“Biggie,” she whispers, her voice cracking.
Arden deflates a bit against my hand and the woman surges forward and yanks her to her chest. It’s such a desperate movement that a little bit of my heart breaks for them both. Arden’s sister brings her hand to her red hair and buries her face against her shoulder. She cries, whispering how much she missed her and how much she loves her over and over again.
Arden stays silent.
She clings to her sister, but she doesn’t speak.
When they finally separate, Arden turns to me, and there are still no tears.
“Carter,” she says quietly. “This is Serena. Serena, this is Carter.”
Serena smiles warmly and steps toward me. I go to hold out my hand, but she winds her arms around my shoulders instead. I hesitantly hug her back, locking eyes with Arden over her shoulder. She gives me an exhausted look of gratitude.
“Thank you for bringing her home,” Serena whispers.
I dip my chin. “I’m sorry for your loss, Serena.”
“Me too,” she says, leaning back. She studies me for a second, like there is more she wants to say, but seems to decide against it. Instead, she retreats back to her sister, winds her arms around her, and guides her into the house where the ghosts are waiting.
I follow tentatively behind them, stepping inside the home that holds a lot of pain for the best woman I’ve ever met. It looks like it’s been completely frozen in time. It’s like stepping back into the nineties with a few touches of modern decor. It feels like a wonderful place to grow up, but I know better. I know too much.
I kick off my shoes and glance at the dimly lit living room.
“Do you want a drink?” Serena asks her sister.
I follow them into a small kitchen with a circular tabletucked near the back wall. Arden stops in her tracks as we round the corner, immediately meeting the cold glare of another woman with the same blue eyes as the first. She’s seated at the table, a bunch of paperwork in front of her, her cardigan hanging off her shoulders.
I take it that this is Anya.
Anya’s lip shakes as her gaze narrows in on Arden. Her colouring is nothing like her eldest sister’s, but there are parts of Arden in her, too. The shape of her lips, the slope of her nose. The speckles that dust her skin.
“Hi, Anya,” Arden says softly. “I’m sorry about Dad.”
Her fingers stop tapping against the tabletop. “I’m sure.”
Serena whirls around from the fridge. “Anya.”
“We don’t need you now that he’s gone, you know. He asked for you one hundred times over the years, and you couldn’t find the time or money to make it happen, but now that he’s dead, you have the facilities?”
Arden goes rigid.
Serena stares down at the littlest Doll. Stunned. “Anya, what the fuck?”
“I’m sorry,” Arden whispers.
“Of course you are,” Anya snaps. “You always are. I’ve heard those words from your mouth so often over the years that they’ve become meaningless.”
I should leave, shouldn’t I? This doesn’t feel like my business, but leaving Arden here alone feels cruel.
“Anya,enough,” Serena bites out.
“Dad wouldn’t want her here and you know it,” Anya barks out, flying back from the table. My heart jolts into my throat. She slides past Serena and storms right toward us. I place my hands on Arden’s shoulders and squeeze.
I will be a wall between you andanyone,Red. Even your sister.
Anya stops inches from her face. She doesn’t acknowledge my presence once. “He died crying out your name.”
“I’m sorry, Arden.” Serena sighs, placing the glass of red wine in front of her. She hands me my beer and drops into the seat beside me, glancing at me. “You, too. I hate that you had to see that. She’s not always that bad.”
