Disgust filled me. I’d been about to leave, for what? To go find Snitch. I rubbed my forehead, feeling like an asshole.
“I’ll be better, Lottie.”
Sorrow and sadness filled Lottie’s features. Worst of all…disbelief. She didn’t believe me.
I didn’t believe me.
Still, determined not to give Lottie another reason to buy a stuffed animal, I held my arm out to her, and together we headed downstairs.
“So…don’t bring up Great-Grandpa?” I reiterated as we descended the stairs.
“Not unless you want to die at the table.” Lottie laughed.
I laughed, too, just as Lottie stopped short on the stairs. I nearly toppled us both down. I looked to see what could have made her freeze.
There was a man in the grand foyer, speaking with Mrs. du Lac. He looked like he could’ve been Lottie’s dad’s age, with salt-and-pepper hair, but the similarities ended there. His short brown hair was cut and styled youthfully, and he definitely didn’t dress like du Lacs. He looked like a pilot or explorer in his leather jacket, dark blue shirt, and darker jeans.
“I thought you were in Bosnia.” Mrs. du Lac reached for the man, planting a kiss on his cheek.
“I didn’t want to miss Charlie’s wedding.”
Charlie.
I glanced at Lottie. She stared at him with a look I realized I’d never seen on her face before—anger. Even with everything I’d done, she’d never looked at me like that. I’d received sadness and disappointment.
I looked back at the man as he pulled back on a laugh. “Obviously I failed on that front.”
“Oh, well…” Mrs. du Lac trailed off on an awkward, soft laugh, clearly remembering the shitshow that was our wedding. “You’re here now. How long are you in town?”
Who was this guy? A photographer? A filmmaker? Some guy who still lived off his trust fund, never quite grasping he wasn’t in his twenties anymore? Those were the only people who dressed like that in our world at that age.
“Only a few days, until my visa for Syria comes through.”
Mrs. du Lac clicked her tongue. “Is MSF really sending you to a war zone?”
MSF…Médecins Sans Frontières aka Doctors Without Borders.
Doctor.
I gave him another once-over. He definitely came from old money.
“But you’ll be here for the Labor Day party?”
“I’ll do my best. Is Charlie around?”
Beside me, Charlie bristled.
“She’s upstairs with her new husband.”
His eyes traveled up the stairs, landing on us. Mrs. du Lac followed, eyebrows lifting a little.
“Oh, you’re down early,” Mrs. du Lac said, then she gestured to the man beside her. “Isn’t this a nice surprise?”
A stiff silence passed, one I couldn’t decipher.
Mrs. du Lac blinked. “Say hello, Charlotte.”
I’d heard that tone used many times with my sister, Abigail. It really meant, What the fuck is wrong with you?