The Last Autumn We Shared

The flames leaping inside the cremation furnace seemed to be burning straight through my heart.

I raised my hand and slapped myself hard across the face.

If I'd had a driver's license, if I hadn't trusted Caleb Foster, maybe my mother, Helen Lane, would still be alive.

Caleb heard the smack over the phone and apparently assumed I'd thrown my phone in a fit of anger.

"Yvette Lane, enough already," he said impatiently. "Yara's worried you're going to obsess over this, so she specifically asked me to call and check on you. Why can't the two of you just get along?"

Get along?

The sting burning across my cheek had never left me more clearheaded.

A year ago, Caleb had made an exception and hired Yara Cole even though she'd dropped out of high school. All I'd done was question the decision once, and she'd held it against me ever since.

If I spent eight thousand dollars on a business trip, she'd approve eighty for reimbursement. The next day, she'd deliberately alter one of my project proposals, infuriating the client and leaving me to clean up the mess.

Whenever I brought any of it up, Caleb accused me of making a big deal out of nothing and deliberately picking on her. Yara was conscientious, he insisted. At worst, she meant well and sometimes got things wrong.

Then today, Yara had mailed out more than a hundred wedding invitations. Under "Bride and Groom" were two names in bold print: Caleb Foster and Yara Cole.

My mother had suffered a heart attack the moment she saw them.

And now Caleb had the nerve to tell me to get along with her.

My voice came out hoarse. "Caleb, does my mother's life mean nothing to you?"

There was a second of silence on the other end before he chose, once again, to defend Yara to the bitter end.

"Yvette, your mom faked being sick to pressure me into marrying you. I already agreed, which was more than generous enough.

"Yara volunteered to help us with the invitations and made one little mistake. Are you seriously going to keep hounding her over it? We can just change the names back. What's the big deal?"

I gave a bitter laugh.

"Fine. I won't fight with her anymore."

I was done fighting Yara over Caleb. Done offering myself up again and again just so the two of them could slap me in the face.

He audibly relaxed.

"Good. I knew you'd come around. Come home soon. I'll go see your mom with you another day."

Apparently satisfied that he'd smoothed everything over, he hung up.

I immediately made an international call.

"Hello. I'd like to accept your offer."

The HR representative on the other end sounded almost stunned.

"Of course! Ms. Lane, we'd be thrilled to have you. You can join us anytime."

The company, a major firm overseas, had offered me a position right after graduation.

Back then, Caleb had wrapped his arms around my waist and begged me through tears not to go. He said he couldn't handle a long-distance relationship, so I'd gritted my teeth, stayed behind, and helped him build his business from the ground up.

No matter how many times that company came back with another offer, I'd always turned them down.

Now there was nothing holding me here anymore.

By the time I came home carrying the heavy urn in my arms, it was four in the morning.

Every light in the house was on, so bright that I instinctively raised a hand to shield my eyes.

Caleb was sprawled across the couch, chatting with someone on his phone, his absurdly long legs stretched out with nowhere to go. When he saw me, the smile still hadn't left his face.

"Yvette, you're finally back. I've been waiting forever. Your mom's okay, right?"

He was in such a good mood that he generously sent me two hundred dollars.

Then, as if something had occurred to him, he canceled the transfer. He had automatically labeled it "loan," as he always did.

A moment later, he sent it again.

"This one's not a loan. Buy your mom some supplements with it. Consider it a little something from me."

My chest tightened until it hurt.

Caleb always said that even brothers should keep their accounts straight. During all our years together, he had kept track of every cent between us, marking every transfer he sent me as a loan.

After seven years together, I owed him a mountain of money.

I used to think it was some strange little quirk of his.

Now I finally understood.

He had never considered me family.

I rejected the transfer.

"Caleb, I came back because I need to tell you something."

I looked at him.

"Let's break up."