“Oh good, she’s home from the hospital,” Caleb’s girlfriend said. “Tell her we hope she feels better soon!”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded. “Will do.” I dug Grace’s keys out of my pocket and hit the unlock button. The Subaru faithfully beeped. “Someone order a burrito for me, please.”
There was a chuckle from the group before they kept moving toward Ryan’s truck. In case Unger was watching from the windows—yes, I was a little paranoid—I slid stealthily into the driver’s seat.She’ll still know it’s you,I realized, though.This is Grace Barbour’s car, and you’re leaving Grace Barbour’s parking spot.
Well, screw it.
I zoomed out of the lot and past the athletic fields, driving home a respectable five miles over the speed limit. Our house was in a neighborhood of 1920s homes, a two-story yellow colonial with dark navy shutters and a driveway rounding the lawn. All our neighbors knew us, so I drove straight past it and parked a couple blocks away. I didn’t want to risk anyone texting my mom to ask if everything was all right. Grace and I never came home for lunch.
It wasn’t until I was walking up the front pathway that I noticed the special delivery we’d gotten today. Not the usual scattering of Amazon packages or a Chewy dog food box, but a sign.
A For Sale sign.
To put on our lawn.
“What the fuck?” I muttered as I reachedTHE BARBOURSwelcome mat. There were three top-of-the-line signsleaning against the side of the porch. The first was painted black wood with gold lettering.FOR SALE,it read in fancy script, an illustration of a barn underneath.The Cheval Collective.
The Cheval Collective was the most sought-after realty firm in town. When its owner had done an initial walk-through of our house, Mom had been totally starstruck.
I rolled my eyes when I saw that a note had been left with the signs.
Barbours—
Looking forward to coffee next week! In the meantime, here are some options for signage.
—TCC
Okay, no,I thought, feeling heat on my face.Not happening.
I admit, I’m not super proud of what I did next. Not only was it immature but also ridiculous enough that any neighbor glancing out their window would stop and squint to see what I was doing: I grabbed all three signs and dragged them back down the street to the Subaru. Its trunk obediently opened, and despite all of Grace’s tennis gear, a mountain of reusable bags, my sand-filled beach backpack, and a pair of striped chairs (one might never know when a beach day might present itself), the signs perfectly fit. I’d dispose of them in the dumpster behind school. No one need ever know.
But then, I remembered whose house was right aroundthe corner. And, well, I couldn’t help myself. Because while Marco Álvarez was now in college, he and Isa had once been a thing. “Marco!” she’d shout into the phone when he’d flake on their plans. “Marco, you’ve got to bekiddingme. I can’t believe you’re doing thisagain!”
He has the potential to be one of the most wonderful people in the world,I remembered her saying while I now used a mallet from the trunk to hammer the sign in place.But right now he’s the worst, and I don’t have time to wait for him to rise from the ashes.
Isa had dumped Marco after he’d blown her off one too many times. I liked to think his crush on a field hockey player also infuriated her. You didn’t two-time Isa Cruz.
I swung the mallet like Thor’s hammer. So long, Álvarez family!
Back at the house, I sorted through the kitschy key chains on Grace’s key ring for her house key…only to find that it wasn’t there. What? My pulse pitched, but a second later, I groaned. Once again, my sister was a step ahead of me; she knew I had a habit of misplacing my own set of keys, so she’d taken hers on purpose to lock me out of the house.
Idiot! I was such anidiot!
The front door was firmly locked, so I jogged around to the garage, although I didn’t have much hope for that situation. Grace wouldn’t have changed the codes; she didn’t need to, not when the wiring in the keypad was constantly malfunctioning. You could open the garage doors from inside, no problem, but outside?
Big problem.
Honestly, how did my parents think the house would be ready for the market next month?
I tried our code three times before considering other options. Every downstairs door was locked, and so were the windows. I could possibly climb the rose trellis up to Grace’s always-unlocked window, but again: nosy neighbors.There’s someone scaling the side of your house, Kimberly,I imagined old Mrs.Claffey saying.He looks scrawny like your son, but I’m calling the police anyway…
So no, I would not be pulling a Romeo today. Grace was my sister,notmy Juliet.
My stomach rumbled, and all of a sudden, it came to me. I bolted around the house to the backyard, Stan Smiths squelching in the soggy grass from yesterday’s rain. Muddy footprints marked my path across the flagstone patio around our pool, but I’d hose them off later.
Because here was the kitchen door.
Thank god my dad kept a spare key hidden under the gnome he’d christened Barnaby. It had been a gift from Mr. Adler; he’d just left it on our front porch one night. (Dad had retaliated by sending him a hideous plastic flamingo.) For years, Barnaby had welcomed guests to our home, until my mom moved the lawn ornament to the back stoop. In real estate, there was no time for fun and games and eyesores.
