Page 40 of What's Left of Us

Once the shyness wears off slightly, I manage to smile at Lincoln’s sister. “My parents—” My throat tightens at the thought of my late mother. “—met in Savannah, Georgia. They didn’t like the name Savannah, but they liked Georgia, so…”

Dee’s smile stretches. “I love that. Our Lincoln was named after the car. His father always joked he couldn’t afford the 1928 Lincoln Model L he always wanted to buy and restore because he had a child to support, so he named our child Lincoln to say he had one.”

“I’m not named after anyone,” Hannah chimes in, almost annoyed by the fact.

“It was the only name we could agree on,” Dee tells her, sounding like they’ve had this conversation multiple times before. She turns to me and gives me a once-over. “You’re an adorable little thing. My son would be an idiot not to make youinto something.” Her wink has my face turning as red as hers was moments ago.

Hannah climbs onto the stool at the counter and digs through the bag. “Can I have some of the cookies?”

“We brought them for your brother,” Dee reminds her as she watches her daughter take one of the chocolate cookies from the plate covered in plastic wrap.

“It’s a delivery tax,” Lincoln’s sister replies, biting into the doughy treat unabashedly. “He owes me.”

Dee doesn’t even bother scolding her this time as she empties the rest of the bag out to reveal another plate of cookies and a card with Lincoln’s name written on the front. Is it his birthday? I don’t dare ask because that’ll lead to more questions about who I am to him. Clearly, not a friend if I don’t know when his birthday is or how old he may be turning. Is he older than me? The same age? Younger? A man built the way he is, all six feet of toned, lean muscle, makes it hard to tell.

Clearing my throat, I rub my arm. “I’m a bit…estranged from my family at the moment. That’s why I’m here.”

Dee’s blue eyes sadden when they meet mine. Lincoln must get his brown eyes from his father. I store that tidbit of information away.

I shrug, hoping to come off nonchalantly. “It will work out eventually. I’m sure of it.” My voice weakens, making it hard for either of the girls in front of me to believe. But I want to believe what Millie said, because they’re the only family I have left.

His mother’s smile returns, this time smaller, filled with sympathy. “That’s very sweet of him to look after you like that. I’m glad you have each other.”

I almost feel guilty when I say, “I’m glad we do too,” even though I don’t have him at all.

At the end of the day, I have nobody.

But I feign a smile and hope it meets my eyes. I’m well-versed in saving face. I’ve been doing it for most of my life.

“Smile, Georgia,” Leani commands, tilting my head up and fixing my hair. Her smile is tight, and her eyes are distant. “In our world, a pretty face and a good smile go a long way. The second you let people know you’re unhappy, it will be used against you.”

Fixing my hair absentmindedly, I stand straighter and let those words sink in. Sometimes, I wondered if Leani had two different personalities—the one she showed my father and the one she let slip when I was around. But it seemed like the frail version of her who drowned her sorrows in wine tended to win out more times than not.

Dee pats my hand and helps her daughter finish laying out the goodies they brought. I almost tell them to stay, to be here when Lincoln returns—to ask them questions or hope they enlighten me on who Lincoln Danforth is so I can know him better.

I don’t though. I say goodbye, feeling both of their eyes on me up until the door separates us. When it latches, I hear Hannah say, “But there’s only one bed,” on their way to their car out front. “I don’t sleep with my friends in one bed.” Then I hear an “Ow!” followed by a car door opening and closing, silencing them both.

*

My mood issomber by the time the door opens two and a half hours later. I sit up on the couch, which is directly next to the door in the cramped living space that only has room for the couch, a cheap coffee table, and a small flatscreen perched on a short stand tucked near the bay windows.

Lincoln looks tired. Exhausted, actually. There are bags under his eyes that I used to see on my father whenever he’d have meetings at work that would make him late for dinner. I remember the fights it would create between him and Leani, but my father always won. Usually, taking his cold dinner into the study and slamming the door to smoke or drink or whatever it is he did when he’d had enough of us.

His eyes find mine instantly, a smile lifting her lips. “Georgia.”

“Lincoln.”

He locks the door behind him, setting his belongings down and staring at me for a moment longer before turning to the kitchen. “Are those cookies?”

“Your mother and sister brought them.”

Lincoln’s shoulders tense halfway to the plate on the counter. “You met my mom?”

Is he upset? “You didn’t warn me that they could stop by. I would have left if I’d known,” I say defensively.

He scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m not mad, Peaches. I’m surprised, is all. And I don’t have access to a phone during the week. Training is rigorous. They don’t want us distracted.”

I bring my legs to my chest, hugging them close to me. “What training is it, anyway?”

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