When your mother uses your full name at thirty-one, death is no longer the scariest thing in the house.
I came down the stairs carefully.
My legs had been shaky since the biopsy. Or maybe since Caleb. It was getting harder to tell where illness ended and heartbreak began.
“Mom, let him in.”
She didn’t move.
“My daughter is not in a condition to be exploited.”
Owen nodded.
“I agree.”
“You agree?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To make sure she isn’t exploiting herself either.”
That shut her up.
Only for a second.
But still.
My father appeared behind her, wearing the same wrinkled shirt from yesterday.
His eyes were red.
“This is the actor?”
I wanted the floor to swallow me.
“Yes,” I said. “This is Owen.”
My father looked at him.
“Are you taking money from my daughter?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
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