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"Like the fact that her hair is short, and mine is long."
"Yes, but I was thinking more about the freckle under your left eye. Hers is on the right."
"We're mirror twins. I can't believe you noticed that so quickly. She's also right-handed; I'm left-handed."
"That's interesting." His gaze studied my face with an intensity that I found uncomfortable as well as inexplicably exciting. "Did you ever wear your hair exactly the same? Did you dress the same? Pretend to be the other sister?"
"Yes, yes, and yes. Mostly after my mom died. She wanted people to see us as individuals, so she used to put us in different outfits. She wanted us to pursue our own interests. Once she was gone, that changed. My dad hired a nanny to take care of us. When she took us shopping, she just bought two of everything. That's when we started playing tricks on people, especially my father. He had trouble telling us apart, which seemed weird, because my mother always knew who we were."
"Maybe she was more connected to you because of the mother-daughter bond."
"Probably. She was very loving. She was always hugging us, kissing us, snuggling in bed with us. My dad was much more hands-off. He loved us. He provided for us. But I can't remember having deep conversations with him. Not ever. That's weird, isn't it?"
Kade shrugged. "Everyone is different. Why do you think he isn't calling you back? Is that unusual?"
"It is and it isn't. He doesn't always answer me right away, but he usually answers Dani or his wife, Vicky. The fact that none of us has heard from him is disturbing. What's also weird is that earlier today when I went to my mother's school, I thought I saw him. I probably just imagined it was him."
Kade gave me a challenging look. "Do you really believe that?"
"I want to. With everything going on with my mom, and the suspicion about why she left my dad, I don't think it would be good if he was here when she was shot."
"Maybe he came after she was shot. He could have heard the news, same as you."
"That's true. But why isn't he calling us back?"
"The police can probably track his phone."
"They'll probably do that. He's a person of interest, but he's not a violent, angry person. He wouldn’t shoot anybody. He's an executive, a business sales guy. He never even raises his voice. When he gets mad, he gets quiet. I can't imagine he would even know how to shoot a gun." I paused. "I'm sorry to dump all this on you, Kade. You just took a room in someone's house. I'm sure you didn't expect to be caught up in all this."
"Life is full of the unexpected. I've learned to roll with it."
"I thought I had learned that, too. But I'm having trouble rolling with this one."
"I think it's impressive that you want to fight for your mother even though she…"
"Didn't fight for me," I finished. "I'm not just doing it for her, though. I'm doing it for me and for Dani. My dad, too, I guess." I let out a breath. "How did we get back to me? We were talking about you. When did you start painting?"
"After my father died, I had a lot of anger issues. I couldn't sleep at night. I was exhausted during the day. My mom made me talk to a shrink. The doc suggested I write down my feelings so I could get them out of my head. I tried to do that, but it wasn't words that came out—it was art. I could express myself through sketching and painting. It made a tremendous difference in my life, and it just grew from there. By the time I was thirteen, I was painting everywhere, including the buildings in my neighborhood." He smiled. "That wasn't always appreciated."
"You were a graffiti artist?"
"I was. The world became my canvas. If I thought I could add to something, I did. I got myself into some trouble along the way."
I wasn't surprised. Kade definitely had a bad-ass kind of vibe.
"What kind of trouble?"
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."
He was being cagey again, but I didn't think I could persuade him to open up on his past, so I went back to art. "What themes inspire your painting?" I asked.
"No matter where I start, I always end up with a struggle, a battle against insurmountable odds."
"Like the small boat in the huge storm in the painting on my mother's wall."
"Yes."
"I'm beginning to understand why your art is so dark."
