Sophia Hawthorne

Chapter Three

The Great Room was two-thirds the size of the foyer. An enormous stonefireplace stood at the front. There were gargoyles carved into the sides of the fireplace. Literal gargoyles. Grayson deposited Libby, Ash, and I into wingback chairs and then excused himself to the front of the room, where three older gentlemen in suits stood, talking to Zara and her husband. The lawyers, I realized. After another few minutes, Alisa joined them, and Itook stock of the other occupants of the room. A White couple, older, in theirsixties at least. A Black man, forties, with a military bearing, who stood with hisback to a wall and maintained a clear line of sight to both exits. Xander, withwhat was clearly another Hawthorne brother by his side. This one was older—midtwenties. He needed a haircut and had paired his suit with cowboy boots that,like the motorcycle outside, had seen better days.Nash, I thought, recalling the name that Alisa had provided.Finally, an ancient woman joined the fray. Nash offered her an arm, but shetook Xander's instead. He led her straight to Libby and me. 

"This is Nan," hetold us. "The woman. The legend."

 "Get on with you." She swatted his arm. "I'm this rascal's great grandmother." Nan settled, with no small difficulty, into the open seat besideme. "Older than dirt and twice as mean."

 "She's a softy," Xander assured me cheerfully. "And I'm her favorite."

 "You are not my favorite," Nan grumbled.

 "I'm everyone's favorite!" Xander grinned. 

"Far too much like that incorrigible grandfather of yours," Nan grunted. Sheclosed her eyes, and I saw her hands shake slightly. "Awful man." There was atenderness there.

 "Was Mr. Hawthorne your son?" Libby asked gently. She worked with theelderly, and she was a good listener.Nan welcomed the opportunity to snort again. "Son-in-law."

"He was also her favorite," Xander clarified. There was something poignantin the way he said it. This wasn't a funeral. They must have laid the man to restweeks earlier, but I knew grief, could feel it—could practically smell it. 

"Are you all right, Ave?" Libby asked beside me. 

I thought back to Graysontelling me how expressive my face was.Better to think about Grayson Hawthorne than funerals and grieving. 

"I'm fine," I told Libby. But I wasn't. Even after two years, missing my momcould hit me like a tsunami. "I'm going to step outside," I said, forcing a smile."I just need some air." 

Zara's husband stopped me on my way out. "Where are you going? We'reabout to start." He locked a hand over my elbow.I wrenched my arm out of his grasp. I didn't care who these people were. Noone got to lay hands on me. 

"I was told there are five Hawthorne grandkids," Isaid, my voice steely. "By my count, you're still down by two. I'll be back in aminute. You won't even notice I'm gone."I ended up in the backyard instead of the front—if you could even call it ayard. The grounds were immaculately kept. There was a fountain. A statuegarden. A greenhouse. And stretching into the distance, as far as I could see,land. Some of it was treed. Some was open. But it was easy enough, standingthere and looking out, to imagine that a person who walked off to the horizonmight never make their way back. 

"If yes is no and once is never, then how may sides does a triangle have?"The question came from above me. I looked up and saw a boy sitting on the edgeof a balcony overhead, balanced precariously on a wrought-iron railing. Drunk. 

"You're going to fall," I told him. 

He smirked. "An interesting proposition."

 "That wasn't a proposition," I said.

"She's right, Jamie," Sophia said softly. She came across the balcony, carefully balancing like a gymnast. "You're going to fall." Her hair was perfect, clothes perfect. She was perfect. Yet there was a air of sadness around her. She clearly missed the grandfather.

 He offered me a lazy grin. "There's no shame in propositioning aHawthorne. As for you-" He looked at Sophia, his gaze softening. It struck me on how much they looked alike. "It doesn't matter if I fall. Only if you do. Now get down." He had hair darker than Grayson's and lighter than Xander's. Hewasn't wearing shirt.Always a good decision in the middle of winter, I thought acerbically, but Icouldn't keep my gaze from traveling downward from his face. His torso waslean, his stomach defined. He had a long, thin scar that ran from collarbone tohip. 

"You know me better than anyone. I won't," she sat down carefully, her tiny frame settling onto the railing. He sighed, then turned back to me.

"You must be Mystery Girl," he said. 

"I'm Avery," I corrected. I'd come out here to get away from the Hawthornesand their grief. There wasn't a trace of a care on this boy's face, like life was one grand lark. Like he wasn't grieving just as much as the people inside were.

 "Whatever you say, M.G.," he retorted. "Can I call you M.G., Mystery Girl?" 

I crossed my arms. "No."

 He brought his feet up to the railing and stood. He wobbled, and I had amoment of chilling prescience. He's grieving, and he's too high up. I hadn'tallowed myself to self-destruct when my mom died. That didn't mean I hadn'tfelt the call.He shifted his weight to one foot and held the other out. 

"Don't!" 

Before I could say anything else, the boy twisted and grabbed therailing with his hands, holding himself vertical, feet in the air. I could see themuscles in his back tensing, rippling over his shoulder blades, as he loweredhimself... and dropped.He landed right beside me.

 "You shouldn't be out here, M.G. And neither should you," he gave his sister a look. 

She simply shrugged.

 I wasn't the shirtless one who'd just jumped off a balcony. "Neither should you."I wondered if he could tell how fast my heart was beating. I wondered if his was racing at all. 

"If I do what I should no more often than I say what I shouldn't"—his lips twisted—"then what does that make me?" Jameson Hawthorne, I thought. Up close, I could make out the color of his eyes: a dark, fathomless green. 

"What," he repeated intently, "does that make me?"I stopped looking at his eyes. And his abs. And his haphazardly gelled hair. 

I could hear Sophia snort, and neatly drop down, landing in a crouch. 

"Drunk," I said, and then, because I could sense an annoying comeback coming,I added two more words. "And two." 

"What?" Jameson Hawthorne said.

 "The answer to your first riddle," I told him. "If yes is no and once is never,then the number of sides a triangle has... is... two." I drew out my reply, notbothering to explain how I'd arrived at my answer. Sophia grinned, walking over to stand next to her brother. She mouthed, "Good Job."

"Touché, M.G." Jameson ambled past me, brushing his bare arm lightly overmine as he did. "Touché."

As the girl followed him, she said, "Goodjob. I'm glad I won't be the only one to handle Jamie." What did she mean by handle?