Melinda Curtis - Michael's Father

Luke and Blake sat at the kitchen table in the semidarkness, each nursing a beer. Nightshades.

“Hey, Sis.” Luke greeted her. “Everything okay upstairs?”

Blake took a drink from his beer, gray eyes regarding her sharply. Cori felt his disapproval target her as clearly as if he’d spoken. She should be the one sending him dark glances. He’d accused her of being selfish today, hinted that she might have a drinking problem.

As if she had time to drink in her hectic everyday life.

“Grandfather is with her now.” Cori looked away and crossed the black marble to the refrigerator. They both wanted news about Mama. Cori didn’t want to talk. She’d get a beer and take it out by the pool so she could wallow in self-pity in private.

Chrome-plated, the refrigerator was twice as large as hers at home. Cori practically stepped into it to escape from view. Somewhere in this cavernous thing there had to be a beer. She’d put in four earlier, saving the rest for PR inspiration. She poked around until she found one long-necked brown bottle that had somehow managed to get shoved behind everything else.

Luke stood as Cori clutched her prize. “I’ll go up and say good night.”

Cori nodded, practically charging for the back door before Blake had time to say anything to her.

The fifty-degree air welcomed her back to Northern California, just as Cori’s bare feet reminded her it was only February. Still, she wore blue jeans and a sweatshirt. Compared to the alternative of going back into the kitchen with Blake, she had no choice but to stay outside. On the bright side, her beer wouldn’t become warm before she finished it.

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