“I’m sorry, Miss Quinn, but yeah. Your name doesn’t appear anywhere.”
“Right, well, thank you for your help. One more thing, if you don’t mind. Did she tell you why she’s interested in selling the house now? I’m not sure if she told you, but Cassie and her new husband were planning to renovate and reopen the inn. In fact, he spent the last few weeks peeling off wallpaper, fixing leaks, and working on the yard.”
“Oh! I don’t think I knew about a husband. Your sister’s married?”
“She certainly is.”
In fact she and her handsome French husband are walking inside Café de Flore right now. Another Parisian hot spot, renowned for its star power, with an awning overflowing with lush plants. I keep an eye on them as they sit down inside. It’s been overcast all day, but now the clouds have turned a dark shade of gray. It’s going to start raining any minute.
“Huh, well, I don’t know what to tell you,” Martin Beckmann says. “She called me about two months ago, asking if I could value the property. Then she canceled an hour before our appointment. She called me again last week, saying she was interested again. I asked to set up an appointment, but it turned out she was out of town this week. Said I could come by when she returned. Then she texted me the next day that I could visit it by myself and use the spare key if you weren’t home. Doesn’t really know what she wants, your sister. So I called her. You know, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t wasting my time. She told me the whole story, and now I get it. Most of us think we’d love to be in her situation, but it can’t be easy.”
Startled, I bump into a trash can on the street corner. “How so?”
“All of that money she inherited…on top of the house. It’s kind of like winning the lottery, you know? No disrespect to your family, of course. She’s right to think long and hard about what to do with it. A couple million seems like a lot, but between taxes and everything, you could be one bad investment away from losing it all.”
I clear my throat, trying to steady my voice. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow. What money?”
“From her father. Sounded like a real piece of work, that one. Leaving her as a child to go live the high life. My old man did the same, though there’s no way he’s not spending every last cent before hitting the grave.”
I’m stunned into silence. The money. Cassie has money, and so much of it. And it all fell into her lap, just like her husband. Because of course she’d never work for it. She just waits around for things to bend to her satisfaction, while the rest of us play an endless game of Tetris, trying to make every unexpected bill and every setback fit within the already messy constraints of our lives. How did I not see this before? The new clothes. The renovation plans for the inn. The wedding dress. The house filled with flowers. The freaking honeymoon. I couldn’t understand why Olivier would go into debt for her when he kept saying he was desperate for work, willing to do anything to make ends meet.
“Um, wait. I’m sorry,” the Realtor continues when I haven’t spoke for a while. “I shouldn’t have said any of this. I don’t even know why she told me. That’s really none of my business… It’s just, like I said, I have an interested buyer and your sister isn’t returning my texts today. I want to make this happen, you know? In fact, maybe you could slip in a word to her? I’ll help her find somewhere new, with less repairs and not so many stairs. Actually, I listed a home last week that’d be perfect for a couple looking to start a family…”
I hang up. He’s right about one thing though. He really should have kept his mouth shut. Growing up, money was always a problem. The inn brought in enough to cover the basics, but Cassie made impossible demands—a new phone, cash to go out with friends, more clothes. Rae gave everything she could, but it was never enough.
Cassie was nineteen when she earned her first penny, and even then, she only lasted six weeks working as a cashier at our local grocery store. She was always late and her boss quickly got tired of it. Meanwhile, I’d lend her whatever she asked for, always.We gave you a roof, she’d say when Rae wasn’t around.My mother took you in when she could barely feed us both.It was the truth; I couldn’t deny it.
So I’d work any job I could find, and with my earnings, I’d pay Cassie’s phone bill. I’d buy the drinks she’d have with her friends on her nights out, even though I was never invited. I let her have the secondhand tablet I’d gotten my hands on, which I snagged for a great price, considering it was almost new. I’d stolen her mother from her. I had to pay for that. Again and again.
But last week, I was cleaning on top of the kitchen cabinets—Surprise, Cassie and Olivier were getting married! The house had to be spotless—when I found the old porcelain cookie jar Rae had bought at a yard sale. She often hid cash there, her own little savings nest. The money sometimes went missing, and Cassie would point the finger at me before Rae had even gone down the stepladder. I don’t think Rae believed her, but fighting withCassie was exhausting, and she usually gave up. Once, when a thousand dollars went missing, Rae grounded us both for a month. I never went anywhere, so it didn’t make much of a difference to me. Cassie kept sneaking out after we’d gone to bed, and we all pretended we didn’t notice.
The jar should have been empty. I’d looked through it a year before, when I was struggling to pay for Rae’s medical bills, guilt twisting my insides at having to stoop to Cassie’s level. But as soon as I pulled up the lid last week, bills burst out of it. It was full to the brim. So much money! Cassie didn’t save. She spent anything she had as if it burned a hole in her pocket. The only logical explanation: it was Olivier’s money. I had no idea why he would hide it up there, but there were only three of us in the house. The man had been full of contradictions. Cassie spoke endlessly about how generous and successful he was, but from the moment he’d arrived, I’d watched him on that rusty bike, which no one had used in a decade, and wondered if he enjoyed playing poor country boy or if something else was going on.
I keep staring at the café. Cassie and Olivier have each ordered a glass of wine, and she’s clutching her phone tight. I’m her sister, whether she likes it or not. After my mother died, Rae decided to file the paperwork to formally adopt me. She didn’t tell Cassie until it was done. She ran it past me, suggesting we change my name, so we’d be a “real” family. I think it was the guilt talking, of taking me in for the wrong reasons, of letting me suffer at her daughter’s hands. She went through the legalities to make herself feel better. It was only after it was done that I realized I didn’twantto change my name. Didn’t want to erase my past or to make it even harder for my father to find me, if he ever tried. But I was so used to going along with whatever was dictated for me that it hadn’t even occurred to me to speak up.
I don’t care how much money Cassie has; that house is my only home. I have a right to know. I’m so sick of her treating me like a pest invading her space, when I never asked to be there and did everything for her. And now she has it all: the house and the money and the husband.
When I have nothing.
And nothing to lose.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window: the shorter blond hair was the right call and my cap ensures they won’t recognize me. Pushing it further down to cover some of my face, I walk inside. It smells like peanuts and red wine. Cassie and Olivier’s table is in the middle, flanked tightly by several others on every side. My heart beats a little faster with every step. I don’t know what I’m doing, just that I don’t care anymore. I’m halfway across the room when Cassie gets up, her phone pressed to her ear. She shoots Olivier an apologetic smile before walking off to the back of the café. Olivier interlaces his fingers, nervously playing with his wedding band. He glances at Cassie a few times as he bites his bottom lip. That’s when I see the Chanel bag dangling from the back of Cassie’s chair. I make a snap decision. I want to hurt her. A little. To start with.
She’s still on the phone, her back to me and to the door of the restrooms. Olivier takes a sip as I near her chair. It’s so tightly packed in there that he might not see me even if his gaze wasn’t drilled on his wife. I kneel down, pretending to look for something on the floor. The servers are too busy running around to pay me any attention. My palms go clammy as I tug on Cassie’s bag, releasing the strap, which clinks at it hits the black-and-white-tiled floor. No one else hears it. No one comes running to me. Clutching the buttery-soft leather to my chest, I get back up halfway and, in a few quick strides, I’m inside the restrooms, panting and sweaty.
I must have lost my mind. No, that’s not true. I lost it a while ago, ever since I offered to come with her to the city for her father’s funeral.This isn’t your family. I don’t need you.
Still, I drove her to the freaking train station. I gave her money for the ticket. I texted and called her to make sure she was okay. But of course she was. Just a couple of days later, her new French boyfriend popped up on her Instagram feed. Her father had died and there she was, having a grand old time in the city.
My heart in my throat, I unclasp the bag, which is lined in dark-red leather. There’s a Chanel lipstick in a slick gold case, sunglasses, a bunch of crumpled receipts, Cassie’s passport, and her wallet. A new wallet that matches the bag. The leather is smooth, and it smells of all the money it must have cost. I guess it’s easy to throw cash around when you didn’t have to lift a finger to earn it. I grab the wallet and slip it into my own bag. Now I have to walk out the way I came.
Though I’m keeping my eyes down, I immediately notice the commotion: Olivier on his knees, searching between the legs of other patrons, and Cassie clutching her phone.
“Where is it?” she whispers-screams. “Excuse me! Have you seen my Chanel?”
My heart pulsing, I crouch down and let the bag drop at my feet, where it falls against the brown satchel of the man sitting at the next table from the newlyweds.
Then I slip outside, my whole body buzzing. I never tried to hurt Cassie before. I was never vindictive or, rather, I knewshewas, and I was always too scared of the consequences. But she can’t blame me for what she doesn’t know.
