Page 3 of Weight of Guilt

Marlowe had gotten the good version of everything. Same dark hair as Wren, but hers went red in the sun instead of dull. Same height, more or less. People had been telling them their whole lives that they had their mother’s face, and it was true. The features just fit Marlowe better.

“We’ll see,” Nora said. “She hasn’t missed a year yet.”

Wren let her gaze wander a moment. She knew this house like the back of her hand.

Yet something about being in the house she grew up in remained bittersweet.

Nothing in it had moved. They still had the same couch, still angled toward the same window. Her mother’s hymnals were still stacked on the piano bench in the same order. Even the height marks on the pantry doorframe were still there—including the one that said Christian, 7.

Her gaze stopped on the wall in the living room.

The cover of an album none of them had listened to in years hung there.

Homecoming, the title read in gold script. Three sisters with bright blue eyes and matching dresses smiled on the cover.

The day it released was forever etched into her memory.

Ten years ago today.

Nora slid a plate with eggs, bacon, and toast across the island to Wren. “I was up early so I got started on breakfast before you came. Had an insulin scare with one of my patients overnight. Nothing too serious, but the family panicked and called me instead of the ER.”

Her sister was a home health nurse who occasionally picked up jobs at the hospital. She was good at her job. Nora had always been the most nurturing and caring of the three sisters.

Wren turned her coffee mug in slow circles, quickly calculating how many hours of sleep her sister had actually gotten. Not enough. “You could say no to the overnight calls sometimes.”

“I could.” Nora shrugged.

But Wren knew she wouldn’t. She worried about her sister sometimes. Nora worked too hard and always seemed to have the weight of the world on her shoulders. But she’d always been that way, and Wren wasn’t sure that would ever change.

An engine cut through the quiet outside, the sound throatier than that of a car. Bo lifted his head, recognizing the noise.

A minute later, Marlowe let herself in, her leather jacket still zipped and her sunglasses shoved up into her mass of long, dark hair she hadn’t bothered brushing. She dropped her keys on the counter then a motorcycle helmet beside them.

Marlowe reached past Wren for a piece of bacon. Bo’s head immediately appeared beside her elbow.

“Don’t even think about it, goblin,” Nora warned.

Bo thought about it. He sat at attention, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“I don’t blame you.” Marlowe gave Bo a teasing look. “I’d give you a piece if it was my choice.”

Wren let Marlowe take another bite before playfully raising her eyebrows. “Don’t you look like a double shift and bad decisions.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. And for the record, Suzy called out sick, so I did actually work a double.”

Marlowe was a waitress at the diner in town. She had dreams of starting her own clothing boutique, but those plans had been put on hold for now. First, she needed to take some business classes and save some money.

Marlowe took another bite of bacon before continuing, “Some tourist guy tried to tip me in Canadian coins last night, like I wouldn’t notice.”

Uh oh. Someone had crossed Marlowe. That was the last thing people should do. Her younger sister was feisty, to say the least.

“Did you say something to this aforementioned tourist about his tip?” Wren asked.

“I told him the foreign currency was adorable, and I’d be keeping the coins as a souvenir.” Marlowe finally sat down beside Wren. “Then I told him what a real tip looked like. He found actual American money fast enough after that.”

Wren smiled.

“I wasn’t going to miss this, in case you two were wondering,” Marlowe announced. “I set an alarm.”