Don't Fail Me Now(71)

“It’s probably for the best,” I say.

“Not for me.” Her brows knit together, pain flashing in her eyes. “I’m jealous you knew him. I don’t want to be, but I am. It’s always been like he’s your dad, not mine.”

“He’s just as much yours . . .” I say, trailing off, the modifier unfortunately dangling on my lips. I’m not sure where Cass is going with this, and I don’t want to say the wrong thing. She’s opening up more now than she has in years.

“But I got used to it with you,” she says. “And it was just our ages, it wasn’t like he chose you.” Her eyes well up, and she covers them with her fists. And then I realize what she means.

“Leah,” I say.

“He was already cheating,” Cass says, choking out the words, gasping for breath in between. “He could have just kept doing that. She was already born. It wasn’t until me that he left.”

“No,” I say, putting a hand on her back. I’m tentative at first, bracing for her to shrug me off, but the resistance never comes. I fold her into my arms like when we were young and she would hop into my lap for stories. “It wasn’t you,” I murmur into her cheek.

“Then what?”

“He’s just a piece of shit, Cass. I wish there was a reason that would make it make sense, but there isn’t. He’s the reason. He makes bad decisions and hurts people. That’s why we don’t have a dad. Not because of you. And not because of Leah.”

Slowly, my sister’s sobs get quieter, punctuated by loud sniffing and nose wiping.

“The worst part,” Cass finally says, “is I kind of like her.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Me too.” The whine of an airplane fills the sky overhead. If the Harpers come through on their promise, we’ll be on one in a matter of days. Our first time flying. I haven’t even had a chance to wonder if it scares me. Life on the ground has been scary enough.

We sit side by side looking out at the cars for a while, and then Cass lifts up the bottom of her sweatshirt. “It’s time,” she says. “Will you do it?”

I unzip the black case and take out the bottle of cloudy medicine, rolling it between my palms. “It’s been forever,” I say. I tear open an alcohol wipe and clean my fingers, then use it to swab Cass’s side—what would be a love handle if she had any fat on her.

“I liked when you did it,” she says. “You’d do the funny voices and everything.”

I take the cap off a needle and pull back the plunger to fill it with air to the right dosage line. It’s true, I used to make the needles talk, pretending they just wanted to give Cass a kiss, unaware of their own sharpness. It made her laugh, at least until the actual puncture.

“So, is it true about you and Tim?” she asks as I insert the needle into the bottle and turn it upside down. I give her a look. “Denny told me,” she says. “He said you were hugging a lot.”

“I don’t know if there is a me and Tim,” I sigh, filling up the syringe. “It’s weird. He’s my half sister’s brother.”

“Stepbrother.”

“Still, it’s not exactly a story I’d want to tell my grandkids.”

She doesn’t even wince at the injection. “I think he’s nice,” she says, with the needle still in. “He sat with me awhile the other day. He taught me how to harmonize.”

As I pull it out she starts to sing, “Michelle, ma belle . . .”

“Shut up,” I laugh.

“Nah, but seriously, he’s crushing hard.”

“Whatever.”

I’m putting everything back in the kit as Leah rounds the bend in the highway, my two-sizes-too-big jeans hanging low on her hips.

“Hey,” she calls, stepping gingerly over the guardrail. “Tim just wanted me to tell you that he found a bus we can take the rest of the way—oh, sorry!” Her face gets weird, and I realize I’m still holding the needle.

“It’s over, don’t worry,” I say. “We’re just doing some sisterly bonding.”

“Well, just come back to the car when you’re done then,” Leah says with an embarrassed wave.

“You can stay,” Cass mutters.

Leah freezes in place for a few seconds like she’s not sure whether to call the bluff, if it even is one. But then she swallows a smile and sits down across from us, self-consciously tucking her hair behind her ears.

“So, the bus leaves tonight,” she says. “The station’s just a mile from here, according to Google Maps, so we can hitch or even walk. We would get to LA first thing in the morning . . . if you want to keep going.”

If we want to keep going. It’s weird to hear it like that. So far it hasn’t felt like a choice.

“I know you’re only here because of me,” Leah continues. “I mean, because I got that call from Dad.” Cass and I exchange a look—Dad. It’s such a foreign word to associate with him. A father is biological; a dad is something else entirely. “And even though part of me wants to see him before he’s gone, I won’t do it if it’ll hurt you,” Leah says. “Either of you.” I look over at Cass, asking her for permission this time.

“He told you we moved away, right?” she asks Leah, who nods, wincing slightly at the memory. “Then I know it’s petty, but I kind of want him to see us together. To know he couldn’t keep us apart.”