When she got home, Julia did not tell Candace where she’d been. She needed time to think before she broke the news. One thing Jamie Aldeen had told her was that she had to demonstrate that she was capable of adultlike duties. That meant all kinds of domestic things like laundry, helping Pippa, and cooking. Which was how she found herself in the kitchen rummaging through the fridge to make dinner for herself and Pippa (it was just the two of them after all). There were a few basic dishes she could make if pressed. Tacos, spaghetti, and mac and cheese. So she was a little intimated by the slimy raw chicken breasts when she pulled the package out of the refrigerator. But she recalled her mother having dipped them in some kind of egg mixture and then dredging them in breadcrumbs before popping them in the oven to bake. That was a start; the rest was what the Internet was for.
An hour and a good deal of mess later, the oven timer went off. By then Pippa had wandered downstairs and Julia put her to work. “Here, Pips. You can help make salad.”
When they were done, the meal was good, if not great. The chicken breasts were a little overcooked and dry (ketchup!). And the salad was quite soggy (neither had remembered the spinner, but at least it was clean). Despite having made the salad, Pippa didn’t want any of it. Julia was at least able to get her to nibble some carrot sticks. The chicken she cut into small bites. “It’s good,” Pippa said, spearing one with her fork and popping it in her mouth. Thekitchen island was a mess of raw egg and breadcrumbs, the sink full of pans and bowls. But when Pippa ate that first bite, Julia thought she might cry with relief. Being a parent was a lot of work.
Candace had made her way downstairs at that point. “What’s this?” she asked, looking around.
“Dinner!” Pippa said, smiling. “Jules made it.” Julia said nothing.
“I can see that.” Candace picked up the raw chicken container, scowling. “Why didn’t anyone come get me?”
Julia shoved a forkful of chicken in her mouth and kept her gaze trained across the table on her little sister. She handed her a napkin. “Here, Pips. Wipe the ketchup off your chin.”
Behind her, Candace picked up a pan and set it down. “Julia? Is there any left?”
Pippa looked at her big sister curiously, but Julia just shook her head in silence. She’d make up a reason later. But she was not dignifying her aunt’s questions, her comments, or her very presence. Dead. Dead. Dead.
“I see,” Candace said. “So this is how it’s going to be.”
“You can have some of mine!” Pippa offered.
Julia shot her a look.
“No, thank you, dear. I will make my own supper. And clean up my own mess,” she added.
Julia snorted. That was fine with her. She had every intention of cleaning up the mess from her cooking. It washerkitchen. Ignoring her aunt, Julia collected the plates and brought them to the sink. “C’mere, Pips. I’m going to wash the dishes. You can dry.”
They worked side by side, and even though Pippa didn’t do the greatest job drying, Julia put everything away in the cupboards. “All clean!” she announced to no one in particular. “Let’s go for a walk outside.” By then Candace was sitting alone at the table with a tiny sandwich. She’d turned the chandelier on and was reading the local paper. Julia wiped down the island, left the sandwich makingsright where her aunt had left them, and hung the wet dish towel on the oven handle. On her way out, she flicked off the chandelier light.
Outside, the early-evening air was still hot. Pippa shaded her eyes, scanning the yard. “What’re we going to do?”
“Let’s get your bike out. It’s time you practice without your training wheels.”
“Nah,” Pippa said, plopping down on the front step. “Don’t wanna.”
“You mean, ‘I don’t want to,’?” Julia corrected. Attitudes aside, she wasn’t about to let Pippa regress to full-on baby talk.
“I hate that bike.”
Julia put her hands on her hips, and it occurred to her that was the exact stance her mother used to take when she was fed up. “Pippa, you’re almost seven. All your friends ride without training wheels, and there’s no reason you can’t, too. I’ll help you!”
Pippa wagged her head back and forth in the negative.
Julia reached down for her hand and pulled her up from the step. “Come on. We’re at least going to try.”
“We’re moving to London,” Pippa grumbled. “They have big red buses there. Aunt Candace said so. I’ll take a bus.”
“We are not moving,” Julia told her. “So you’d better learn to ride this bike, because there aren’t any buses around here.”
If Candace got her way, Julia was pretty sure Pippa’s pink sparkly two-wheeler wasn’t going overseas on a plane with them. But it was the last gift Pippa had gotten for her birthday from her parents. And teaching Pippa to ride it had been something their mom had said she was looking forward to that summer. Julia recalled the excited look on her mother’s pretty face: “Just think, Pips! We can bring your bike to Cape Cod. The whole family can ride the Rail Trail, and you can lead the way.”
Julia had so little control over anything now. For some reason,that made it suddenly very important that her mom’s wish for Pippa come true. She went to the garage, punched in the code, and waited as the door rose. There, in the corner, was Pippa’s bike. The training wheels were on the shelf above it. Right where her mom had left them the day she took them off. Julia swallowed hard and wheeled the bike out into the sun.
“Not riding that thing,” Pippa said, picking at a stray dandelion in the grass.
“Come on,” Julia said impatiently. “It’s hot out here.”
As they were standing at the top of the driveway arguing, Julia heard the sound of a vehicle coming up. Wendell’s truck pulled into the lower barn.Raddy’s barn,she thought angrily. A plume of fresh resentment rose within her. She’d been in that barn only once since the day Candace stole him. Standing in Raddy’s empty stall, his hay still half-eaten in his bucket, she’d spilled angry tears and vowed that she would not leave with that woman if it were the last thing she did. At that point, they could put her in the foster system before she’d get on a plane.
