“Competition?”
“We wouldn’t be the same without one another.” Meg was the oldest, Jo was the brave one, Amy was the baby. We defined ourselves by the void that was left when you took the other things away. Or I did.
Amy stirred her yogurt. “I never told you this, but I had problems with body image. Back in high school.”
I nodded. “ThatmeanJenny Snow.”
Amy put down her spoon. “Well, shit. You knew?”
“People talk.” I smiled apologetically. “She still lives here, you know. Jenny.”
“Shetoldyou?”
“Oh no. I, um... recognized you.”
The image had flashed around the band room, phone to phone. Even before the whispers started, Iknewher. Watching her strip in our shared bedroom, I’d envied my sister’s flat chest, her careless confidence. She was so perky. So perfect, naked and bold.
Amy’s blue eyes widened. “The week before homecoming... You climbed into bed with me one night. You and your teddy bear. You knew then?”
“You were crying.”Every night for a week, I remembered.
“Oh, Beth. I love you.”
I swallowed the lump in my own throat. “I love you, too.”
We’d never been friends, like Meg and Jo. We were too close in age. Too different in temperament. But we were sisters. We shared a world, a past, a secret language made of in-jokes and memories.
Amy squeezed my hand. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t want you all to know what a screwup I was. But looking back, I wish I’d told you. Told Meg. Toldsomebody.”
She paused, looking at me expectantly.
I stared down at my plate. At the melon, an orange paste by now.
Amy sighed. “Beth...”
A knock on the back door. “You ready?” Dan asked.
Saved. I jumped up. “Let me just put my dishes in the dishwasher.”
“Come on in,” Amy said. “Want some coffee?”
“I’m good, thanks.” But he came in anyway, taking time to scrape his boots on the back stoop.
“What are you up to today?” Amy asked.
“Moving fence.” The corners of his eyes creased in an almost-smile. “I got extra gloves if you want to join us.”
“Yeah, that will never happen. We’re visiting Mr. Laurence today.”
“You’re taking Aunt Phee?” I asked, grateful for the change in subject.
“No, I’m going with Trey.” For some reason, my sister blushed. “I thought he could use some support.”
“How is he? Mr. Laurence?” I’d visited him in the hospital right after the stroke. He reminded me of a zoo lion, his mouth dragged in an involuntary snarl, his eyes bright and baleful. He’d been moved to a rehab facility two days ago.
