaze traveling quickly down to her left shoulder and back again. “I mean…well, you know what I mean.”

“I’m great,” she said, evading the issue.

“You look good.”

Better than at Mom’s funeral is more than likely what he meant. “Thanks.”

“So what’s going on? Why didn’t you call or something? Let us know you were coming.”

“Honestly, it all came about so fast. One day I was looking at houses with a real estate agent and the next day I was making arrangements to come here. I called Dad to let him know I was coming.”

“Well, that explains it.” Carl glanced at their father. “I haven’t talked to you in weeks, have I?”

“Nope.”

“Sorry, Dad. It’s been crazy busy at the resort.” He glanced at Grace. “How long can you stay?”

“At least for the summer. After that, your guess is as good as mine.”

“We didn’t get much of a chance to talk at Mom’s funeral.”

He hadn’t acted as though he’d wanted to talk, and she hadn’t been physically up for staying much past the funeral. “Yeah, well, it was bad timing.”

“Is there ever a good time for death?” he said, his gaze turning suddenly troubled as he ran his hands through his thinning hair. His hairline was receding and his temples were graying, and suddenly even she felt so much older just being his sister. “Are you staying here with Dad?”

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