Chapter 15
For the first time, I saw that Lauren had grown up inside another kind of cage.
Hers had softer bars, cushions on the floor, a lamp in the corner.
Still a cage.
She’d simply never learned where the door was.
“I know about the down payment,” she said. “Mom told me. The ninety thousand dollars. I pretended for two years it came from Trevor’s savings, because I couldn’t stand to admit that my little sister had paid for my house and I never even said thank you.” She let out a hollow laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you to you for anything.”
“You don’t have to say it now.”
“I do. I really do.” She lifted her chin. “Thank you, Miranda. For the house. For everything. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The words remained between us, fragile but genuine.
“I’m not here for the will,” she said quickly. “I want you to know that. I don’t want anything. I told Trevor to call off the lawyer, and he did, though he wasn’t happy about it. I told him if he wanted to fight my sister for money, he’d have to fight me first.” Her mouth twisted into a small, watery smile. “He’s picking up shifts at his cousin’s hardware store, by the way. He came home last night with sawdust in his hair. I nearly fainted.”
I laughed.
So did Lauren.
For one minute, we were simply sisters crying and giggling over the idea of Trevor carrying anything heavier than a remote.
When the laughter faded, I took her hand.
“I’m not going to change the will,” I said gently. “I want to be honest with you about that.”
“I know. I’m not asking.”
“It isn’t a punishment. It’s just that I need our relationship to stand on something that isn’t money. I can’t tell if you love me when you might inherit. I need to find out who we are without that.”
“That’s fair,” Lauren whispered. “That’s really fair.”
“But I’d like to try,” I said. “If you would. Not because you feel guilty. Because you want a sister. I’d like to learn what that looks like with you, even if we’re both terrible at it.”
She squeezed my fingers hard.
“I’m going to be terrible at it,” she said. “But I’ll pick up. I promise you, Miranda. Whatever else happens, I will pick up the phone.”
I believed her.
Not because she cried.
Not because she apologized.
Because she’d arrived alone on a gray Saturday with nothing to gain and rang my doorbell.
It was the first thing she’d ever done solely for me without being asked.
