“She hadn’t given up on things between the two of you,” he said. “She said she was going to invite you to visit this fall.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “She was determined to find a way to get you to come, making all kinds of plans. She wanted to do some work on the house, get it all fixed up. She had me up there a couple of months ago to give her my professional opinion on some renovations she was considering.”
“What kind of renovations?”
“Nothing major. Some built-in bookcases. New windows. Another dormer up in the attic to let in more light. She wanted to cut a hole in the wall between two bedrooms upstairs and put a little door there.”
Tears filled my eyes. I let myself imagine it—the little door letting us whisper to each other. What would I tell her?I’m sorry Sorry for being a shitty sister.
“I was worried about her up in that house all alone,” he said. “That house… the history.”
“What history? You mean what happened with Rita?”
He looked down, and just then, I remembered the last time Ryan swam in the pool. He and Lexie had been treading water, trying to stay warm. He didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. You could count his ribs, see every bone in his body. His lips were blue and chattering.
“Are you ready, Rye Bread?” she’d said with a mocking smile. “?’Cause I am so gonna beat your ass.”
She was good at psyching people out. Making them feel like they’d lost before the game even started. But she didn’t notice other stuff about people. She had no idea that Ryan’s favorite color was blue, his favorite place was his grandpa’s cottage on Cape Cod, his favorite meal was spaghetti and meatballs. She didn’t know because she’d never asked him. I had.
Ryan shook his head. “Not this time.”
He’d never won against her. Not once. Not yet. But I wanted him to. I was wishing for it. Wishing for it with all my might. I was so tired of her always winning at everything, then gloating about it.
“Jax, you’re timekeeper,” Lexie ordered. “And Rye Bread,” she’d said, voice low. “Be careful down there. You don’t want to meet up with poor little Rita.”
“Shut up, Lex,” I said.
“She’s down there,” Lexie said. “It’s true and you know it, Jax.”
“On three,” I said. “One…”
“If you’re a scaredy-cat chickenshit, you can always keep your eyes closed,” Lexie told him.
“Two,” I said. Ryan had looked terrified. “Three!”
They both dove.
Unlike the Dead Game my sister and I played, the goal here wasdifferent. They’d swim down deep and see who could stay under longer, try to touch the bottom. Neither ever had.
Ryan was a strong swimmer. Not as strong as Lexie, but close.
I kept my eye on the second hand of Ryan’s Timex.
Thirty seconds.
I looked down into the water, saw no sign of them. No movement. A few air bubbles rising up, but nothing else.
I listened to the sound of the water trickling down the spillway, imagined it had a voice, that it was whispering something I couldn’t quite make out.
Fifty seconds! Ryan had never made it past one minute. At one minute and four seconds, Lexie popped up and looked around. “You have to be shitting me!” she’d yelped.
“You lose!” I said, elated.
We waited five seconds. Ten.
“Where the hell is Ryan?” Lexie asked—she had sounded scared, and Lex was never scared. I felt panic bubbling up. She went back under. Ryan surfaced five seconds later, gasping and choking, slapping at the water, lunging for the edge. Lexie was right behind him.
