Page 14 of Somewhere Without You
I waited, listening for the faint groan of the garage door as it closed behind him.Oncethe sound of his car faded, I took out my phone. Jackson kept track of my calls, but with him gone for the next month,I’ddeal with the fallout later.
“Emily?”My sister’s voice cracked through the phone—soft, wet, and broken.She’dbeen crying. Icouldtell.
“What’s wrong?”I asked, my heart tightening. Images of my niece and nephew flashed through my mind.“Is everything okay?”A quiet sob slipped through the phone.“Kat, you’re scaring me.” Anxietywasrising in my throat. Icouldhearthe distant call of seagulls, the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore. “Where are you? What’s going on?”
Kat cleared her throat, drawing in a shaky breath.“It’s Gran. . .”My chest clenched. Iknewwhatwascoming.“She’s gone.”
Seven
Californiadoesthingstoyou. It gets inside your head. It changes the way you think, what you look like—who you are.
Katherine’s dark brown eyes clashedviolentlyagainst her bottle blonde hair, her fake lashes framing them like some kind of mask.
Ibarelyrecognized her anymore.
I dabbed at my mascara, trying to conceal the marks of Jackson’s rage, but Katherinewasn’tfooled. Shesawright through it.
I guess wewereboth guilty of hiding something.
“So,”she said, her voice slicing through thelowbuzz of the restaurant,“does Jacksonknowyou’re here?”
“Of course,”I lied.
Sometimes, when the light hit themjustright—Katherine’s eyeslookedlike theywereon fire. Theyweresmoldering embers now.
“Bullshit,”she hissed. Her leering gazewasenough to burn a hole through my skull—the way a magnifying glass does to an ant in the sun.
Except Iwasthe ant.
“I thought wewerehere to talk about Gran, not my marriage,” I shot back. I didn’t risk a visit with my sister only to be condemned by her.
“We are,”she countered, studying my face.“Butif you’re going to start off by lying to me, I suggest wegetthe elephant out of the room now.”
Whendid wegethere?
Katherine and Ihadbeen inseparable once—bound by blood, and misfortune.Nowthatbondhadbecomefrayed at the edges,barelyholding us together.
“I don’t have much time,”I said.“Can wejustgeton with it?”
Butbefore Katherinecouldrespond, a young waiter appeared at my side.“Ready to order?”he asked, his gaze shifting between us.
“I’ll have a California burrito, guac on the side, and a Bloody Mary—extra spicy,”Katherine ordered, her eyes locking onto mine. “You should try the carne asada. Iknowhow much you like—”
“—A chef salad for me, and water. Thank you.” I could feel the weight of Katherine’s stare as the waiter took our menus and walked away.
“You love carne asada,”she pressed, like shewastrying to convince me.
“Yeah, well. . .maybeI don’tfeellike it today,”I replied, the words tight.
“You don’tfeellike it today?” she repeated, her brow furrowing.“Justlike you don’tfeellike returning my calls?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I said evenly.
“Are you?”she snapped.“Jesus Christ, Em. You ordered a salad for fuck’s sake.Andnot because youfeltlike it. Jackson’s onto you about your weight again, isn’t he?”
“Jackson only wants what’s best for me,”I said, the defense coming tooeasily.“There’s nothing wrong with having expectations.”
I might as well have slapped her.
