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“They said they got the new Mario Kart races,” she said hopefully. The answer to which plans she preferred was clearly stamped on her face. I kept the disappointment off mine.
“Ahh. Well, I can see why you’d want to go.” I lightly swatted her backside. “Get a move on, then. You can’t go over there in your pajamas.”
“Pajamas are technically clothes,” she pointed out.
“Kid, believe me, you don’t have to convince a writer of that.” I sighed. “But good social graces dictate we put on actual clothes before going out in public.”
“Boo.”
“I know.”
She skipped up the steps, taking them two at a time, and I set my empty mug in the dishwasher. Ian usually had a couple of cups in the morning, so I left the machine on and then went upstairs to tug on some socially acceptable pants.
As we left the house and walked out to the car, there were sounds of banging and tools and all manner of manly things happening in the barn, so I decided not to interrupt.
My sister, Rachel, and her husband lived close to downtown in a neatly kept neighborhood with small homes and small yards. She worked part-time at her kids’ school, and her husband, Todd, was a mechanic at the shop his family had owned for fifty years.
The kids—Micah and Caitlin—waited on the front stoop when Sage and I pulled up. Sage bounced in place, ripping at the seat belt the moment the car was in the driveway. The kids whooped and hollered like they hadn’t just seen her at school the entire week, and it helped break up the slight cloud of Mom-sads that I wouldn’t be able to spend the day with her.
But this was the reason she wanted to leave New York, and that made my heart happy in a different way. As the kids chased each other in the stretch of green grass in front of the red brick house, my sister appeared in the front doorway. She wore an apron covered in a dusting of something white—flour or powdered sugar or something.
I got out of the car and waved. Rachel didn’t leave the house but returned my wave through the front door screen.
“Thanks for having her over,” I said. “We didn’t have anything planned today, so she was excited to get the invite.”
Rachel smiled. It was closed mouth and a little tight at the edges, but I could see the effort behind it. She looked so much like Mom that it made my chest pinch. “Of course. My kids get along better when she’s here, so it’s a help, if I’m being honest.”
I smiled back. “What time do you want me to pick her up?”
“Whenever works for you.”
“Oh, I have the whole day open, really. I wasn’t planning on working, but since she’s here, I might as well.”
“Right. Well, just let me know when you’re on your way.”
I nodded. “Will do. Thanks, Rachel.”
On my way back to the car, I blew out a slow breath, then accepted a quick hug from Sage as they raced off to the backyard. As I backed out of the driveway, Rachel watched from the door, then disappeared without a wave or a smile or anything.
We’d never had ease in our interactions, not since the day I was born. She was six years older, but if pressed, I bet she remembered those first six years as a happy, joyous, resplendent time in her life without me in it just fine.
Rachel was quiet and kept to herself, much like our dad. And she’d followed in our mom’s footsteps to the T, wanting nothing more than to get married as soon as they could. The only place she and Todd deviated from our parents was to wait a while to have kids. They built up a slight nest egg and made sure they wouldn’t be living paycheck to paycheck the way we had.
I couldn’t help but laugh a little, thinking about Rachel’s and my stilted interaction after our dinner at the Wilders—so loud and full of laughter. Walking into that house felt like a big, warm hug, even with the slight cloud of grief that still clung to the walls. I more than once caught Ian’s jaw clenching when he looked over at the empty brown leather recliner.
The whole night, I found myself watching him, maybe more than was necessary, and the times our eyes met and held, I couldn’t ignore the warm, bittersweet ache behind my ribs.
When I pulled the car back up to Ian’s house, I got out and stretched my arms over my head with a groan. There was no more clanging and banging coming from the barn, but Ian’s truck was there, so I knew he hadn’t left. I don’t know what I expected him to be doing, but his long-ass legs stretched out on the long part of the couch, my book in his hand, and an engrossed expression on his face was not it.
As the door slammed shut behind me, I exhaled heavily.
He never looked up. “Do you mind? I’m reading.”
While I kicked my shoes off and tossed my purse onto the bench next to the door, he made exaggerated movements to turn the page and narrow his eyes.
“Maybe you need glasses,” I suggested sweetly. “You are getting old.”
“I can see just fine.”
