Legacy Read Online Free Page B

left her place. Total CF. I don’t think she’s showered in days.’”
    It felt like a blow to her gut.
    Actually, you look like shit.
    Humiliation bowed her shoulders, leaving her unable to look at her sister. She never should have let him in. Hell, she hadn’t let him in. She should have thrown him out as soon as he came in for the stupid bike.
    “Corinne...?”
    “He’s such an asshole,” she hissed. “He doesn’t know what I’m going through.”
    Morgan was silent again. This time, Corinne’s eyes shot up to hers in defiance.
    “What? What are you not saying?”
    “Nothing...Just that he lost his best friend, honey,” Morgan stood up and made a move toward Corinne who held up her hand, insisting on distance.
    Morgan sighed.
    “All I’m saying is that he may not know exactly what you’re going through, but he knows what it means to miss Michael.”
    “He doesn’t know what I’m going through,” Corinne stressed, rapping her fist against her chest, grateful for the anger that tightened her throat. “Neither do you.”
    “Fine. We don’t know. But he’s obviously worried about you, and, frankly, I am, too.”
    “Wes doesn’t worry about anyone or anything ,” Corinne scoffed, choosing the easier target to attack.
    “Let’s forget about Wes,” Morgan said, swiping her hand like she could brush him away. “Why don’t you take a shower, and we’ll go see Dad?”
    Corinne blinked in shock.
    “Dad?...Why?”
    Morgan raised a self-congratulatory brow.
    “Because he does know exactly what you’re going through.”

    An hour later, Corinne had showered, dried her hair, and dressed in a pair of clean jeans and a sweater that Morgan had somehow found in her closet. The hot water and droning hair dryer had made her sleepy and ready for a nap again, but Morgan insisted on leaving, so Corinne found herself riding shotgun in her sister’s Camry on their way to Emeritus, their father’s retirement community.
    Clement Granger had suffered two strokes before his 60th birthday. The first, six years ago, had left him with a slight limp on his right side and an almost undetectable slur. The second, three years after, had left him in a wheelchair at first, the paralysis claiming most of the function on his right side. For two years, he’d lived in the assisted living complex, but with continuous physical and speech therapy, he could use a walker now and had graduated to the “Senior Independent Living” section of the campus.
    No one could argue that Emeritus wasn’t the best facility in town, but Corinne still saw the place as a kind of end-of-life processing plant. Healthy old folks who didn’t want to take care of their yards anymore—or whose kids didn’t want to feel guilty about them cleaning out the gutters—got an apartment or patio home in Senior Independent Living where they could enjoy the exercise classes and bingo and still drive to the Grand to catch a movie. Inevitably, a fall or the slow and steady onset of Alzheimer’s sent residents to Assisted Living, where they could count on being bathed and babysat. Next stop was Skilled Nursing with its catheter and colostomy care and Medicare-certified beds. Finally, there were the beautiful Hospice Rooms with fresh flower arrangements and never-ending morphine.
    Corinne had once teased her father about how he’d bucked the system by moving back a level. His barely intelligible reply—her dad was still embarrassed by his speech—was that he’d always been a rebel.
    “Have you been to see him lately?” Morgan asked as they pulled into the complex.
    “No,” Corinne responded, refusing to feel guilty for the filial lapse. She’d been too busy watching her life fall apart.
    Morgan parked the car and turned toward her.
    “When was the last time you left the house?” she asked, her brows coming together.
    “I don’t know!” Corinne snapped. In truth, she did know. She had gone to the store 10 days before because she was out of toilet