Wren had just finished rinsing her dinner plate when someone pounded on her apartment door hard enough to rattle the frame. She glanced at the clock and saw it was just after eight p.m.
Only one person knocked like the building was on fire.
Wren opened the door to find Lark standing there in faded jeans with rips in the knees, a Lightning in a Bottle polo, and giant sunglasses shoved into her messy blonde bun. Her sister looked exhausted.
“You look terrible,” Wren said.
Lark groaned as she walked inside. “Thank you. That’s exactly what I needed to hear after driving four hours, then immediately working an eight-hour shift.”
“I thought you were coming back from Pittsburgh yesterday.”
“I was supposed to.” Lark dropped dramatically to the couch, kicking her feet up on Wren’s coffee table. “But Aunt Judi talked me into staying another night because she wanted to take me to this new speakeasy she found.”
“Of course she did.” Despite the fact they were identical twins, Wren still sometimes wondered if there was any way Aunt Judi was really Lark’s mother, as their godmother’s adventurous, up-for-anything nature matched her sister’s perfectly.
Because while staying out late drinking at a speakeasy might sound like fun, the piper would be paid the next day.
“And then this morning…” Lark winced. “I overslept.”
Wren scowled. If everything she’d gone through this weekend was for naught and her sister got in trouble for being late, she would legit lose her shit. And that wasn’t something Wren did often.
“By how much?” Wren asked.
“Just a little.”
“How much, Lark?”
Lark shrugged. “Ten, fifteen minutes, tops.”
Wren crossed her arms.
“Don’t give me that look,” Lark said.
“What look is that?” she asked.
“The mom one that says you’re disappointed in me,” Lark replied.
Wren ignored that complaint. “Did Nora notice you were late?”
“Yeah. But she didn’t say anything.” Lark slouched lower on the couch cushions. “I’m going to be better, I swear.”
Yeah, Wren thought. Famous last words of a fool and ones she’d heard a million times before.
Wren disappeared into the kitchen, grabbing the planner she bought online for her sister after hearing she’d lost the last one, along with a couple of cans of soda, then returned. She popped open the drinks after dropping the planner into Lark’s lap.
Then Wren opened the drawer on the end table and pulled out the pen she used to do crossword puzzles and sudoku. Her sister gave her endless shit, claiming only eighty-year-old grannies still played games in print rather than online. Not that it mattered to Wren if that was true. She was a librarian, for God’s sake. The printed word was her bread and butter. Give her a paperback over an eBook any day of the week.
Wren sat down beside Lark. They’d filled out a planner like this over the Christmas holidays, and for a while, it seemed to work. For several months, Lark was better about being on time, remaining organized, focused.
“Open your phone and pull up your work schedule,” Wren demanded.
Lark did so without argument. She always did, which was why Wren continued to help her. Because her sister genuinely and sincerely wanted to do better.
For the twenty minutes, Lark called out her daily work schedule and hours as Wren wrote them in the planner. She’d chosen this planner because each page covered one day with a breakdown by hours. Wren had learned over the years that Lark did better with less information on a page. She’d tried monthly and weekly charts before, but Lark had been less successful, overwhelmed by so much information.
After they filled in the planner, they took a few more minutes and set alarms for each day, complete with reminders so that, hopefully, Lark wouldn’t continue to oversleep. They even set three backups in ten-minute increments, in case Lark hit the snooze. Which she frequently did.
“Set the alarm clock by your bed tonight too,” Wren said.
