I stepped closer. “You received my letter about Felipe?”
“Yes.” Her voice pulsed like a wound. “You didn’t come.”
“I couldn’t.”
Her eyes glinted in the morning light. “I knew you and David wouldn’t last.”
“Yes,” I said softly.
“And you knew Felipe and I wouldn’t make it.”
I didn’t reply.
She stood up slowly, stretching her shoulders out, then stumbled over to me. She wrapped me in her arms. “Perhaps we should listen to one another more often. A sister always knows.” Her body trembled in my embrace. “I was such a fool.”
“You weren’t the fool. Felipe was. It’s not your fault he took advantage of you and your sweetness.”
Muffled sobs wracked her body as I did my best to hold my sister together.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come home, Kelara. You deserved that. It wascowardly.”
Kelara’s tears dripped onto my neck, and I pulled her closer.
I held her until her sobs settled, until only rogue sniffles remained.
“It was time for me to learn to take care of myself,” she said, pulling back. “And I had Mama, and Asha.” Her palms smeared wet, pink marks across her face. “It’s not your responsibility to make sure I’m okay. I’m your older sister.”
“It’s a privilege to help you when you’re hurting,” I said. “But it was my turn to hurt.”
Searching my eyes, she paused. “Was there someone else? Someone other than David?”
I blinked back tears again. I hated crying.
“A sister always knows,” I said, my heart sending an ache through my entire body. We traded painful smiles.
“Mama’s waiting for you,” she said, pulling away. “You’ll have to tell me all about it later.”
“I will,” I promised, giving her hand a squeeze.
Mama waited for me down the hall, her own eyes watery from overhearing our conversation. I nodded to her, and followed her into Papa’s room.
I gasped at the sight.
The air was fresher, lighter, no longer the stale and dusty musk I was used to. His bookshelves had been moved to the wall. Each section was shoved full of old tomes, dog-eared and annotated from years of intensive reading. His bed was gone, and with it, my heart ached, fearing his ghost would be, too. But it wasn’t—it was in the smell of ink and sawdust that lingered, in the woodstain from the brand new desk in the corner, in the way the light shone against the singe marks on the floor, made when he was a mere boy in thisvery house.
“I thought you and Kelara might share it.”
“Share?” I looked over and saw Kelara in the doorway, watching us through her red-rimmed eyes. Asha’s little feet pattered down the hall. She peered at me from behind her mother’s legs.
“I’m starting a bookshop,” Kelara said. “In Papa’s memory.”
My eyes widened. “Oh?”
She beamed. “You’re not the only one who had to read to him, you know. I found I enjoyed it. And his old friends from the pub and the local mage council expressed interest. They offered to help me find a space.”
I swallowed. “That’s… very brave, Kelara.”
“I know.” Her eyes glinted with the same ambition I saw in my own reflection. “Maybe it won’t work, but I want to try. I want to do something for myself.”
