“Hello?” I call out, holding the door open for Prue to pass through. She politely removes her shoes and looks cautiously down the hallway toward the basement stairs, as another crash occurs and maniacal fits of laughter follow. “We’re here!” I say, brushing my hair back as I make my way down the hall. “Nads?” I shout, halfway down the steps.
“In here!” she shouts back just as she comes into view.
I hear Prue following close behind, her footfalls on the steps far more delicate than mine, but just as urgent.
“Hi,” Nads says, handing me the littlest Kablukov. “This one pooped.”
“Okay,” I say, taking Quinn from her as I assess my little sister from head to toe. She’s still in the clothes she slept in—a purple hoodie that I’d wager she’s stolen from Sef’s closet and gray sweats with the pockets turned inside out. Her hair is too short to be tied back, but she’s tried with a large clip all the same and is failing miserably. She looks as dazed as I feel. As worried too. And pissed. Rightfully so. “You all right?” I ask, wincing. “I’m so sor—”
“Who’s that?” Nadia cocks her head to one side, pointing past me.
“That’s Prue,” I answer. “Be nice,” I whisper for her ears only.
“Hi,” Prue responds from behind me. “I drove Milo home and thought maybe you could use an extra set of hands?”
Nadia glares skeptically, as the three eldest kids run straight through the playroom and back up the stairs, leaving everything overturned in their path and damn-near vibrating.
“She’s good people,” I tell Nads, loud enough for Prue to hear this time. “We like Prue.”
“Right…” She looks hesitantly between Prue and me, thensettles her gaze on Prue, softeningsome.“I’m Nadia, Milo’s sister. You’ve caught me on a bad day.”
“I know something about that, first impressions aren’t exactly my strength,” Prue says, stepping past me and moving farther into the room. I watch her circle around the large beige couch as her keen eyes search the floor, couch cushions, and coffee table. Eventually, she bends to pick up the remote and tries a few buttons before the television turns off. “But it is nice to meet you.”
Nadia doesn’t respond, but I’m relieved all the same. It is instantly easier to think withoneless sound.
“I’ll change her,” I say, bouncing Quinn in my arms as she leans against me, “and then I’ll go looking for that note from Nik?” I ask.
Nadia nods, brushing a piece of hair away from her cheek. “Okay, yeah. I’ll go chase those three down before they break something—or themselves.”
“What should I do?” Prue asks, stepping toward me and then retreating half a step when Nadia looks over her shoulder and focuses her deathly stare once again.
“I don’t know.” Nadia shrugs flippantly. “Actually, yeah, I do. Find the other one,” she commands before charging up the stairs.
“Theotherone? How many are there?” Prue mumbles, picking up a blanket to look underneath it.
“Nadia’s not normally so…” I move Quinn from one arm to the other as she sucks her thumb, leaving a wet patch of drool on my shirt. “She’s normally, uh…” I decide to let the lie die on my tongue. “Never mind. I’ll be right back and then you can get going, Killer. Thank you.”
“It’s okay,” she tells me, smiling as she makes quick work of folding the blanket and draping it over the back of the couch. “No rush…”
It hits me again, at what may be the most inopportune time,how beautiful she is. The subtlety of the smile she offers me, the reassurance in her eyes, seeing herherein my brother’s house. The unfamiliar, familiar woman who’s managing, somehow, to appear comfortable in what must be one of the most uncomfortable situations imaginable.
It hits in a second, violent wave when my stubborn feet refuse to move and I watch as she finds little Perry in the play tent and waves a tender hello. Then a third, catastrophic wave when I hear her ask if she can hide inside with her before crawling in.
It’s a too-tight feeling in my chest. An itch that can’t be scratched. The creeping vine of a feeling I’ve yet to experience and yet instinctively know, latching on to my ankle and threatening to cover me whole. Something to be avoided, stopped, and cut off.
Going upstairs toward my brother’s bedroom where they keep their changing table, I realize that I was right the first time I laid eyes on Prue. Sheisdangerous and I am, most definitely, being lured toward what promises to be the most painful of deaths. Or, at least, the death of the reality I’ve lived thus far.
I don’t know how yet, but I need to make it stop. I have to bury this feeling with the decade’s worth of feelings that have come before it. Because, when the brewery is open, and Sef is okay, and the baby is home, and Nads starts smiling more, and Nik gives me his blessing—Bertha and I are getting thefuckout of here.
And I’m not about to leave any part of myself in some small tourist-trap, one-stoplight, pass-through town. Especially not my heart.
Twelve
Prue
I swallow thelast sip of my second beer as the sun finally, fully sets. From the end of my parents’ dock, I watch with an ache in my chest as that final sliver of sun slips below the lake’s surface and signals the end of my twenty-fourth year.
On my fifth birthday, Mom woke me up before sunrise. She smiled, brushed a finger from my cheek to my chin, and, without a word, gestured for me to follow her. Hand in hand she walked us downstairs and toward our front porch. She sat down in Grandpa’s rocking chair, pulled me into her lap, and wrapped us in the plaid wool blanket we keep by the front door.
