Page 7 of My Twin Sister

“I thought she died in the water,” says Carter.

“She did.” Jack lifts Carter out of my arms. “Let’s go play catch at home while we wait for Mom.”

I smile at him gratefully. I was so nervous about their big age gap in the beginning. Thirteen years apart. But Jack is the best big brother to Carter, and he’s always been such a big help. Especially during my episodes.

I watch my family load into the car and pull away before I turn to walk back to my sister. The look on her face makes me pause in my tracks. Her face is awash in what looks like anger and pain. But in a flash it’s gone and she’s expressionless. Am I seeing things? Seeing what I’m afraid of?

I’m frozen. She walks toward me and grabs my hand, the gesture already becoming familiar and automatic again, but her grip is a little too tight. She takes a step forward and without hesitation, I do too. I’d follow Grace anywhere. I always was her shadow.

Everything in Raven is more or less in walking distance for anyone in generally decent shape. Grace and I didn’t even own cars in our teens because it just didn’t really make sense to have one. I bought my first car shortly after Grace died — disappeared. But that was only because I needed a place for a car seat.

Grace stares at everything around us as we walk, like a kid seeing something incredible for the first time. She’s always seemed youthful in that way. Always laughing, joking, and full of wonder. It made me feel boring in contrast. Too serious.

“Ask me what you want to know,” she says.

I look at her and I can’t believe how calm she seems. How she can show up like a phantom and act as though she hasn’t just blown my world to shreds.

I don’t know which question is more important, but I have to start somewhere since it seems we’re going to play the question game instead of her just telling.

“Where have you been?”

“Here and there. All around. Never settled anywhere for longer than a year or so.”

I stop walking and my hand slips out of hers. Grace turns to me, and I cross my arms.

“I know that’s vague.” She sighs. “I started in Michigan City, Indiana. Traveled down to Kentucky for a while. Madison, Wisconsin. Even Chicago for a bit. My longest stay was in Bloomington, Indiana.”

Grace starts walking again, and I jog to catch up to her.

“Why? Why not come home? We thought you were dead.” I can feel the pressure building in my chest. “Mom and Dad were devastated. I was devastated. Wyatt . . .”

I stop, exhale a breath.

“You and Wyatt seem to have found comfort in each other,” she says, her face unreadable, her tone neutral.

“Don’t,” I say.

“Don’t what? It’s just an observation.”

I shake my head. I won’t let her goad me offtrack even though the guilt stabs at my lungs, making it impossible to breathe.

We stop walking and stand outside our parents’ home. She faces it, and I wonder what she’s thinking. I try to see our childhood home how she might see it. The peeling paint on the front door. The bottom step that has gone soft. Does she see that? Or only the memories that came before? I’d give anything to be in her head for even just a few minutes.

I head for the door first and she follows me, straight into the living room. It must feel so weird. This place hasn’t been my home in many years, but this is the last place Grace lived before she was gone. Now it’s filled with ghosts and things that need to be sorted, sold, and stored instead of family and laughter.

It hits me then. She probably doesn’t know about Mom. But maybe she does. How did she know about Dad’s service today? I have so many questions.

I try not to think about Dad’s body and the way it hung in his closet for almost two days until I found him. I quickly open a few windows, and it helps me feel less enclosed.

My sister sits on the couch, running her hand across the fabric on the armrest. It’s the same one that was always here. Amish made. The only furniture our mother would buy because she said the Amish were the only ones who knew how to make things that last.

“I found him, you know,” I say. “He hung himself.”

Grace doesn’t flinch. She stares right into my eyes, sympathy pouring out of her own. I don’t know why I say it, but I want her to know.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“He was there for two days. There was a smell—” A gag breaks off my words and I turn away, holding my fingers to my lips.