I told Andrew.
Andrew pushed the lower rack in.
“I’ll stay out of it.”
“Why?”
“She’s your sister.”
At the time, that sounded reasonable.
Three days later, I understood why it wasn’t.
“She’s your sister.”
***
Sunday morning, I was buttering toast when I heard Kayla coming downstairs.
Andrew sat at the table with his coffee.
She appeared in the doorway.
Same towel.
Same bare feet.
Same complete refusal to care that I’d asked her to stop.
She appeared in the doorway.
I put down the knife.
“Kayla…”
Andrew touched my wrist.
