I shook my head, paced in a circle, then turned back to her. “Your mother? She misses you. And your dad too. They accept you for who you are, and you’re weird! I feel comfortable telling you this because I am weird. Your brother died. You all loved him. But his death doesn’t negate the love you all have for each other.”

She huffed again, but this time is sounded like a growl. “They kicked Quinn out of the funeral….”

“Yes, they did. And they were heartbroken because their son had just died. People do unimaginable things when they’re distraught with grief. You have to understand that. But instead of trying to be a bridge between your parents and their son, you stopped talking to basically everyone. You only give Quinn one morning a week. That’s not right. He deserves more than that.”

“But I don’t!”

We stared at each other and I waited for her to elaborate. I might have been scowling.

When she didn’t, I pushed. “What does that mean? What do you mean that you don’t deserve more?”

Her blue eyes flashed fierce fire; it was an expression I’d seen on Quinn’s face very few times and Shelly’s never.

She was angry, but not just upset. She was furious.

“It means that I’m the reason Quinn started working with criminals when he was a teenager. I asked him to do it. I knew he could hide their data. I introduced them and made it happen. I wanted to go to art school in Chicago. He paid for me to go to art school in Chicago. Quinn dropped out of college. Did you know he was accepted to MIT? And when Des died, I didn’t go to the funeral. I stayed in Chicago because I had an installation of my work, a sculpture, that I didn’t want to miss.”

I continued staring at her, trying to assemble the puzzle pieces she was throwing at me as fast as I could.

She turned toward the car like she was finished talking, but then spun back to me. “My parents called me three months after Des died and asked if I could get in touch with Quinn. They wanted to talk to him, to apologize. I told them that he never wanted to speak to them again.”

“What? Does Quinn know about this?”

“No.” Shelly shook her head, her hands on her hips, and she glanced at my feet. “Then I said that I didn’t want to know them anymore either.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because….” She closed her eyes, shook her head. “I was so angry…at my parents for hurting him…at Des for getting himself killed…at Quinn for needing me…at myself for not being there for him.”

Now I was watching her with dawning comprehension. Quinn’s parents had been staying away because Shelly had pushed them away. They believed that Quinn wasn’t interested in a relationship. They’d lost a son and their entire family all at once.

“You’re embarrassed.” I realized, thought, and said the words in a single moment.

Her eyes flew open, and they were like ice-cold daggers as I continued. “You’re ashamed of what you did, of pushing Quinn to work with criminals, of not being there for your family. You’re ashamed for pushing your parents away, and you think they’ll never forgive you.”

She just stared at me without a word.

I exhaled a large breath, hoping it would release some of the tension in my chest. It didn’t.

“It’s not okay to treat people that way,” I said. “It’s not okay to cut people out of your life, especially your family, because you’re too embarrassed or ashamed to take responsibility for your mistakes. It hurts them.”

She didn’t move, and made no outward sign that she heard me.

“They didn’t push you out, Shelly. You pushed them away. But you should know that your family loves you, and that includes me now. You have a family that will forgive you, but you have to want forgiveness. When you’re ready, when you want it, we’ll be waiting.”

I waited for a full minute, waited for her to say something. She didn’t. So I turned and walked back to the car, opened the door, and slipped inside.

Stan got in the car when he saw me approach and had the engine on by the time I buckled my seatbelt.

He pulled out of the driveway, and I glanced in the rearview mirror. Shelly had turned back to the car, her head under the hood like nothing had happened.

Like I hadn’t been there at all.

***

When I arrived home, I turned off all the lights in the penthouse, drew all the curtains, poured myself a glass of whiskey, and sat in the dark.

I took maybe one sip, but didn’t actually drink the whiskey. It just made me feel better to hold it.

Growing up I watched a lot of film noir, read a lot of comic books. When a character wanted to brood, they’d sit in the dark, usually in a large leather chair by a table with a single unlit lamp, holding a tumbler of whiskey.

I wasn’t a big brooder. I’d done it maybe four times in my life. But today, after my discussion with Shelly, I needed to brood.

I didn’t know if I should tell Quinn about Shelly’s admission. At the very least, I decided to wait, to brood on it. Maybe I would ask Dan the security man what to do.

The other uncomfortable realization that came out of the conversation was that I needed to talk to my sister Jem. She’d wanted to talk to me, and I’d ignored her. On the off chance that she’d broken into my future in-laws’ house with a gun in order to apologize to me and/or forge a healthy, loving relationship, I needed to talk to her. I needed to give her that chance.

Quinn found me this way, brooding in the dark, when he came home after work. Just like in the movies, he walked in and flicked on a light switch, illuminating the lamp next to me and causing me to squint from the sudden brightness.

He narrowed his eyes, his gaze flickering to the glass of whiskey then back to my face.

“Hey…what’s going on?”

I gathered a deep breath, closed my eyes, and let my head fall to the chair behind me. “I’m brooding. This is how I brood. You should know this about me before we get married.”

“Yes. It’s a good thing you told me now.” I heard the humor in his voice, though it was his typical deadpan, and then I heard him walking toward the seat next to mine. The leather creaked a whisper as he sat.

“Anything else I need to know?” He took the full glass from my hand and helped himself to a swig.

I opened my eyes and considered his question. I hadn’t yet decided whether to tell him what I’d learned from Shelly about his parents. I couldn’t decide if it were my place to do so or even if he would want to know that they’d tried reaching out to him only to be lied to by his sister.

Maybe because I hadn’t decided to tell him, I had the sudden urge to overshare.

So I said, “I can’t pee if I know you’re listening.”

His mouth snapped shut as he swallowed a gulp too quickly, and he blinked at me as if a speck of dust were caught in his eye. “What?”

“I don’t want to have the door open—ever—when we’re doing our business in the bathroom. Some things should stay a mystery.”

He watched me for a moment then shrugged. “Okay…that’s fine.”

“And I don’t want you to carry my purse—not ever. I hate that, and I actually feel a level of severe moral reprehension about men carrying their spouses’ purses. Don’t even reach for it. You can have your own purse if you want one, but I don’t want you touching my purse.”

His mouth was pressed together in a stiff line and eyes were watching me like I was the most fascinating creature he’d ever seen.

“And sounds,” I continued. “I know you’ll make them, but you need to be cognizant of them, like farting. Try to do it elsewhere so I can’t hear. I’ll do the same with you. Make an effort, you know? It’s like, why share that with anyone?”

“Burping too?”

I thought about that then shook my head. “I’m glad you asked. For some reason I feel like loud, long burps are okay, but little burps are disgusting. So, let’s just say no to burps unless we’re having a contest.”

He stared at me for a beat, nodded. “I can see that. That makes sense. I have a request.”

“Sure, go for it.”

“Don’t talk about your period—ever. I don’t want to see evidence of it either.”

“Ever? But what about if you want to do something and I’m….”

“Then we’ll put it on the calendar. We can have a code for it so I’ll know when it’s happening. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

I frowned at that, nodded. “Then I don’t want to hear about stomach or digestion problems—unless something is really wrong and you need to go to the doctor.”

“Sounds good.”

“And,” I continued, thinking of another item, “I want you to kiss me when you leave and kiss me when you come home.”

Quinn gave me a quick smile then leaned forward and brushed a kiss against my mouth. “I like that one.” He settled back against the couch. “Same goes for you. And you should also tell me you love me, every day.”

“I love you and I will. That’s a good one. You should say it too.”

“I’ll say it too, and I love you. Anything else?”