Page 24 of Liam

“I guess, yeah.”

“Like she?” she asks, looking over her shoulder at Adelaide.

“Shehas a name,” I tell Katie. “And it’s Adelaide.”

“She” speaks up for the first time since we left the studio. “But my friends call me Addie.”

It’s instant—the tightening in my chest at hearing those words. The first day of kindergarten, our teacher had us stand in front of the class and reveal three random facts about ourselves. If I had a gun held to my head, I couldn’t tell you a single word I said, but I remember every one of Adelaide’s.“My brother’s name is Roman, and he’s the best. I like baseball. My favorite color is the same as my favorite fruit—orange.”

“And your name?” the teacher had asked.

“My name is Adelaide, but myfriendscall me Addie.”

She hasn’t been Addie to me for a while now. Not since I becameTwincestto her.

“Addie,” Katie whispers, then looks up at me. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“You have work to do?”

“I do, but I enjoy spending time with you more.”

“Other Uncle Twinny like to work more?”

“Not at all,” I say, shaking my head. It’s an outright lie, but who’s going to tell her? Not me. “He just has work he has to doright now, and I can do mine later.”

“And Addie?” she asks.

I glance back at Adelaide, who’s walking with her head down. “I don’t know what she’s doing.”

When we get to the dock, I find Katie’s fishing rod from the pile in the old wooden storage box and begin setting it up for her. Adelaide stands around, seemingly unsure of what to do. Once I’m done, I hand the rod to Katie, who takes it from me, then points to the boat.

“You want to fish on the boat?”

Katie looks up, big blue eyes and a smile to match, and she nods enthusiastically. “Addie, too.”

I suppress my groan. It’s one thing to have Adelaide this close when we’re out in the open and I can hint at her to leave, but on the boat… there’s no escaping. Add that to the fact that the boat is small, only twelve feet long, with two narrow bench seats, and… maybe that can be Adelaide’s out. I’m about to say as much, but then I catch Katie looking up at me, her dark lashes fanning her cheeks every time she blinks, and I sigh. Out loud.

At home, the wall next to the staircase displays pictures of all us kids, every year, in order. They stop once we turn eighteen. Being the oldest, my sister’s photos are at the top. Mine are third from the bottom. The point is, if you look at the third picture of Lucy, you could easily mistake it for Katie now. Same brown hair, same blue eyes, same light smattering of freckles that cross her nose from one cheek to the other.

Lucy once showed me a picture of our mom at the same age, and I swear, you can barely tell all three of them apart. I guess it’s kind of fitting that they named Katie after her.

For some reason, I’ve been thinking about my mom a lot lately. I wonder what she’d think of me. Is the life I’m living what she had planned? I highly doubt it.

“Uncle Twinny?” Katie coos, pulling me from my thoughts. She’s still batting her eyelashes, knowing damn well it’s a surefire way to get anyone to fold.

Internally, I groan. Externally, I say, “Your mama teaches you those eyes, doesn’t she?”

She shrugs, reaching into the box and pulling out her life vest.

Within minutes, all three of us are on the boat, a good hundred yards from where we started. Katie’s still barefoot, fishing line in the water as she yaps about anything and everything. Adelaide sits beside her, listening intently to every word and asking questions when appropriate. She’s in a plain white tank today, gym shorts, and her braid’s off to one side—a pale yellow ribbon weaved through the strands. I grab the sunscreen from my backpack and hold it out between us. “Here.”

She looks at the sunscreen, then up at me.

“Your shoulders,” is all I say. They’re already turning red from being directly under the sun, so is the tip of her nose, and she should’ve really prepared better—not that she had much of a chance. As soon as she’s taken the sunscreen from me, I remove my hat, place it on her head, and turn swiftly, not waiting for a response.

“Liam,” she deadpans.

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