All That Really Matters, Nicole Deese [best detective novels of all time .TXT] 📗

“Yes.”

“And it was . . . a good school day?” I asked, hopeful she’d give me a clue.

“It was fine.”

And now I understood why my parents used to despise the word fine whenever Miles and I would use it in response to their daily check-in questions. It was a dead end. No conversational trail to follow.

I’d have to make my own trail, then. “Who was that picture of? The one you were looking at on your phone?” I smiled. “I’m pretty sure I saw a hint of hair color like yours.”

Behind those crystal blue eyes was a debate I knew all too well: to trust or not to trust. “My brother. He’s ten.” Slowly, she turned the phone back over and handed it to me as if offering me the most precious gift.

“Okay, um, so he’s stinkin’ adorable.” I stared at the face of a ginger-haired boy with a splattering of freckles and a grin that tugged at my chest. “I’ve never seen a set of dimples so pronounced. What’s his name?”

“Nathaniel—Nate,” she clarified. “He’s cute, but he can be crazy, too.”

“I hear ya. I have one of those myself—a crazy brother, I mean.”

She gave me one of those half smiles as several questions popped into my head at once regarding this sweet child. I suddenly wished I could redo my quiet parking lot walk with Silas and prod a bit deeper on the subject matter of Wren. A little heads-up to a younger brother would have been nice.

“Do you get to see him much?”

“Twice a month for our hour visitation. But I’m allowed to see him more than that as long as I can get to the bus stop on time from my last class.” She looked back at the picture. “I’m used to seeing him at least once a week, but now that won’t be possible.”

“Why not?” I asked, glancing from his picture to Wren again.

“Nate’s foster family is moving to a farm outside of town. There’s no bus route I can take out there.”

Nate’s foster family. Those three words punched me the hardest. Wren’s younger brother had a foster family, while Wren was here, only a year into adulthood, living at The Bridge with twenty-three other young adults. My heart ached for her.

A shrill female voice called “Yahtzee!” from somewhere in the room, but my gaze held to Wren’s. “How long has he been with them?”

The muscles in her neck tensed as she swallowed. “Since our mom died last year.”

“Oh, Wren . . . I’m so sorry to hear that.”

She sniffled, but no tears came. “They’re a nice family—the Coles. They have three sons.”

“Good,” I said, absently. “That’s good.”

“He’s excited because they’re getting baby goats, and they told him he can name one.”

“Well, sure, who wouldn’t be excited about that?” I teased. “I might need to become friends with the Coles so I can visit your brother’s goat.”

She laughed a little before turning her face away on a sigh. “It’s just . . . I wanted to take care of him myself. I promised my mom I would never let anything or anyone separate us, and I tried to keep it, I did, but . . .”

But she was barely nineteen years old with no means to support herself, much less a dependent. “I’m sure he knows how much you love him.” Though I meant the statement to be comforting and supportive, it felt weak. Feeble in the light of such a difficult circumstance, one I only knew a tiny part of.

She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “I just really miss him.”

“Can the Coles take Nate to see you more often?”

She shook her head. “They said they’ll do their best to figure something out since I don’t have a car, but they both work full-time and have their other boys to take care of, too.”

At this she swiped at her face, smearing her light layer of mascara onto her cheek.

“Then I’ll take you,” I said.

She blinked up at me, her eyes narrowed and questioning.

“I can take you out there once a week. I’ll pick you up from school and take you to the farm. Just send me a screenshot of your schedule, and we’ll figure out the best day and time, okay?”

Her glossy eyes rimmed with doubt. “Mentors don’t usually do that kind of stuff.”

“This one does,” I said with such confidence I’d be willing to go to the mat with Silas over it. But as my eyes met his from across the room, I knew a throwdown wouldn’t be necessary, at least not over this.

“Really? You’re serious?” The hoarseness in her throat caused my own to ache.

I touched her knee, smiled. “I absolutely am. I don’t know what I’d do without my brother.”

“Thank you,” Wren said, still staring at me as if I might take back my offer at any moment. But I wouldn’t.

“Fresh baked cookies!” Glo announced to the room, carrying a tray as Diego trailed behind her. “Who’s going to be first?”

“First? What does she mean?” I asked Wren as she wiped a finger under her eyes and chuckled at my confusion.

“For sharing the high points and low points of their day. The warmest, freshest cookies go to the people who volunteer first.”

Just as I was going to ask her more on the subject, Devon and Monica raised their hands and made their way up to the platform.

20

Silas

I couldn’t make out the exact words shared between Molly and Wren, but body language often spoke the loudest. Whatever exchange had taken place just now had been a positive one. Quite the gamble on my part, given Molly’s parking lot mood not even fifteen minutes ago. Yet I knew from experience that serving others was a sure-fire way to shift an off-kilter focus to a new perspective.

By the look on Molly’s face, she was likely experiencing such a shift.

It was the same look I saw reflected in her eyes last night at the restaurant when she agreed to help raise funds for the Murphey Grant. And like then, I wondered what such a