Page 146 of These Summer Storms

“Jesus Christ. No. It wasn’t,” Sam said, finally, unable to keep silent, his own voice full of sadness and horror and something like fear when he looked to their sister. “Greta…”

Greta didn’t look away from their mother. “I hate you.”

The words snapped, falling brittle and broken at Elisabeth’s feet, and the older woman lifted her glass in a mock toast. “Join the club.”

Greta left the room, spine straight as steel, head high, somehow, despite it all. She closed the door behind her, firm. Resolved.

Alice looked to Sam.And then there were two.

At a crossroads.

The choice had never been clearer, and it was made before Elisabeth said, “Go, then.” But they let her pretend she’d released them. A moment of grace to a woman so broken she could do nothing but break the things around her.

Sam opened the door and let Alice through first—both of them quiet, reeling from what had just happened. She stepped into the hallway, consumed by what would come next. Terrified of it.

And there, in the hallway, leaning against the wall, bright electric lantern at his feet, was Jack.

A stern, steady port in the storm, who had heard everything.

Sam looked at his watch. “I don’t fucking care what time it is.”

“Neither do I.” Jack didn’t look away from Alice. He’d seen everything. Heard everything, ever the silent judge. But he was no longer an impartial one, given the firm set of his jaw, the way he came off the wall, searching her face. He didn’t have to ask the question in his eyes.

The answer was clear. None of them were okay.

He opened his arms, and Alice went willingly, stepping into his embrace, the thunderstorm raging outside.

Astraphobia. The word whispered through her as he tightened his grip on her, pressing a kiss to her temple, whispering her name, keeping her safe.Fear of storms.

Maybe she understood it, after all.

Emily

There was something incrediblyfreeing about the truth finally being out.

At least, that’s what Emily would have said if one of her regulars had arrived at the studio above the shop and told her this story.

This isn’t your burden any longer,she would have said, before burning some sage and offering a Reiki session (essential oils diffused free of charge). It changes nothing about the footprints you leave in the sand.

She would have said that to a client and believed it.

It was a wonder that she’d never had a client turn to her and say,Honestly, Emily? Fuck the footprints in the sand.

“The candle isn’t working,” Emily said as Alice pushed a gallon bucket of ice cream across the scarred butcher block table in the dark kitchen and slipped into the chair opposite her and Claudia.

Her sister extended two spoons, her gaze falling to the word emblazoned on the label of the flickering candle.Peace.“Hard to believe,” she said, dryly, poking her own spoon into the ice cream.

“Mom would be pissed that we aren’t using bowls.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll call this an act of resistance,” Alice replied.

“Your mom can deal,” Claudia added, her anger still palpable. “God, this family.”

“Amen.” Alice saluted her with her spoon.

“You must really love me,” Emily said to her wife. “To put up with them.”

Claudia leaned close to her, her dark curls falling forward as herhand came to Emily’s face, holding her attention. “Hell yes, I really love you. Forever.”