She had cried three times yesterday. Twice about nothing in particular, and once because she dropped a spoon and couldn't bend down to pick it up.
Her phone buzzed in her hand. A new text, this one from a number she hadn't seen in a few weeks.
Emily.
Beth smiled and opened the message.
Still alive in there? Or have the tiny humans staged a takeover?
She typed back quickly.Takeover imminent. Send reinforcements.
The response came almost immediately.I could bring snacks. And my complete inability to make small talk, which I've been told is refreshing.
Where are you?Beth asked.
Vermont. Helping a friend pack up her apartment. She's moving to Seattle and apparently owns more books than any human should.
Sounds like you.
Exactly. That's why she needed me. I understand the book situation.
Beth laughed out loud, startling Charlie, who lifted his head and gave her a reproachful look.
Emily Wheeler was her half-sister, the daughter of Beth's father Daniel and a woman named Eve, born from an affair that had rocked the Wheeler family years ago. For a long time, Beth hadn't known Emily existed. None of them had. And when thetruth came out, it had taken time for the wounds to heal, for Emily to find her place in a family that hadn't known they were missing her.
But Beth had connected with Emily almost immediately. Maybe it was because Beth understood what it felt like to be the one on the outside, the youngest, the one who sometimes got lost in the shuffle of a big family. Maybe it was because Emily's Asperger's meant she said exactly what she meant, without the social cushioning that other people used. Beth found it refreshing. She never had to guess what Emily was thinking.
When do you finish in Vermont?Beth typed.
Tomorrow probably. Then I have no plans. Zero. My calendar is a vast and terrifying emptiness.
What happened to the job interviews?
There was a pause before Emily responded.They happened. I happened. We were not compatible.
Beth frowned at her phone. Emily had graduated from college last spring, a degree in environmental science that she had pursued with the single-minded focus she brought to everything she cared about. But the job search had been harder. Interviews were difficult for her. The social performance of selling herself to strangers didn't come naturally, and more than once she had told Beth about walking out of an interview knowing she had said the wrong thing or missed some cue she was supposed to understand.
I'm sorry,Beth wrote.That's really frustrating.
It's fine. I'm recalibrating. That's what my therapist calls it when I have to throw out my entire life plan and start over.
For what it's worth, I think you'd be great at whatever you decide to do.
You're biased. We share DNA.
Only half.
Still counts.
Beth shifted in her chair, trying to find a position that didn'tmake her feel like her organs were being compressed into a space the size of a shoebox.
Hey,she typed.What if you came here?
To the farm?
Yes. When you finish in Vermont. You could come stay with us for a while.
Another pause. Beth watched the three dots appear and disappear, appear and disappear.
