The Bad Daughter(18)

She crossed the hall and entered the bathroom. “I do look like crap,” she said to her reflection in the mirror over the sink. She tugged at her hair, trying to force its curls into some semblance of order, then gave up, washing her hands and splashing warm water on her face, before tugging on her hair again. “Much better,” she muttered without conviction as she left the room.

The door to Landon’s bedroom was closed, and she approached it cautiously. Inside she could hear his rhythmic rocking. “Landon,” she said, knocking gently on the door. The rocking stopped. “Supper’s ready.”

She waited for some form of acknowledgment, but there was nothing.

“Robin! Landon!” Melanie called up the stairs. “Dinner’s on the table.”

Robin waited outside Landon’s door for several more seconds. Only after the rocking resumed did she give up and go downstairs.





CHAPTER SEVEN


Melanie was already eating when Robin entered the kitchen.

“Sorry I’m late,” Robin said, pulling up the chair across from her sister at the square wooden table and sitting down.

“That’s Landon’s seat,” Melanie said.

Robin promptly moved to another chair, so that she and her sister were sitting at right angles to each other. Within striking distance, she thought, recalling the time Melanie had reached over to spear the back of her hand with a fork when they were children. Instinctively she brought her hands into her lap.

“Something wrong?” Melanie asked.

“No.” She looked at the large bowl of chili in the middle of the table. “Smells delicious.”

“Help yourself. We don’t stand on ceremony around here.”

Robin spooned a small helping of chili onto her plate.

“That’s all you eat? No wonder you’re nothing but skin and bones.”

“I’ll probably take seconds.”

Melanie shrugged. “There’s bread in the breadbox, if you want any. I didn’t bother with a salad. Landon never eats salads, so I’ve pretty much stopped making them.”

“No worries.”

“Who said I was worried? God, I hate that expression.”

Robin felt her stomach twist into a large knot. She raised a forkful of chili to her mouth, praying she wouldn’t gag. “It’s really good,” she said after she’d successfully swallowed one forkful and was about to attempt another.

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m not. I wasn’t…” Let it go. “Melanie, do you think we could…?” She stopped. What’s the use?

“Do I think we could…what?” Melanie asked. “You don’t want to talk again, do you?”

Robin put down her fork. “I was just hoping we could…”

“What? For God’s sake, Robin, just spit it out.”

“…be a little nicer to each other,” Robin said. “I mean, we haven’t seen each other in a long time. Maybe we could stop with all the barbs and snide remarks.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d made any.”

“I haven’t.”

Melanie nodded knowingly. “So this isn’t about us at all. It’s about me, what I do wrong.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong. I’m just asking you to lighten up a bit.”

“Tara’s dead; our father probably won’t make it through the night; it’ll be a miracle if Cassidy survives; whoever did it is still out there; the sheriff thinks Landon is guilty and that I’m lying to protect him. And you want me to ‘lighten up’?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s what you said. What is it you want exactly, Robin? You want me to tell a few jokes?”

Might be nice. “I just want us to be civil.”

“How am I not being civil?” Melanie responded. “I picked you up at the bus station. I acted as chauffeur all afternoon, driving you to the hospital and waiting at the drugstore while you got your supply of happy pills. I made you dinner. What’s the matter—is chili not civilized enough for a fancy L.A. therapist?”

Robin put down her fork with more force than she’d intended. Don’t bite, she told herself, but it was already too late. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I never said anything about the chili except it was delicious. I like chili. That’s not the issue.”

“And what, pray tell, is ‘the issue’?”

“That I’m not some fancy L.A. therapist.”

“You’re not a therapist? You don’t live in L.A.?”

“Yes, I live in L.A. Yes, I’m a therapist. It’s the word ‘fancy’…”

“You don’t like the word ‘fancy’?”

“Not in that context, no.”

“So, the issue is about context?”

Robin’s head was spinning. A corkscrew of anxiety twisted through her chest. “I’m just saying…”

“Yes, please. What are you saying?”

“That I’m not the enemy here.”

“And I am?”

“No. I’m just asking you to…”

“Lighten up?”