Sam looks exhausted. And in all honesty, I can’t help but feel sorry for her. She’s lost weight, her usually almost-brown hair now chopped short to her shoulders, her vibrant brown eyes lacking their usual spark. She looks empty.
“Sit. Have some eggs,” I offer, sliding my plate toward her. I settle for an apple instead. Sam doesn’t protest. In fact, she eats as if she hasn’t eaten anything in days. Is Milo not providing for her?
What iswrongwith him?
I sit down next to her, taking a bite of my apple. An awkward silence hangs in the air. Naomi stares down Sam and I seriously debate holding her back in case she suddenly pounces.
Sam looks back without a hint of remorse.
“So…” I cough awkwardly, attempting to break the silence. “You found a job yet?”
“Has Naomi?” she fires back, and Naomi rolls her eyes.
“I’m not the one who left.” Her gaze sharpens. “And seriously, Milo clearly isn’t doing you any favours. You’ve lost it, just like Mason. Just like Mum.”
Sam looks as if Naomi has punched her.
“What the hell, Naomi? You heartless little—”
“Enough!” I practically yell. “That was out of line, Naomi. Especially now.”
“You don’t deserve to say his name,” Sam shoots back at Naomi.
I’m barely keeping it together at this point. All I want to do is scream at her and tell her that our mother is practically destroying herself upstairs and she should have the same amount of respect for her as she does for our brother. Ourdeadbrother. Since all they seem to do is talk about him.
The favoured brother that everyone adored like he was some saint. They didn’t see what I saw. They hadn’t seen his halo slip, as I had. And I would always wonder if their love would survive the uncovering of a monster. The monster that hid in plain sight. I suppose now I’ll never know.
I want to believe he wasn’t a bad person. Or evil. Or deserved it. He’s my family, I shouldn’t think that way. But sometimes it’s hard not to, with all the things he did.
Naomi narrows her eyes at Sam but remains silent, a simmering anger still evident in her glare leaving me wondering when she would finally explode. Which would inevitably lead to a long, heated argument, so maybe she could keep it under wraps this time?
Sam, on the other hand, leans back, her gaze fixed on Naomi, giving her a silent warning I can’t quite understand. A twin thing, I figure.
“Milo broke up with me last week,” Sam blurts, breaking free of their weird stare-off. Her voice sounds almost softer, more fragile than before.
I don’t know how, but I can almost feel the shift in the atmosphere. Is it just me or did the room get colder? If that’s even possible.
Naomi’s expression falters, momentarily caught off guard, and I just stare. I should probably say something, anything. I want to feel sorry for her, really I do, but I can’t seem to find it in myself. The reality is that Sam left us when she should have stayed. Picked a person she barely knows over family.
Naomi looks at Sam as if she’s about to say something, until a knock forces our gazes to the door. I stare mostly because we haven’t had anyone come over since we had Mason, so obviously we aren’t expecting anyone. “Did you invite anyone over?” Sam asks me in complete disbelief, as if to say of course not. As if I could have anyone to invite.
I glare at her as she turns her gaze to Naomi, asking her the same question, and without exchanging any more words we all rise from our seats simultaneously. I steal a glance at Naomi and Sam, both mirroring my confusion, before I open the door.
TWO
Standing before me is a complete stranger. I glance at my sisters, but they look just as confused as I am. Not just because he’s a stranger, but because he is a clearly very wealthy man. Why would he need to talk tous? Inthispart of the neighbourhood?
His tailored trench coat is draped over his perfect suit and he wears a beautiful diamond-encrusted watch that looks like it belongs in a bank vault. And his shoes… I haven’t seen shoes that shiny and polished in a long time. I could use them as a mirror.
“Good morning,” he says with a polite smile.
“Hello?” I say, letting my reluctance seep into my tone, because for all I know he could have a gun in his back pocket.
“May I come in?” he asks.
“With all due respect, sir,” I begin, careful to keep my voice polite but firm. “We don’t know who you are, so —”
“You can stand out there and tell us what you want,” Sam interrupts. Her tone is sharp, challenging. I give her a look, but she barely notices, her glare locked onto this man.
