Chapter Twenty-Three
Tuesday grabbed a handful of grapes from the fruit bowl, tossing one after the other into her mouth while maintaining a brush-and-strike tap dance rhythm. Her sister was a category four human hurricane and a born performer. “Here I kept thinking pooooooor Pepper,” she was saying. “Poooooor Pepper stranded in Georgia. Pooooooor Pepper all alone. Meanwhile, poor Pepper is off doing the nasty with the cutest neighbor in recorded history. You did see his abs, right? Glorious. Wait. Of course you have. You’ve probably licked each muscle. Oh my God. Have you? Was it amazing? Tell me it was amazing.”
“Stop.” Pepper ducked her head. “It’s not like that. We’re friends.”
“Uh-huh. I have friends. But not ones I canoodle around with in their backyard.”
“Anyway, change of subject.” Pepper withdrew a coffee mug from the cabinet, slamming the door. “Are you going to tell me what happened in New York or what?”
Tuesday geared up for a big finale.Ginger Rogers, eat your heart out.Watching her sister made Pepper tired. She never stopped moving. “I’m done with the place,” Tuesday replied flatly, with one last heel click for evidence. “Over. Finished. Done. Finito. Caput.”
Kitty scampered across the kitchen floor, skidding on the linoleum and crashing into the garbage can. J.K. Growling sat in the center of the room, staring, unsure whether to join in the fun or run for cover.
“What do you mean,done?” Pepper demanded “You love it in the city. Broadway has always been your big dream—”
“I can’t believe you adopted a dog.” Tuesday snatched the conversation and dragged it into another direction. “J.K. Growling finally has a cousin. Who are you and what have you done with my sister? It’s the romance here isn’t it? All the Love Streets and Kissing Bridges. A quintessential coastal Southern town up front, with the sexy, scurvy-dog pirates in the back. Put like that, I can see the appeal.”
“Stop. I’m not staying past summer. Now stop deflecting. Are you going to tell me what happened in New York, or what?”
Tuesday’s arms fell to her sides and something in her face broke. “Do you trust me?”
“With my life,” Pepper said. Her sister was wild, free-spirited, but most important, loyal.
“Trust me when I say that I don’t want to talk about it. And”—she held up a finger—“don’t start worrying about worst-case scenarios where I was mixed up in a mob murder or anything. I’m not fleeing anything illegal, so don’t feel like you’re complicit in a crime.”
“Let me braid your hair.” Tuesday had amazing hair. Fixing it before school was one job Pepper never begrudged after Mom bailed. Her sister plopped to the floor with a younger sibling’s innate instinct for being pampered and cared for.
Pepper couldn’t even envy the concept. It seemed so foreign. Her hands worked in quick, efficient twists, as she spun her sister’s locks in a complicated fishtail. “If you’re trying to make me worry less,” she said at last, “I have to say, the strategy isn’t working.”
Tuesday pushed off the floor, plopped into a chair, and drew her knees up to her chest. “I know you. I love you. Leave it. Please.”
Her sister craved the spotlight, but from the edgy way she glanced around the room, it appeared she wanted to hide under a bed or in the closest closet. It was out of character, and for a character as big as Tuesday, it worried her.
“You wanted to perform on Broadway since forever. It’s part of the reason I attended NYU and planned to live in Manhattan long term. You said there was no point living anywhere else.”
“Chalk it up to a long list of things I shouldn’t have said.” Tuesday blew a piece of hair off the side of her face. “Do you have a spare shoe handy? One I could stick in my mouth?”
“I’m Team Tuesday, all the way. During winning seasons and losing streaks.”
“Even mafia murders?”
“Except for mafia murders. Maybe. What the heck, I’d probably end up handling your defense pro bono.”
Tuesday’s eyes sheened. This must be bad. “It hurts when your dreams crash and burn.”
Her sister must have lost a dream part. “Aw, honey. You have more talent in your little finger than anyone I know.”
Tuesday opened up the breadbox and tore off a piece of baguette. Elizabeth’s husband ran the popular upscale French restaurant in town, and her new friend kept dropping off fresh baked bread.
“Talent doesn’t always matter.” Tuesday took a bite, chewing carefully before continuing, “I could work as hard as I could, day and night, until my throat was raw, but that doesn’t guarantee anything. The world is what it is. You get on a lucky streak, or a losing one. And sometimes luck doesn’t matter and success feels like a game, but you don’t even know the rules and…” She took a shaky breath. “Never mind. I’ll be fine. How many people get to live their dream? I’ll have to tweak mine.”
“This isn’t like you.”
“This is exactly like me.” Tuesday examined the kitchen. “Like you living here in Georgia and working as a dog walker, of all things. Why can’t it be okay to modify your dreams?” Her voice suggested that she’d been telling herself this for some time.
“It absolutely can be.” Pepper stood and walked to the teakettle, pouring the hot water into her ceramic coffee filter. “But, honey? If you ever want to tell me what happened, I’ll be here.”
Tuesday remained quiet. In this case, Pepper knew silence was an admission of guilt, but what’s more, her sister didn’t want to talk. And she was going to have to respect that.
