I did, as a matter of fact. “I told you, I just need a place to stay until everything quiets down.”
She pulled at her hair, free of gum and peanut butter, soaking wet. “No.”
“Can I just stay here until you get back?” I said. “Please? Use the computer. Get organized. If I go back out there, I’ll probably get arrested.”
I held up the ticket as proof.
“Who do you think called the cops?”
“Seriously?”
“I’m sorry, are you outraged? Did I, like, offend your moral compass?”
I shook my head, exhausted by her narrative—her same narrative that cast me in the role of evil villain. And she must have registered it on my face—my anger at her. Which only made her more angry. And, like that, there we were again, right where we’d left off, convinced that the other person was wrong and impossible.
“Hello.”
We both turned to see that Sammy was standing in the loft (her bedroom apparently), wearing wire-rim glasses and overalls, her hair in two braids, Pippi Longstocking–style. The glasses took up most of her face—which, combined with the braids, made her look older than she was. Or maybe it was neither of those things. Maybe it was the way she was tilting her head, studying me. Like, at six years old, she had the ability to study anything.
“Sammy, where’s your jacket?” Rain said.
“I checked the temperature. I’m fine.”
That stopped me—the way she spoke. Grown-up, pitched. Her eyes still laser-focused on my face: piercing blue eyes, stunning and mildly absurd behind those glasses. And then there was how much she looked like my sister. Rain was two years older than me, and I had spent my childhood looking at her and trying to decide how I should be. It was bizarre to look at this small version of her, trying to figure out who I was.
Sammy climbed down the loft’s ladder and stood right in front of me, studying me more intently. She might have been six, but I wanted to look away.
“Are we related?” she said.
“What makes you ask that?” I said.
“Well, we look alike, for starters.
Rain hoisted up her daughter. “Sammy. We’re leaving.”
They headed for the door, Sammy hanging over her shoulder.
“Just be gone before we’re home,” Rain said.
“Thank you, Rain.”
Then she did look at me. “Don’t thank me,” she said. “Just don’t come back.”
She opened the door, a bag over her shoulder, Sammy still dangling, a balancing act she had mastered. And, yet, her face gave her away. My sister had always been the classically beautiful Stephens sister: five foot eight (to my five foot three), with shiny blond hair and strong features, a smile that lit up her face. But she wasn’t smiling now, her eyes creased, her hair short and uninspired. Now she just looked tired.
As they headed out the front door, I heard Sammy say, “Who is that, Mommy?”
“That,” she said, “is nobody.”
15
I intended to find a place to stay for the night and leave as promised. I had no money and no good options—though staying with my sister was proving to be impossible. It would be one thing if we had a five-thousand-square-foot house to avoid each other in. There was no avoiding each other in six hundred square feet. Except I fell asleep with the laptop right on top of my stomach. And I hadn’t been searching last-minute, reasonable hotel deals, like I should have been. I was trying to write an email to Danny, something that would make him understand—maybe something that would make us both understand. I hadn’t gotten too far. This was what I had written before I fell asleep.
Dear Danny, so you’re probably
Clearly, that would fix everything.
I woke up when I heard the key in the lock. My sister. I reached for my laptop and grabbed the rest of my stuff—not even zipping closed my bag—and raced toward the door. Rain wasn’t kidding. She would call the police if I wasn’t out of there before she stepped inside. My plan was to run out, even if that meant running right past her. But I ran too fast, and instead of squeezing past Rain on my way out, there was a man there. Large, imposing.