“Then don’t sit. Start by not lying to me again.”
He stared at the marker. “I don’t know how to fix it.”
“I know.”
That was the problem. He finally knew it too.
I stood because sitting made the apartment feel too small. My feet protested when I crossed to the sink. I turned on the tap, but the pipes coughed before water came out. Brown at first, then clear. I washed Gennady’s touch from my skin with dish soap that smelled like fake lemons.
Petya stayed behind me.
“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said.
Water ran over my fingers. “You tell me before the man comes to my job.”
“I was ashamed.”
I shut off the tap and gripped the edge of the sink. “Shame is expensive. We can’t afford yours right now.”
He made a small sound.
I turned. “Go to bed.”
“I’m not sleeping.”
“Then lie down and be awake in your bedroom. I need to think.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with this.”
“You’re not in charge of me.”
“No, but I’m your brother.”
“And I’m your sister.” My voice softened, and that almost undid me. “I’m the one who has to stay useful enough to keep you alive.”
“I hate that.”
“So do I.”
He crossed to me and hugged me hard. He was taller than me now, all rigid shoulders and angry breath, but he held on like letting go would make the floor disappear. I stood stiff for half a second, then put my hand against the back of his head.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“I’ll fix it.”
“You’ll start by not lying to me again.”
He nodded against my shoulder.
When he finally pulled away, he studied the marker as if it were a lit match near gasoline.
“I’ll figure something out tomorrow,” he said.
“We both will.”
He wanted to believe me. I watched him choose to.
