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“But you already look so tanned. And you’ve been doing well. Mom says you’ve sold almost all the paintings, whereas I only sold three last week. Why change a good thing?” she said, picking at her nails.
“I’m not going, and if you don’t go in my stead, I’m going to tell Dad that I’ve been covering for you for more than just this week.”
Lira glared at me. “Dad’s too busy to pay any attention to us.”
She had a point there, but I pulled out my next card. “You can pretend to be me and see if you fool the customer.”
“Oh, now you’re talking.”
This would get her every time. As identical twins, we looked exactly alike, but that’s where the similarities ended. We used to trade places all the time, but as I got older, I stopped wanting to be Lira or live in her shadow. Lira, on the other hand, still loved it.
I waited as Lira worked out what version of me she was going to play this time and didn’t have to wait for long when she announced, “I think I’m going to play Bookish Millie. I’ll put my hair up in a bun and prop some glasses on my head.”
I groaned. “There are some extra books of Dad’s work in Lillian’s office. You can put more of them out when you get there. I think a couple of them walked away with some clients this week.”
“Already on it.”
I watched as she texted her message.
“And done! Lillian will put out more books right this minute.”
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to lift a finger here and there.”
“Why, when I have other people to do it for me?”
Before I could respond, she was out of her seat and walking into my bedroom.
“I don’t have anything fancy for you to wear in there,” I called after her.
“No problem. I’m not going for fancy, I’m going for Millie style.”
I shook my head. I should be more annoyed, but Lira was Lira. No one had ever been able to change her.
* * *
Lira had a faraway look on her face when she got home at the end of the day.
“Everything go okay? Or are you off on your next adventure?” I asked her.
“Yeah.” She sat down at the kitchen table and stared out the window at the hotel parking lot, not saying another word.
This worried me. “Hey, you okay?”
No response.
I went and got her favorite root beer and put it in front of her. Popping the top, I waited for her reaction. Very slowly, her nose twitched, and then her eyes followed the scent. Her hand came up on the table, and her fingers circled around the can. After taking a sip, she sighed and slumped back in her seat.
I eyed her. “You don’t look so good.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she said, waving a hand at me. “I just . . .”
I waited but she didn’t share anything else, so I asked her, “Were you able to sell more paintings?”
“Yeah, the one who called in bought three of them.”
“And the rest? Were there other clients?”
“Huh? Oh, yes, two more came later and bought the rest.” Now she was twiddling her hair and biting her bottom lip.
