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As Gran left the porch, sniffing, Juliet sighed and dropped her head into her hands. A little knot formed in my stomach as I realized now I was somehow responsible not just for keeping Gran happy and sedate, but I also had to worry about my sister disapproving of the way I did it.
I rose and followed Gran into the kitchen. I purposely didn’t look back at Ryan, and I didn’t return to the table after I’d set Gran up with her drink. Instead, I went upstairs to read, and was in bed nice and early.
* * *
I wokeup the next morning early and dressed quickly. I wanted to get a workout in before any magazine crew craziness got rolling, and I thought a decent sweat session might clear my head, which was still muddled with movie star almost-kissing, intimate baking, chickens with mad bodyguard crushes and Juliet’s weird moping. It was too much to worry about, so for now I was going to focus on getting my heart rate up and banishing some worries with sweat. I’d left the watersports shop to the employees to run for the rest of the weekend, and felt free and light, despite all the chaos and strangeness in the house.
I padded down the stairs to the basement, switching on the lights and ignoring the boxes stacked against the unfinished walls on the side beneath the stairs. That was storage, which was what this space was probably intended for. Most houses around here had basements, but the ones built as early as ours didn’t usually have the high-ceilinged, finished affairs that newer houses did. The ceiling down here was high enough to hang a heavy bag and a speed bag, but only because I wasn’t a tall girl. They would have been comically low for anyone over five-four.
I moved to the center of the floor, where I’d installed some pads, and jogged in place for a few minutes before beginning to jump. I mimed jumping rope—something the ceiling was too low to actually do—and watched the clock. When I’d been moving for five minutes solid, the sweat beading at my brow and my breath coming fast, I took a few minutes to stretch out, moving the whole time. When I felt loose enough, I got to work, going through the same series of punches and kicks I’d been doing forever, moves I’d learned from my dad, who’d once been a Golden Gloves champion.
He’d taught me to box when I was a tiny kid, as a way to feel powerful in a school system where being a scrawny mousy-haired girl didn’t always allow you to feel that way. Juliet had gotten along fine—being beautiful from age one would do that for you. But I’d always been a little different. And while I’d never minded not fitting in with all the other kids, it seemed to bother them a lot that I didn’t care. And I’d needed to learn how to make them leave me alone. Maybe words would have worked better, but Dad knew how to use his fists to convince people of things, and that’s what he’d taught me, perhaps against my mother’s wishes.
But that’s how it was, I guess. Juliet was Mom’s. I was Dad’s daughter.
I punched, kicked and jabbed until my lungs were screaming and my muscles were weak, and then I cooled down, throwing myself onto the mat once I’d finished stretching. The best thing about working hard enough to physically need the rest was that it stilled my mind and I was thinking about absolutely nothing.
“You’re still beating the shit out of these bags, huh?” Juliet asked, stepping down into the musty space and looking over at me.
Despite all the weirdness, it was still nice to see my sister.
“Keeps me in shape,” I panted. “Gets my mind to still a bit.”
She nodded. “Dad would be happy. Maybe I could use that,” she said. She reached out a dainty fist and hit the speed bag, watching it recoil and bounce a bit. Something in the action, and so much in her voice felt sad and lost.
“You doing okay?” I asked her.
She shrugged and punched the heavy bag with her other hand. “Ouch. Shit!” She stared at her knuckles.
“You need to wrap your hands if you’re going to hit that hard,” I told her, pulling myself to my feet. I switched off my Bluetooth speaker and picked up my water bottle, turning to head back upstairs with my sister, but she stood still. She was staring into the middle distance, unseeing. “Hey, you,” I said, bumping shoulders with her. “You sure you’re okay?”
A smile flickered over her face and she turned to look at me. “I’m great, Tess. Really.” it was the least convincing acting she’d ever done.
“Ryan seems nice.” I couldn’t help it. There was a strange excitement in even getting to speak his name, and it didn’t seem to matter that I’d told myself I wasn’t going to talk about him, think about him today.
I knew it was impossible. He was here. He was gorgeous and kind. And I was no better off than I’d been before my workout, as if speaking his name brought every misplaced feeling I had for him racing right back in.
I tried not to think too hard about the things my sister got to do with him. About whether they’d done any of those things last night after I’d gone to bed, and replayed our single near-kiss over and over in my mind like a lovesick child.
“He’s a good guy.” The words were right, and she sounded like she meant them, but I’d somehow expected something more. More passion, maybe. More enthusiasm. I knew I’d have a hard time not gushing if Ryan McDonnell was my boyfriend.
“You’ve just been seeing each other a couple weeks? I mean, you weren’t seeing him before … you know …?”
She shook her head as we started up the stairs. “No. I would have been faithful forever. Even though things …” Her voice cracked a bit on the word forever. “Things had gotten harder,” she said, and it was as if she’d admitted to killing a kitten. She sounded so guilty, like she blamed herself for failing at marriage.
“Jul,” I said, reaching up to pat her back ahead of me. “I’m so sorry.”
She turned and gave me an appraising look, and then sighed. “There’s so much I want to tell you.”
“So tell me.” I wasn’t used to Juliet being cryptic, but it had been a while since we’d seen one another. Time and space had driven us apart.
“I can’t,” she said simply, stepping out into the hallway next to the kitchen. “The magazine people are here.” She pointed to the front parlor, where I could see people moving past the open doorway and hear unfamiliar voices. One of the hulking security guards stood next to the door and he grinned at Juliet when he saw us standing there. Those guys were creepily everywhere, and managed to stay silent, even though they were huge. I guessed that was their job. I peered around him at the bustle in the room.
“Crap, they’re really early,” I said, keeping my voice low. It wasn’t even nine A.M.
“It’s good. Maybe we’ll be done early,” she said.
“I need to shower. I wanted to be ready. I had a plan.” A small panic rose in me. I’d wanted to be prepared for them to arrive, to greet them and offer coffee and tea, to seem worldly and put-together. But they were an hour earlier than I’d expected them, and I was drenched in sweat.
