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Born two years apart, Marcella and Yvonne had always been close. But all their lives, they had fielded questions ranging from annoying to offensive about how they could possibly be sisters, as well as weird encounters with strangers when Marcella was alone with their dad or Yvonne alone with their mom.
Yvonne looked most like their white father, with pale skin, silky light brown hair, and hazel eyes. She did feature their mother in some ways—they shared a nose, for one thing, and a thicker body type. Marcella looked most like their Black mother, though her skin tone was several shades lighter and her body a bit slimmer.
More than once when they were kids, some self-styled “Good Samaritan” had accosted their mom and Yvonne out in public, wanting to know what a Black woman was doing with a white girl, throwing out accusations of abduction and shit like that. Sometimes those racist jerks had even called the actual police over it.
There were some weird events when Marcella was out with their dad, too, but those had never been as intense. More on the ‘staring’ part of the spectrum than the ‘calling the authorities’ part.
And holy fuck, Marcella had lost count long ago of the times people assumed one of them was adopted—which one depending on which parent they were with at the time.
Considering that their parents had split up when Marcella was twelve and Yvonne ten, there had been lots of opportunities for people to see their parents singly with the girls and make judgments about shit they knew nothing about.
Yvonne stretched again, raising her arms and arching back on the sofa. “How was your night?”
“Good, for the most part. We were on point tonight. The club was packed, and our take was great.”
“Excellent. But why ‘for the most part’? Something happen?”
Marcella had been forthright from the start with the whole family about Eight Ball and his extremely limited part in the making of Ajax. She hadn’t talked with Mom or Dad about Eight’s recent reappearance, but that was a matter of the topic not coming up in busy lives, not Marcella avoiding it.
There had never been a secret between the sisters, and they saw each other daily, so Yvonne knew what was what. So Marcella didn’t dodge the topic now. “Eight showed up again.”
Yvonne dropped her hands to her lap. “Fuck. Seriously? Again? What are you gonna do?”
“Nothing. I told him to fuck off, just like last time, and the time before that. He doesn’t get to decide on a whim to be a dad. Especially not after all these years. And more especially since Ajax doesn’t want him.”
“Agreed. But … Marcella, he’s dangerous, too. I mean, he’s a killer. Like, for real. What if he decides to force the point?”
As much of an asshole as the man was—and he was an Olympic-qualifying asshole—Marcella didn’t think he was a real threat. She honestly didn’t believe he’d force the point into a dangerous place. For one thing, she didn’t really believe he wanted to be a dad all of a sudden. He was probably going through a midlife crisis, and eventually he’d buy a Corvette, or whatever the Harley equivalent of a Corvette was, and go back to forgetting Ajax existed.
For another thing, there was something perversely chivalric inside all that muscle-headed asshole-ness. He had very 1950s, white bread, apple pie ideas about ‘protecting’ women and children. He wouldn’t threaten her or Ajax. He’d just bluster until something shiny distracted him.
“He won’t,” she said aloud.
“Are you sure?”
“I am,” she said, and meant it.
Yvonne sighed and slouched against the back of the sofa. “Girl, you have the shittiest taste in men, I swear.”
“I know it. I’m a deeply flawed woman.”
Her sister wrapped her arms around her. “Yeah, but you’re cute, so we’ll keep you.”
Marcella kissed her head. “Well, that’s a relief. It’s late. Go on home to your fine upstanding man. Thanks for tonight.”
They got up, and Yvonne picked up her paperback. “He’s going with Dad tomorrow, right? Do you need me to get him started in the morning?”
Tomorrow was Saturday. Ajax and his Paps had big plans for the weekend. They were camping up in the Osage overnight, on a ‘hunting’ trip.
Marcella’s father had strong feelings about guns—his brother had been killed with one in an accident when they were kids—so he and Ajax did their hunting with cameras.
“Yep. And no, I got him.”
It was three o’clock in the morning, and Dad liked an early start, so he’d be by to pick Ajax up at six. Marcella would stay up until they were on their way, then sleep after that. They were playing at Azure again tomorrow night, so she didn’t have anything going on until sound check.
“Okay. Good night—hey, hit me up if you decide to go to the gym tomorrow.”
The complex had a fitness room so well appointed it might as well have been a real gym. They even had a half-size basketball court. Marcella and Yvonne had both played basketball in high school, and they still got up a game of HORSE pretty often.
