Page 50 of Knot Her Beta

After the dinner concludes, Caroline and our mothers go for a walk in their garden, while we men retire to the study.

I accept the bourbon Mr. Bennet extends, and take the folder beneath it with far less enthusiasm.

“We just got the Q1 projections for next year. Bennett’s board wants everything signed by June.”

I set the folder on my knees and open it to find numbers in neat columns, cells highlighted in blue. I’ve seen these before. I’ve studied them. The figures speak for themselves.

“It’s solid,” I say. “The media division overlap is where I’d focus.”

Dad grunts in approval. “Exactly my thought.”

“Haven’t you boys done enough business for today?” Mom demands as the women join us. “Let Grady rest. He has plenty of time to catch up on everything in the coming months.”

Caroline joins me, and her fingers alight on my forearm, just for a second. “Sorry, I tried to tell my father to leave you alone for one night.”

“It’s okay.” I pat her hand. “Our dads have been scheming for a while.”

She throws back her head and laughs, the slender column of her throat on display.

Then she pulls me from my chair and announces to the room, “I’m stealing Grady away. No more business for the night.”

Since I don’t want to be here anymore, I leave the folder on the side table and stand, following her out to the garden.

Tuesday is more of the same. A country club lunch, where my mother introduces me to her charity group, and they discuss which organizations to support for the season. More handshakes with people whose faces blur together, my cane dragging a little more with each step.

When I crash into bed, the down pillows flatten too much, and the air is too dry, but exhaustion sucks me under.

Wednesday, I check my phone in the pre-dawn dark. It’s three-fifteen here, which means it’s twelve-fifteen in Pinecrest. Everyone’s asleep.

Emily

Hope you’re having fun with your family.

Sent Tuesday night, and I haven’t answered.

Jared

Em is planting bulbs in the garden in the rain. Gotta love a woman who’s willing to get her hands dirty.

Followed by a selfie of Jared standing on the porch, Emily in the background with a small trowel in hand, her white T-shirt translucent and dirt up to her elbows.

I save it to my growing folder of the life I want that isn’t here.

Chloe

I BETTER NOT POP BEFORE YOU GET BACK! YOU’RE THE GODFATHER, GRADY GARFIELD FINCH!!!!!

My eyes sting, and I swipe the back of my hand over them before I type out a reply.

Grady

Miss you, too. Tell that baby it needs to bake for a few more weeks.

I send it and start to set it back down, but the screen lights up. Surprised, I fumble the device and almost drop the damn thing. As I catch it, my thumb swipes across the screen, and Chloe’s shout comes blaring out.

“You’re still alive!”

I huff out a laugh, the sound rusty from disuse. “I’m hanging on by a thread.”