Free The Pretty Ones by Ania Ahlborn Page B

paperback without reading a single word. And if it had been Friday or Saturday, how had he kept such a thing a secret? Why wouldn’t he have told her? Why would he have left her to learn about Linnie’s death like this, in the cold fluorescent burn of an office building?
    He was punishing her. Always punishing her. No matter what she did, it was wrong. He was forever upset and on edge, ready to tell her that she was stupid for wanting the things she wanted, for being the way she was. But Barrett? He could do no wrong. Oh no, not her perfect brother with his late-night outings and his goddamn manifestos, his demands, all those damn demands. And yeah, maybe he did say that he would never leave Nell behind, but he still used that fear against her. He knew she was afraid of losing him, which is why she ended up bending to his will no matter what he asked. Friends? Forget them. Guests? Not on your life. Linnie Carter? Dead. Dead. Fucking dead .
    â€œNell?” Her name cut across the noise of the office. She just about jumped out of her seat when she heard it ebb over the ringing of her phone. Nell shot a look toward the door adorned with Harriet Lamont’s name in gold foil. The boss had seen everything—Nell gasping at the tragedy, wailing about her fallen comrade in the middle of the office. Nell had met Lamont’s gaze only for a second, but that second of eye contact had been enough. Something about the boss witnessing her breakdown pushed Nell to ramble over to her desk, to sit down and try to collect her nerves and thoughts. But it was easy to discard Lamont’s judging glance amid the heartfelt condolences that drifted across her desk. Nell spent the day solemnly nodding her head and thanking girls she’d never spoken to for their kind words.
    Thank you. Yes, it’s hard, but I think I’ll make it through.
    Leave it to Mary Ann— that bitch— to ruin a perfect day.
    But she couldn’t ruin it completely. No, Nell wouldn’t allow it. The attention was strange, oddly and wonderfully strange. It was feigning grief that was familiar. It reminded her of her mother. Of the way she had cried at their father’s funeral, her sadness not once touching her eyes.
    Nell and Barrett had stood shoulder to shoulder beside Faye Sullivan while their father’s flower-topped casket inched into the ground. Faye wept so hard into her hands that it had scared Nell. She pictured her mom disintegrating beneath waves of grief. Disappearing right where she stood. Melting away like the Wicked Witch of the West. But a simple squeeze of the hand from Nell’s newly mute brother assured her that it was an act. She was faking it. And what made that memory all the more vivid were the people who failed to console the weeping woman beside them.
    Nell had craned her neck around to look at the black-clad mourners behind them. Faye Sullivan didn’t have family. The congregation of sniffling, stern-faced mourners were all Leigh Sullivan’s relatives. For one reason or another, they didn’t want anything to do with the widow Sullivan and her overly dramatic grief.
    After the funeral, momentarily separated from Barrett and her mom while clutching Beary to her chest, Nell’s grandmother pulled her aside. “Don’t worry, baby,” she had said, her heavily ringed fingers stroking one of Beary’s ears. “I’ll take you away from here. Everything is gonna be all right.” But Nell twisted her arm out of her grandmother’s too-tight grasp. What did she mean she’d take her away? What about Barrett? Nell turned and ran, and for a few brief, terrifying minutes she couldn’t find her brother anywhere. It was as though the crowd had swallowed him, as though their grandmother had stolen him away the way she had wanted to take Nell. Standing amid the headstones, she began to yell Barrett’s name while distant family watched on. They pressed their hands to