Page 48 of Edge of Secrets

“It’s Elinor’s brother. May I speak to her?”

“Elinor’s brother? Like, which one? The bodaciously cute one, or the stuffed-shirt one?”

“The stuffed-shirt one,” I specified patiently.

“Yo, Ellie!” Mimi screeched, as I winced and held the phone away from my ear. “It’s your bro! The stuffed-shirt one!” Mimi listened to some muffled yapping, and said, “She’s coming. Hang on.” There was a loud, rattling clunk, and I leaned back in my chair, started to shrug off my coat, and stopped myself. I couldn’t take off the coat. I was wearing the SIG. Shit. I put my hand in my suit pocket and yanked it out with a gasp, startled by the soft, silky texture.

Rose petals scattered, fluttering, all over the desk, my chair, my lap, the floor.

I laughed out loud, and a graphic designer and a junior accountant to peer through my open door, eyes big. They thought I was losing it.

“Hello? Hello?”

I yanked my attention back to the telephone, and Elinor’s voice. “It’s Duncan.”

“Hi.” Elinor sounded guarded. “Did Mother tell you to call?”

I paused for a second. “Ahhh?—”

“You’re supposed to convince me to change my major back to econ, right? You want me to consider my retirement plan, split-level suburban home, station wagon, and cemetery plot, right? Not! Forget it. I’m not going to embalm myself before I even start to live! So don’t even try, Dunc. Just don’t even start.”

“That’s great,” I said, without hesitating. “Congratulations. Go for it.”

There was an uncertain pause. Elinor pressed on. “You can’t make me change my mind,” she said, more uncertainly. “I really think that I’ve got what it takes to?—”

“Of course you do,” I agreed. “I never doubted it for a minute.”

There was a confused silence from Elinor. “Ah … what the hell?”

“You’ll be great. Give it your best shot. I’ll cheer you on.” And probably pay for your grad school myself, I thought, but even that prospect could not dent my buzz.

“You’re not being sarcastic, are you?” Elinor sounded bewildered.

“Jesus, Ellie.” I sifted the soft, bruised petals through my fingers, marveling at the glowing depth of the crimson color. “Am I that much of an asshole?”

“Nah, I was just, you know. Wondering if an alien took over your body.”

“Not lately. That I know of.” I buried my nose in the petals. Like Nell’s skin. So soft.

“Mother’s gonna kill you,” Elinor predicted cheerfully.

“I don’t doubt it,” I agreed.

Elinor explained her epiphany about following her heart at great length, and it all seemed completely reasonable in my current mood. We wound up our conversation, and I stared at the crimson mass of rose petals as the balloon inside me steadily reinflated.

Well, that was that. I was officially done being the designated buzzkill and wet blanket of the family. Why had I ever taken on that role to begin with? A psychologist would probably say something about being the oldest son in a family with no father, blah-blah-blah, but I was not interested in thinking about that right now. Talk about a buzzkill. I entered the number of the phone that I’d given Nell that morning, stroking a petal while it rang, savoring the anticipation.

“Hello?” came her low, musical voice. “Duncan?”

“I found the petals,” I announced.

In her pause, I could actually feel her smiling that secret little smile that drove me totally wild with lust. “And? I hope they didn’t embarrass you.”

“Nothing could embarrass me today,” I told her.

She let out a snort of laughter. “Look. Um, Duncan? It’s great to hear your voice, and you’re sweet to call, but I’m sort of in the middle of the lunch rush, so could we?—”

“Do rose petals go bad, like vegetables, or do they dry out?”

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