The Shadow Sister, page 7
“Of course,” I say, pulling out my phone with one hand while I pick up Romeo’s leash with the other. “No problem.”
“Ready?”
I hit the record button. “It’s filming.”
Mom opens the door and steps around it to offer Sutton her assistance. Sutton doesn’t seem to struggle with the concept of exiting a car, but she lets Mom take her arm and help her step down. Mom shuts the door behind her before Sutton turns her attention to me. She smiles at me again, just like that first night.
Wide, with teeth.
Her eyes lock on mine, but I don’t hold her gaze. I tighten my grip on Romeo’s leash and gently tug him forward. Anything to take the attention off me. I double-check that I have Sutton in the frame of my camera. I can tell she’s still looking at me through my phone’s viewfinder.
“Honey, look!” Mom encourages her. “It’s your dog, sweetheart. Romeo missed you so much. Do you want to say hi?”
Sutton looks away from me and watches Romeo cautiously approach. He inches toward her. His head dips low to the ground like when he’s broken into the treat jar. He looks up at her, his eyes as determined as her own incessant stare. His mouth parts, but his tongue doesn’t come out in a welcoming lick.
He growls. His whole body vibrates with it. And then—before I can react—he leaps at her, jaws snapping. Noises escape him that I’ve never heard before, vicious barks and guttural throat sounds. He pulls so hard on his leash that the weave snaps.
Mom screams. She grabs Sutton by the shoulders and pulls her back. Mom shields her with her body, shifting her stance as if to defend them both from Romeo. But he stops. He growls, then tries to move around Mom’s feet to get at Sutton. Dad rushes back outside as I catch Romeo by the collar.
“Keep it away from her!” Mom yells at me.
It doesn’t take much for Dad to understand what happened.
“Madison,” he says, resting a hand on Mom’s shoulder. She flinches away. She steps toward the house, Sutton behind her. “Maddie, he’s a dog. He’s confused. She probably smells different. It’s gonna be okay. It’ll be fine.”
Romeo does not seem to agree. He lets out a frustrated huff as he shifts in my arms, eyes still narrowed in Sutton’s direction.
“I don’t want—” Mom starts.
“We’ll keep them apart for now, okay?” Dad says. “You can keep him with you, Casey, right?”
I nod.
“Come on,” he says to Mom. He offers a hand, and she takes it, following him inside with Sutton. I wait a few minutes before going inside myself, but they’re all long gone by the time I step in the entryway. I set Romeo on the tile and detach what’s left of his leash from his collar. His dog tag tangles in the threads. I work to remove it while trying to ignore the inscription:
ROMEO CURETON
SUTTON’S DOG
He follows as I head upstairs. I worry for a second when he stops at Sutton’s door. I can hear Mom and Dad speaking to Sutton on the other side, but he doesn’t linger. He hasn’t let his guard down though. He paces the length of my room when I close my door behind us.
“You don’t buy her act either, huh?”
He huffs again.
I flop on the floor next to him. He toddles over to my armpit before nuzzling at my neck as his anger fades to a whimper. I reassure him with some belly rubs, wishing it were this easy to fix my own problems. We lie there for a while. Romeo’s asleep when someone knocks on my door.
“Come in,” I say from the floor.
Dad cracks open the door, but not enough to let Romeo escape. “Hey, baby girl. Your sister is fine. I’ve talked with your mom, and we think it’s best that you take the lead on Romeo for now. I’m sure he’ll warm up to her in time, but if you could keep him in here and take him on walks, that would be a big help to us. Can you do that?”
It’s not really a request. “He’ll need a new leash. He broke his.”
“I’ll take you to the pet store in the morning. We can go for ice cream after?”
“Just us?” I ask.
“Just us,” he promises.
I nod. He locks the knob from my side of the door before shutting it, as if Romeo could figure out how to open it himself. It’s almost funny. Sutton is the one who is supposed to be kept under a close watch, and yet I’m being banished to my room like a prisoner too. A convicted coconspirator when I had nothing to do with the crime.
Romeo breathes hot air on my chest from where he’s cushioned in the crook of my arm. I move slowly, freeing my phone from my pants without waking him. When I unlock it, it’s still in the camera app. Sutton’s silhouette is in the little square in the corner.
I click it.
The video opens at full volume. I press quickly at the side of my phone to quiet it. The last thing I need is to broadcast my mom’s screaming across the house again. I watch silently, Romeo’s small snores my only soundtrack.
Sutton climbs out of the car in an Oscar-winning display of fragility. Her hospital bracelet is still on her wrist, a glowing white beacon of invincibility. Her smile upon noticing me replays. I fight the urge to fast-forward. I want to see her response to Romeo. I want to see if her charade cracks when he doesn’t react how she expected him to.
But she doesn’t look surprised when he lunges at her. She doesn’t show any emotion at all. Not an ounce of fear or an instinct for self-preservation, no flinch or jump to protect her ankles from the tiny aggressor. She doesn’t even react when Mom screams and manhandles her toward the house, something that surely should have rattled an actual abduction victim.
The only emotion on her face in the entire video comes from that single smile directed at me in the beginning, her empty black eyes staring directly into the lens.
EIGHT
I can’t find Romeo’s car carrier.
I’ve been searching for almost forty minutes, and I’m beginning to truly doubt we ever had one. My phone vibrates in my back pocket again as I push aside old raincoats and rummage on the floor of the supply closet. I ignore it. It could only be one of two people, and Ruth won’t mind if I’m delayed getting back to her. Andrew, on the other hand…
Andrew contacted me again this morning.
You didn’t reply to my last message, my phone accused as soon as I turned off my alarm. I saw on the news that they found her.
He didn’t send anything else, but I don’t know how he expects me to respond. Am I supposed to feel bad for him? I’m struggling to sustain the level of pity I’m obligated to give Sutton as her sister. Her boyfriend is pretty much a stranger to me. Sutton always did her best to avoid having our circles overlap, even if it meant breaking promises and ignoring things our parents asked her to do, like pick me up from school or youth group.
She never wanted him to know me. He was hers. Now I guess he belongs to no one. She hasn’t mentioned him, and I know Mom and Dad are not going to bring him up.
Two days. That’s how long he had her car after she disappeared. She’s barely even been back that long, and he thinks it’s okay to ask me about her?
My pocket vibrates again. I lean back from where I’m crouched in the closet, sitting on the balls of my feet. I pull my phone out.
Andrew: I’m not too poor for a phone with read receipts.
Message clearly received.
I groan. Romeo whines in response from where I’ve locked him in my bedroom. “I’m coming,” I tell him. “I’m done with this.”
When I open the door, he races out as if he’s been trapped for years, but he slows enough to let me pick him up. I press him to my chest as I take the stairs two at a time.
Following Mom’s overly soft voice to the living room, I see photo albums scattered all over the coffee table. Snapshots of young Sutton and me in matching bathing suits at the beach cover the heirloom display Dad worked so hard on, smothering the sepia snapshots of ancestors with bright prints of our first Disney trip and last winter’s Christmas card.
Mom is next to Sutton on the couch without an inch of space between them, yet another album spread across their laps. Dad is on the other side of the room, barely in the living area at all. He’s surrounded by books too.
“What are you doing?” I ask. I’m not sure who I mean to direct the question to, but Dad is the only one who answers.
“I’m working,” he says. He punctuates it with a pointed look at his laptop on the dining table in front of him, like I hadn’t clearly seen him studying Mom and Sutton instead.
At least his books make sense. The ones piled next to his computer aren’t family memorabilia, though they seem pretty old. They’re likely research. Still… “You never work out here,” I remind him. Especially with books this old and fragile. Protecting items like that is pretty much half the reason he set up his own office.
Dad sighs. “It’s part of the normalcy routine.”
Isn’t normalcy supposed to mean acting normal? I hope he doesn’t expect me to earn back my money helping him out here instead of in his office. Seeing Ivy in concert isn’t worth the exposure to Sutton’s carefully choreographed performance.
Romeo shifts in my arms, vibrating a little but not yet growling.
“What is he doing out here?” Mom snaps at me. She turns at a protective angle in front of Sutton. Mom’s hair is in a messy bun this morning, and some loose strands tickle Sutton’s face as she moves. Sutton grimaces, shaking her head free.
She sees me. “Good morning, Casey.”
For the first time, she doesn’t pair her attention with that gross grin, but I still feel more likely to growl than Romeo.
“I thought you told her to keep the dog away from Sutton,” Mom scolds Dad. “We talked about this. I don’t want him upsetting her.”
“I did,” he promises. His shoulders tense, but when his mouth opens, nothing comes out. He looks from me to Sutton. “She doesn’t seem upset to me.”
She doesn’t look like anything. Sutton stares at us as we all watch her, a blank slate. There’s no fear in her eyes. No apprehension. She doesn’t even seem to care about all the attention. It’s a really good act.
“Look, Dad,” I say. “I’m fine watching him. But he’s going to pee in my room if I don’t take him outside, and you promised to drive me to the pet store to get a new leash.”
“Can’t he do his business in the yard?” Mom asks. “Just let him out. Then you can come join us.” She pats the spot next to her. “Wouldn’t you like that, Sutton? For Casey to join us?” She speaks like she’s talking to a toddler, but Sutton perks up anyway.
“The front yard has no fence, and the back has the pool. You remember last summer. His legs are too short to swim properly. He could fall in and drown, Mom.”
She lets out a frustrated huff, like there’s no solution to the issue at hand. But there is. The only problem is that it breaks up the little family charade.
“I can get him a mini fence to keep him safe in the yard if someone takes me to the pet store,” I try.
“Can I come?” Sutton asks.
“What?” Mom’s babying voice drops in shock. I don’t blame her. Sutton hasn’t asked for anything since she got home yesterday. She’s been saving this tactic, I guess. They’ll give her whatever she asks for, and she knows that, but I don’t know why she’d want to go to a pet store of all places.
“Can I come?” she repeats. She looks at Dad while she asks it this time, like she thinks he might give a more useful response.
“What about Romeo?” Mom asks. Romeo barks once at being acknowledged.
“He doesn’t have to come,” Dad says. “You could stay home with him while I drive the girls—” He backtracks. “Or I could. I’ll stay here.” He pushes his chair back and stands, opening his arms for Romeo.
I squeeze him tighter instead. “You don’t need to come,” I say to both Mom and Sutton. “I’m fine going alone with Dad. It’s probably easier that way.”
“Nonsense,” Mom says. She’s already getting up. She sets the album from her lap with the others on the coffee table and offers Sutton a hand, which she ignores. Mom tries to shake off the rejection as if she had been looking for her bag instead. “It’ll be good to get out. Don’t you think so, honey?” She’s not talking to me, but Sutton doesn’t respond. She doesn’t move from the couch.
“I can go?” she confirms one last time, looking at me.
She’s going to make me the villain again. There’s no way for me to say no. This is what she really wants. To remind them that she’s broken and fragile and should be given every ounce of attention. That I’m the true screwup. I’m the one who can destroy everything our parents are trying to repair. By refusing her. By not playing this game. She smiles at me again, a small one, almost a smirk.
“You can come,” I say.
I hand Romeo off to Dad while Mom sets about getting herself and Sutton ready. I don’t wait for them. I grab Mom’s car keys from the hook in the entry as I slip out the door, pressing twice on the button to unlock all the doors. I want to sit in the passenger seat, but that’s always been Sutton’s favorite spot. I’m not up for another fight I’m not allowed to win, so I get in the back seat.
I pull out my phone while I wait for them. Andrew contacted me again, but Ruth wants to know if we’ll be coming to church this Sunday. Everyone will understand if she’s not ready, she promises. We’re just happy for you.
It’s up to Sutton, I reply. Everything is now. But Sutton has always hated Heights Above Church. She’s normally on board with the socializing and networking Mom needs for work and Dad tolerates—she loves the golf club—but even before, she’d find excuses to avoid going to church. She’ll surely use her newfound power to get out of it. Probably not this week.
Ruth: Totally fine. I’ll tell them.
Me: Thanks. Is your Dad back yet?
Ruth’s typing bubble pops in and out on the screen, but Mom and Sutton approach the car. Sutton’s curls are pulled back in a low-effort ponytail that looks like Mom’s handiwork. Sutton picks at it as she trails behind her.
“Do you have the keys?” Mom asks as she gets in the driver’s seat. I hand them to her. We both wait for Sutton to get in across from her, but when a door opens, it’s the one across from me instead.
Mom twists to get a better look at her. “Honey, you don’t have to sit back there like yesterday. You can sit up front with me if you’d like.”
“I’m fine back here,” she says.
Mom parts her lips again, clearly trying to figure out another tactic. Before she can find a convincing argument, I open the front passenger door.
“If she doesn’t want the front seat, I’ll take it.” I’m already buckling in before I finish my sentence. “You know,” I say as Mom pulls out of the driveway, “if I had my own car, I could’ve done this by myself. I could be driving.”
“You have your learner’s permit,” Mom says. “That doesn’t mean you’re allowed to drive alone. It means the exact opposite, actually.”
I look back at Sutton, instinct bracing my ears for a snarky comment, but she’s not paying attention to me. She rests her head on the window, watching the evergreens blur by. She’s humming under her breath, but it’s too faint to recognize, and I don’t plan on asking.
“You got Sutton a car when she had her permit,” I remind Mom. A car that is still absent from our driveway, the police still searching it for information Sutton can’t—or won’t—share.
Her thin lips twist into a frown. I scrunch my own full lips (thanks, Dad) in response. She lets my point hang in the air for several blocks, scored by Sutton’s continued humming from the back seat. Mom sneaks a peek at her in the rearview mirror before addressing me again. “Sutton had cheer practice and extracurricular activities to go to,” she says. “All your friends are online—” I start to argue, but she catches herself. “Except Ruth. You don’t need a car right now.”
“Well, neither does Sutton,” I snap, unable to stop myself. Mom brakes at the red light a little too harshly, jolting all three of us. She glares at me. Sutton’s back to watching me too. I’m already in trouble, so I continue, “It’s not like she’s going anywhere now, is she?”
“We’re going to the store,” Sutton says.
Mom chuckles. “We are,” she agrees. Her eyes sparkle with joy at Sutton involving herself, uninvited, into the conversation. Mom tries to make eye contact with her in the mirror again. “Is there anywhere else you want to go?”
But Sutton has checked out again. She’s back to staring out the window and humming that unknown song.
“What are you singing?” I ask her. If she can interrupt for no reason, I can too.
“What?” she asks, all faux innocence.
“What are you singing?” I repeat. “Or humming or whatever.”
“I wasn’t,” she says. Even Mom wrinkles her brows because it’s a lie. She’s been humming the entire drive. She was clearly repeating a melody.
Silence overtakes the rest of the journey to the Willow Town Center. I’m out of the car before Mom has fully parked. She calls out a plea for me to slow down that I pretend not to hear, but it doesn’t take either of them long to catch up with me inside.
The pet shop has a distinct odor I can almost taste, an aroma that is somehow wet and tartly earthy. I head for a display of live mealworms and crickets that’s by the pet feed aisle. Sutton makes a move to join me, but when she catches sight of the squirming bugs, she stops.
I bite back a smirk.
I guess even serious trauma can’t override an irrational fear of bugs. Some things never change.
Mom loops her arm through Sutton’s and forces her toward me anyway. Sutton’s complexion goes ashy and gray with each step.
“All right,” Mom says as they approach. “What do we need?” She lets go of Sutton’s arm to flag down an employee, beckoning some poor teenager toward us. Relief washes over Sutton’s face as she takes in her small freedom.
