Again, strange. She usually spits fire whenever our parents call her Bronny. I press my lips together so more questions don’t tumble out.
If she’s happy with him, then it’s fine with me.
“Cool.” I shrug, eyeing their empty hands. I guess they didn’t find anything.
“Yeah, just let me grab something, and we’re good to go,” she says, almost like she can read my mind. “That way, we’ll hit Colbert around sunset if we leave now without making another stop. Will they be okay, you think, or will they close by the time we get there?”
The reminder that we left too late this morning gives me pause. I booked our tickets for a five p.m. private tour, and I don’t have a number to call if we can’t make it on time. I could email them, but who knows how often they check their inbox?
I have to trust that they’ll wait for us.
And since we won’t have dinner until much later today, I ask, “Can you get me something for the road too?”
“Of course.” She rubs my shoulder in a way only a sister could. The show of kindness I’ve been craving for years has me blinking back tears. “I’ll be quick and so will you. Don’t drag that museum tour out for too long, Sis. By nine tonight, I want to be soaking in the hotel tub with the AC blasting.”
“Will do.” I clear my throat, hating how emotional I sound. It’s so unlike me. “Thank you, Bronwyn.”
“No worries.” She turns to the shelf behind us, grabs three bags of mixed nuts, and shoves them into Easton’s hands. “Here, supper is served. Don’t forget the gas, okay?”
“Anything for you, Bronny.”
“Thanks, babe. Skylar and I will be waiting for you by the car.”
He heads to the register. “Be right there.”
“We’re gonna have so much fun, the three of us.” Bronwyn slings an arm over my shoulders, leading me outside. “I promise.”
After years of this one-sided rivalry between us, this moment almost feels holy.
“We will.” I stare up at her as she opens the door, the bell dinging over our heads. “Love you, Bronwyn.”
“Love you too.”
3
SKYLAR
Eventually, I did end up emailing the Colberts about us running late. Thankfully, they answered, reassuring me they’d be waiting.
True to their word, someone is here.
Even though it’s late now and the bright blue sky has turned dark gray, a tall, burly man waves us in, clicking a button to open the electric gate into the tiny town.
The red-and-white paint on it is chipped and flaking. Past the gate, the main road isn’t paved. Main Street, also known as the museum, holds nothing but dirt and a line of exhibits.
Instantly curious, I peek around for the family homes and the restricted livestock area, like in the pictures on their website, but I can’t find either. They must be tucked further back, hidden on the other side.
It’s kind of sweet how they live where they work. Charming, even. The corners of my mouth hike up at the thought.
Bronwyn doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. She groans quietly the closer we get, throwing her head back and growling in that way she does when she’s extremely unhappy.
Yikes. I hope she’ll end up enjoying it instead of resenting me for coming here.
“Hey.” Easton lowers his window as we idle beside our guide, whose name wasn’t listed on the website.
“Hey there.” The man’s jeans, flannel, and leather cowboy boots are worn, his smile wide as he returns my wave. “I’m Jett. How y’all doing?”
“We’re good,” Easton offers when Bronwyn rudely ignores him. “Where do we park?”
