Iris waved her away. "I'll be fine." But her knuckles were white where she gripped the back of the couch. And she didn't sit, leaving a clear path to the bathroom.
"What's up?" Jilly asked. "The boys okay?"
Iris's husband had twin five-year-old boys from his first marriage. Iris loved them as her own and had been a basket case when they'd gone to kindergarten earlier in the fall.
"Levi and Brandt are fine," Iris said. "I'm here to check on you."
"Why?" Jilly kept her gaze on the small pair of jeans she was folding. "You saw me at church two days ago."
"I'm worried about you." Iris apparently wasn't holding back. "You've changed, and..."
Jilly laughed a little as she picked up a matching pair of socks and rolled them together. "What do you mean?"
"We never see each other anymore."
At the wobble in her sister's voice, Jilly abandoned the laundry. She leaned her hip against the arm of the couch and gave Iris her full attention. "We see each other all the time. We had coffee last week. And we talked on the phone, too."
Iris's lips firmed in a stubborn line.
Jilly tried to hear what she was saying, but she didn't get it. "Maybe I've been a little busy. Things will calm down once the kiddos settle in. We're still adjusting to each other."
Iris's eyes narrowed. "This is what I'm talking about. Last year you moved out."
After their uncle died, Jilly and Iris had lived together in his house. But once Callum was back in the picture, it made sense for Jilly to be the one to leave.
"Then you made a sudden decision about fostering these kids. You had no idea what you were getting in to—"
"It wasn't sudden." Jilly felt her face flame as her temper got involved. She'd had to work for months to get certified as a foster mom. So much paperwork. Home visits. Background checks.
It was all worth it. Or it would be.
"I was ready to start a family." And she didn't have to explain herself. She was the older sister. Iris wasn't the boss of her.
Iris studied her a moment but then went on with new determination. "Yeah, but why this way? Why not something more conventional? Meet a guy. Date for a while. Get married."
Get married. The verbal blow hit low in her midsection, and Jilly hadn't been braced for it. Her legs went weak. She locked her knees, thankful the couch kept her from falling.
Iris had been there to pick up the pieces after Eddie had stomped all over her heart soon after her diagnosis. She'd seen the awful scars left by Jilly's surgery. The surgery might've saved her life, but it had also left her a husk of a woman.
Iris was supposed to understand.
But she just kept talking. "A husband, a partner, would make things so much easier for you."
Jilly tried to breathe through the pain. Shards of it shredded her lungs, and she wanted to lash back at her sister.
"Oh, really?" She gulped in a breath. "Is it so easy on you when Callum travels for days at a time and leaves you to take care of the boys?"
"That's not all the time—"
"And what about when the two of you have adisagreement"—Jilly used air quotes, cliché as it was, mostly to bother her sister—"when he thinks you shouldn't be working while you're pregnant? Is that easy?"
Iris bit her lip.
For a brief moment, Jilly experienced a blip of guilt.
Iris had called her the other night, upset, and told her about the fight with Callum in confidence. Maybe it was childish to bring it up now, but Iris was stomping all over Jilly's feelings and didn't seem to care.
Jilly couldn't imagine getting close enough to someone to let them see her scars. She was still self-conscious about wearing shirts that were the least bit clingy, even with a well-fitted padded bra.
