A Sinclair Homecoming. Kimberly Van Meter

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      “I’m sure the house will sell. It’s very well taken care of and it’s just beautiful.”

      “Yes, but my Realtor has said that we’re still in a down economy and people aren’t buying high-end homes right now so there’s a possibility that it might sit.”

      “Well, it’s not like you have to be out. You can afford to wait for the right offer, right?”

      Morgan nodded. She didn’t want to wait. She’d be willing to take a loss if she had to. Some nights she was so desperate to be free of this giant monstrosity that she was half tempted to give it away. But if she did that people would start questioning why she was so eager to be free of it. No one knew about that night, not the true events. All anyone knew about were the fictitious events that she’d made up, and she was done with that secret following her around, lurking in the shadows of this cursed house.

      “If I had the money I’d buy it,” Mona said wistfully. “But I can hardly afford ramen. Speaking of, I hate to ask this, especially in light of our earlier conversation but can you spot me a couple hundred bucks?”

      Morgan wasn’t surprised. Mona always needed money. “How much?” she asked, reaching for her purse.

      “Four hundred would be nice but I could make do with three.”

      “Sure. Is this a loan or a gift?” Morgan looked at her sister with a raised brow. “Let’s just call it a gift,” Morgan decided. “I don’t want to be chasing you around town for my money. But in light of this, now I have to gently insist that you start looking for something to supplement your income.”

      Mona accepted the check and tucked it into her pocket. “Given the fact that I just accepted money from you, I guess I have to listen to your advice. Yes, I realize I probably need a second job. But I’m not excited about it, and please don’t tell Mom and Dad that I got money from you. I catch enough grief from them as it is.”

      “They’re just worried about you.”

      “Well, they can stop worrying. It’s not like I’m a drug addict or anything. I’m an artist, that’s all. I like to create things. I like beauty and metaphor and seeking a deeper meaning in things. I want my life to mean something. Why is that so hard to grasp?”

      “You can still do all of those things and hold a job that pays your bills. I hate being the bad guy here but I’m not looking forward to the prospect of supporting you for the rest of your life. I’m not having money troubles but there may come a day when I’m not flush. Clients don’t always pay on time, this house is very expensive to maintain and David’s life insurance will run out one of these days so I would like to know that my baby sister isn’t living on the street if I can’t give her a little bit of money now and then.”

      “I’ll never be on the street,” she said. “Besides, if worse came to worst you and I can at least get an apartment together.”

      Morgan shuddered at the thought. “Oh, hell, no. I remember sharing a bedroom with you and you’re a terrible roommate.”

      Mona scowled. “Okay, fine.”

      “Just think about the job, please?” Morgan smiled, wishing she had her sister’s verve for life and her thirst for meaning in her life, even though she could be a bit of an irresponsible mooch at times. “Listen, I won’t tell Mom about the money you borrowed if you won’t tell our parents about my putting the house on the market. I know I’m going to get a bunch of protests from them. Particularly from Dad because he might call it foolish to let go of the house that I own for emotional reasons.”

      “Sure. Your secret is safe with me. I got your back.” Mona paused, then surprised her by going back to her original topic. “Can I please set you up with George?”

      “Mona,” she groaned, irritated. “I already told you—”

      “Yes, yes, I know and I’m sorry but here’s the thing, I kinda already promised him that you would probably go to dinner with him.”

      “And why would you do that?”

      “Because George wasn’t going to let me into the gallery without the promise that I would ask you out for him.”

      Morgan stared at her little sister. “Are you kidding me? I definitely wouldn’t go out with someone who would use that type of extortion to get a date. That really doesn’t say much for his character.”

      “No, no, no, no, he’s a really good guy. I’m sorry it came out that way. He really is a good guy but he’s intimidated by you, I think.”

      “Intimidated? I’m the last person who would intimidate anyone.”

      “That’s not true. You’re highly successful, beautiful and you’re very independent. Men can be very intimidated by those qualities in a woman.”

      That’s how her sister saw her? Talk about living a lie. “I don’t know, Mona—”

      “Please just give him a chance. One date. That’s all. And then you can walk away and I won’t feel like I reneged on a deal and everyone is happy.”

      Morgan made a sound of exasperation. “You know who’s not happy? Me. I don’t want to go on a date with this man. I feel like I’m being forced into it through emotional blackmail. Which I don’t appreciate, by the way.”

      “Duly noted. And I really appreciate this. You’re the best sister ever. And who knows, you might really like him. And you know they say the first act toward making a change is taking a leap of faith.”

      “Please don’t. I will go out with this man on one date. A dinner. And then I never want you to put me in this position again. Are we clear?”

      Mona nodded, solemn. “I understand. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have but I am in a pickle.”

      “Yeah, yeah. You’re always in a pickle, Mona. That’s nothing new.” Morgan couldn’t help the frustration in her voice. “Why was it so important that you get into this gallery? I’m sure you could’ve gotten into a dozen other galleries on your own steam.”

      “You have no idea how cutthroat it is out there in the art world. It’s all about who you know, not just about your art. You have to network and Facebook and Twitter and mingle and do all these things that I don’t want to bother with. I just want to get my work on the walls of somebody’s gallery without constantly kissing ass to make it happen. It’s exhausting. Who has time to actually make art if you’re so busy mingling?”

      “Yes, the world has been taken over by social media,” she mused in agreement. Remy lived on Facebook, often when he should be working. His excuse was that without his involvement in social media, Morgan would never know what was going on in the world. She sighed and asked, “Why was this gallery so important?”

      “Well, I was hoping this one particular art critic would take a liking to my work and possibly feature me in this magazine for artists. But as it turned out, my style wasn’t her cup of tea so she didn’t write something very flattering about my work.”

      “So basically you traded me for no gain?”

      “Yeah, but I didn’t know that at the time. Besides, you need to get out СКАЧАТЬ