Page 66 of Things I Read About

“Is that—”

“Oh, yes, a life-size cutout of Shep.”

“Wow.” I wince a bit, but Nate goes on. “Your brother-in-law is a piece of work. And that is saying something in my profession. I don’t how you can stand him.” He mutters the last bit.

“You’ll see.” I march around to the front of the offensive cardboard. Sadie has drawn on crazy eyebrows, a mustache, boogers and blacked out a tooth. “Sadie moves it around to scare him.”

Nate looks unconvinced.

I understand how it seems.

I push open the door to the gym. “The weight room.” I expect Nate’s eyebrows to rise.

It’s a huge space, lined with windows on one side and mirrors on the other. NFL players workout here. Everything is brand new and shining.

Nate’s face doesn’t even twitch.

“He sent that text to you because Sadie doesn’t know how to adjust the machines.” I get a slight lift of the chin but, still, he’s not a fan. “Next is the study.”

We walk into the huge office space.

“Sadie’s, I take it?” Nate asks, eyes a little wide. The room is covered in all her achievements over the last decade, meticulously framed and lit with little spotlights.

“No, Shep’s.”

Now Nate seems skeptical.

I go on. “She writes in that closet, which is girly and free of distraction. They have a long insane story, but he’s crazy proud of her. He said she needed a trophy room like athletes have, for when she faces imposter syndrome.”

I sigh. I’m jealous. I can admit it.

I’m jealous of the love my sisters have found. Consuming, crazy, unabashed, unwavering love. Adoration, even. I want that. And what’s really insane is the only time I’ve felt anything close was when I was kissed in the shower by a dark stranger who didn’t even know my last name. I inhale, realizing I’ve been staring at one news clipping for too long.

“Um, she also sometimes uses the library. Through that door is their bedroom and a bathroom that is so idyllic it looks photoshopped. We can skip—”

“I can’t skip it. It has an exterior door that I’ll need to monitor and there’s a panic room in their closet.”

Oh, right, the death threat.

I gulp and nod.

We go through their suite, closets, and bathroom, while Nate taps away on the iPad. He tries turning some lights on and off from the device. Sometimes he succeeds.

I take him upstairs, through the guest rooms, loft, playroom, and the theater room—not to be confused with the golf simulator room.

Nate doesn’t seem impressed or disgusted with any of it. He’s just… blank.

I lead him downstairs to the largest guest room and brace myself for what I know is coming.

“The other guest rooms are for all of us, but this is my dad’s room.” I push open the door.

It’s not the fact that it’s a massive Sooner Football museum. Or the framed press clippings and photo-ops all about Canton International. It’s the other photos Nate is drawn to right away.

“I know,” I say softly. “I look just like her.”

He stops at a small frame on the dresser that I’m surprised he even notices. “Your perfect MCAT score?”

“Nope, it’s my mom’s,” I say, my voice shaking badly.