Here We Come (Aggie's Inheritance) (108 page)

“And
what
about
me,
Aggie.
Is
my
job
as
seed
sower
all
you
know
about
me?”

“You
are
single,
the
director
of
a
nursing
home,
and
you
wanted
to
be
a
vet
,
but
you
couldn’t
handle
the
tougher
side
of
it.
Your
green
thumb
is
unparalleled
and
you
will
adore
my
Ellie.”

“Is
that
your
opinion
or
Luke’s?”
Corinne
asked.

“I
suppose
both
of
ours.
As
he
told
me,
I
realized
that
she
sounded
like
the
kind
of
girl
that
would
appreciate
my
little
Ellie.”

“How
do
you
like
being
a
‘mother’
of
eight?”

“If
you
haven’t
realized
it
yet,”
Libby
interjected,
“Corinne
is
our
frustrated
lawyer.
She
was
born
for
interrogation
but
seems
to
have
left
her
tact
at
home.”

“Was
that
an
offensive
question,
Aggie?
I
didn’t
mean
for
it
to
be.”

“The
question
isn’t
offensive.
People
ask
me
that
all
the
time
and
not
always
so
politely.”

“See?
How
do
people
usually
ask?”

Aggie
had
lost
all
hope
of
enjoying
the
afternoon.
Luke’s
doting
Corinne,
the
sister
who
seemed
to
feel
as
though
she
owned
the
right
to
be
his
favorite
sister,
appeared
to
be
determined
to
leave
no
doubt
of
her
disapproval.
It
took
a
moment
to
gather
her
courage,
but
while
she
chewed
a
bite
of
salad,
she
debated
exactly
how
honest
to
be.
“Well,
I
am
accustomed
to
questions
asking
if
I
know
what
causes
‘it.’
Do
I
have
a
TV?
If
they
learn
that
they
are
my
sister’s
children,
the
first
question
is
usually
asking
if
she
died
in
childbirth.
The
world
seems
to
consider
her
fertility
their
business
and
often
asks
me
very
explicit
questions
about
her
private
life—things
I’d
never
know
and
wouldn’t
want
to.
Those
bother
me
the
most
when
they
ask
in
front
of
children
who
then
have
confused
questions
of
their
own.
The
most
common
from
the
children
is
why
people
dislike
children.
”
Corinne
and
Cassie
both
seemed
ready
to
ask
a
question
or
make
a
comment,
but
Aggie
continued
in
a
rush.
“If
people
ask
about
me
personally,
it
is
usually
with
an
air
of
pity
and
the
assumption
that
my
life
must
be
hell
on
earth.
I
am
a
martyr
sacrificed
for
the
sake
of
my
sister’s
children.
No
man
will
marry
me,
or
if
he
will,
it
will
be
out
of
pure
pity
for
my
plot.
Galahad,
it
seems,
is
not
dead.
I
am
told
that
I
have
jewels
in
my
crown
and
that
‘this
too
shall
pass
,
’
although
that
one
is
usually
followed
by
a
pat
to
my
arm
and
a
melancholy,
‘but
of
course
that’ll
be
a
couple
of
decades
from
now,
won’t
it?’”