Page 19 of For Better or Hearse

“I hope you’re happy with yourself,” she grits out. “Your entire family hates me now.”

“They would have hated you anyway.”

She doesn’t know whether the statement makes her feel better or worse.

He shrugs. “I think I deserve some form of payback. Even if the punishment doesn’t fit the crime.”

Ash grips her butter knife. “And what would?”

A wicked smile curls his lips. His voice is rough, murderous. “I can think of a few things.”

As waiters swoop in to set bottles of fancy water and expensive wine at the table, Ash drops the knife and picks up the heavy menu. Her arms strain to hold it upright.

“Shield?” he observes.

She eyes his excessively smug face over the entrée page. “Battering ram.”

Nathaniel takes a long drink of his beer, one brow cocked. “Is that a threat?”

Ash opens her mouth. Before she can snap back, her attention’s diverted by Don.

“Just tell me one thing, Augustus,” he’s saying, “is she in the will?”

“Whoa.” Ash sets down her menu with a thump. “Just so everyone knows, I do not need to be in a will. Anybody’s will.”

Augustus, seated between Claire and Ash, frowns. “If Ash is in the will, that is for me to know.”

Don grumbles. Tater cocks his head and inspects her.

Ash stares back, unmoved.

“She looks like a Manson girl,” he says suspiciously.

Ash perks up. Holy shit, if this dinner conversation takes a turn for Charlie Manson, she will not be upset about it.

Claire drains her wineglass. “Manson girls are not polite conversation, Tater.”

Nathaniel sighs and slumps in his seat.

Augustus lifts a hand. His soft voice is laced with vulnerability. “This is not to be a sad trip; you understand me? It’s a celebration of life, butbeforeI die. A farewell party, if you will. I want to be around to enjoy it. I want us to spend time together.”

Ash takes in the faces around the table, expecting nods of agreement, maybe tears. There’s only awkward tension, averted eyes.

“Hikes. Tours. You can’t do much of that, Dad,” Claire sayssoftly, tapping a manicured nail against her wineglass. The crystal sings out.

“Maybe not,” Augustus agrees with a lift of his chin. “But I’ll be there. Something I haven’t done well in the past.”

“It’s never too late,” Ash says, sitting straighter, “to start over.”

For a second, Nathaniel’s attention lands on her. His sharp jaw tightens a fraction.

Tate leans back in his chair, scratching his belly. In his belligerently bright shirt, he looks like he does the weather in Belize. “As long as it’s only two weeks. I got shit to do back in the States.”

Nathaniel needles his brow. “Jesus Christ. We are in the States, Tate.”

Ash narrows her eyes at Tate, tempted to scream at him. At all of them. Shock them out of their snooty, self-absorbed ways. This isn’t just some free vacation. This could be their last chance. This is a gift. To spend time with Augustus. Sure, he could have many long years left with treatment, but nothing is ever guaranteed.

She wills her nerves to steady, then palms Augustus’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”