Page 29 of My Twin Sister

One thing I’ve missed for certain is running in Raven. The routes through town are perfect. I love the hilly landscape and the nearby wooded beach trails. The changes in elevation and scenery make it so I don’t get bored. The views are unbeatable.

In Bloomington, I preferred to run in parks. The traffic and crowds of people made it difficult to run on the streets. But I missed being able to put on my shoes and just start running right outside my door. I love the sting in my lungs from the cold, crisp air. There’s nothing like this.

As I run, I make plans for my evening. I’ll spend the afternoon with my sister, but arrange for a nice family night for her, Wyatt, and the kids. Make it seem like a gesture. Then, I’ll head out.

There’s a bar in town where the younger members of the PD like to hang out. They get cheaper drinks, and it’s one of the only places in Raven that stays open later than midnight. For a normal person, that’s a bit too late to be drinking on a weeknight. But for cops whose shifts are all over the place, it’s perfect. And it’s where I’ll be tonight.

I have a lot to figure out and a lot to do, and all of it seems to center around Raven PD. Brooke thinks Morgan’s death wasn’t investigated the way it should have been. I want to know what’s happening with my father’s investigation. And I also want to know about my own death investigation.

Frank Gibbs “identified” my body. Who is inside my coffin and what’s being done about it? I knew Raven had a darker side to it. How could I not? But there’s a lot I don’t know and maybe more players than I originally thought.

When I get back from my run I feel a little clearer. I put on a fresh application of deodorant and throw my hair into a messy bun on top my head. I’ll shower again later before I go out. For now, it’s time to do something weirdly ordinary with my twin sister.

I drive, and she’s quiet in the passenger seat. I don’t know how to get past this sticky spot between us. Not without telling her things I can’t tell her. Not yet. But I’m desperate to connect with her. To feel like I used to. Like she’s the other half of me and not just a stranger I share memories with.

I grab my phone in my right hand and scroll through my playlists while trying to keep my eyes on the road.

“What are you doing? Don’t text and drive,” Geny says.

“I’m not texting.”

I can practically hear her eyes roll. “That’s just a catch-all phrase. Don’t mess with your phone while you’re driving.”

“Why don’t they just say that then?” I grin, knowing I’m annoying her.

“Grace.”

I find what I’m looking for and put the phone down. “All right, all right. I’m done.”

Music starts to play. It takes a second, but when I glance over, Geny is smiling.

“I haven’t heard this song in forever,” she says.

It’s a pop song that was popular the summer before the one that changed everything. 2008. We were going into our senior year of high school. Life was good that summer. Geny and I were close, Wyatt and I were in a good place, and I was finally starting to come out of the fog after losing Morgan sophomore year.

The whole playlist is made of the popular songs of that summer. Geny played them in our room on repeat and drove me crazy. Without knowing us, you’d think I’d be the one more into radio pop. But Geny was the Katy Perry and Lil Wayne fan. I liked music that screamed at me. It was good running music.

I sing along to the lyrics I learned against my will so many years ago. Geny joins in and, for a brief moment, I get exactly what I was wanting. Just a few minutes of normalcy like we had in the past. Music is good for that. A certain song can take you back to a time and a feeling you thought you’d forgotten.

We get to the grocery store faster than I wanted to. This damned small town. As we walk inside, the tension between us has eased. Things feel just a little lighter, and it’s enough for me.

I push the cart toward the pop aisle. “Literally nothing in here has changed.”

“Patty doesn’t like change.”

I nod. Patty is the owner. One of the chain grocers tried to buy her out a long time ago. Whatever she said to them, no one has tried again in decades. I maneuver the store by memory, throwing my favorite snacks into the cart before loading up on the healthier things most of my diet consists of.

“These things are strictly yours,” Geny says. “You don’t need to buy us groceries.”

“I know I don’t need to. It’s just the courteous thing to do, Gen. Let me be courteous.”

She sighs. “Can you not be difficult for once in your entire life?”

“Nope.”

She laughs.

We make our way to the checkout, and Geny helps me load my things onto the conveyor belt. The cashier smiles politely as she scans our items, but she keeps looking up at us, and it starts to feel uncomfortable.