Page 50 of Burn Bright
I’m really close to my Uncle Ryke and Aunt Daisy. Hell, I spent more time at the Meadows Cottage than the Cobalt Estate some months as a kid. They were right down the street, but they had the most acres of woods, the most secret hideouts, the most creeks to wade through.
I haven’t hung out there since I left for college. Since I distanced myself from Winona. Losing a friendship with my cousin was painful, but losing time I loved spending with my aunt and uncle hurts more somehow.
I stare at the book in my hands. This Spanish edition ofGreat Expectationshas to belong to Charlie. He’s a polyglot like our dad and knows more languages than I can count. Spanish is on that list.
As the yellowed pages brush my fingers, my thumb catches one, and I seePip.From Pirrip.
My middle name.
My pulse skips. I shut the book. Put it back between other classics. Then I pick up the kantharos by one of the twoswooping handles. The black Grecian cup has intricate artwork of a girl cradling a fruit…maybe a pomegranate?
I can’t see much else in the dark. So I turn to grab my phone to use the light. As I tap on the flashlight app, I lose grip of the cup. It slips and drops.
And shatters on the hardwood.
Fuck.
Wide-eyed, unbreathing, I stare at the shards of pottery at my bare feet. It must’ve made a decently loud noise because I hear the pitter-patter of footsteps like I woke someone.
Please be Beckett.
Please be Beckett.
I squat down to pick up the pieces. Just as a shirtless Charlie emerges. He wears gray cotton pants and a blank expression.
He comes closer, then roots a hand to the blue revolving chair. Using it as a brace, maybe. I don’t fucking know.
I do know that I just broke a prized memento of his. It wasdisplayed. It had to have meant something to him.
He sees the mess. “Planned on drinking wine?” His voice is void of emotion. Unreadable.
“What?” I breathe out my first breath.
He rolls his eyes. “Itwasa kantharos. It’s meant for drinking wine.”
I know what a kantharos is. I’m full of random facts that’d make me a decent Jeopardy competitor. A lot I learned during Wednesday Night Dinners. Some have been permanently etched in my brain. Some I’ve completely forgotten out of disinterest.
I still can’t get a solid read on Charlie. “I broke your cup,” I say as I gather the scattered fragments. “Sorry. It just fell out of my hands…” I shouldn’t touch anything of his. I shouldn’t be here. If I just called Harriet, I wouldn’t have picked it up. I wouldn’t have broken it. This wouldn’t have happened.
“It’s a cup, not an organ,” he says like I’m overreacting.
Does he really not care? “Where’d you get it?”
“Sifnos.”
I frown. “Where’s that?”
“Greece.”
I’m not shocked it’s authentic. I wish it was a knockoff from Crate & Barrel that I could order online. “So I can just fly over there and get another one, right? This exact cup?” I know I can’t. My entire stomach is lodged in my throat. I feel like throwing up.
“You don’t have to get me anything.Ican get one like it.” Charlie pries himself from the chair, nearing me. As he takes a knee, he strains his bad leg and winces a little.
“Don’t,” I tell him. “I can clean this up myself. It’s my fault.”
He cocks his head, his brows pinching. “Why are you acting like the world is caving in?”
“I broke an irreplaceable artifact you found halfway across the fucking world,” I say in one taut breath.
