Chapter 4
The next morning I tried not to look at anyone. That was the trick I came up with. If I didn't look at her, she couldn't say I was looking at her.
I kept my eyes on the floor when I walked from my room to the kitchen. The patterned rug in the living room seemed louder than usual, every color standing out against the wood. Dad was already at the counter pouring coffee. She stood by the sink with her arms crossed. My stepsister sat at the small kitchen table with a cereal bowl she hadn't touched.
I felt her glance before I saw it. A quick flick of eyes. I looked up without thinking and caught her watching me from the table. It wasn't what her mom had said. There was nothing flirty or weird in it. Her eyebrows were pulled together and her mouth was tight. She looked scared, and when our eyes met she flinched and looked straight down at her cereal.
Her mom didn't miss it. "Honey, eat," she said, and her hand landed on my stepsister's shoulder.
My stepsister nodded and stared harder at the bowl. She didn't look up again the whole time I was in the kitchen. I got my cereal and went back to the hallway to eat it standing up, where I didn't have to figure out where to put my eyes.
Later that morning Dad left to get firewood from the side of the house. I heard the back door shut and the cold air come in. I stayed in the hallway near the staircase because the living room felt too small with just the two of them.
She was in the kitchen cleaning up. I could hear water running. My stepsister came out of the kitchen doorway with her bowl. She almost ran into me.
"Sorry," she said quietly. She didn't look at my face. She looked at the floor between us.
I stepped aside. "It's okay."
We stood there for a second. Without her mom in the room, her shoulders dropped a little. She glanced up at me, just briefly, then away toward the stone fireplace. Her cheeks were still pink but her breathing was slower.
"You want to watch TV?" I asked before I could stop myself. I didn't know what else to say.
She shook her head. "Mom said to stay in my room."
She said it like she was repeating an instruction, not like she wanted to. Then she walked past me down the hall, close to the wood-paneled wall, giving me a wide space. It wasn't flinching. It was careful, like she was trying not to be in anyone's way.
I went back to the kitchen to rinse my bowl. She was at the sink, scrubbing the same plate over and over.
"Can I help?" I asked.
She turned slightly, still at the sink. "I felt bad," she said, so quiet I almost didn't hear it over the water. "About yesterday."
My chest tightened. I didn't know if she meant what she said in the hallway or what her mom said for her.
"Me too," I said.
Her mom came back into the kitchen then, and the change was instant. My stepsister's back straightened. Her eyes dropped. She stepped away from the sink and tucked her hands behind her.
"Did you finish your cereal, sweetheart?" her mom asked, looking only at her.
My stepsister nodded fast. "Yes."
I watched it happen twice more that afternoon. When her mom was nearby, my stepsister kept her head down, answered in one-word sentences, and never looked at me. When her mom stepped out to take a phone call on the back porch, my stepsister lingered in the hallway and looked at the framed photos on the mantel with me without saying anything. She even pointed at one where Dad was younger and I was missing a front tooth.
"That was at the lake," I said.
She smiled a little. "You look funny."
It was the first normal thing she'd said to me in two days. Then the back door opened and her mom's voice called from the kitchen and the smile disappeared.
That evening I sat on the stairs while Dad made dinner. From there I could see into the living room without being in it. My stepsister sat on the edge of the rug, picking at the pattern with her finger. She looked over at the hallway where I was sitting. Our eyes met for a half-second. There was no discomfort in the way her mom meant. There was worry. Like she was checking if I was mad at her.
I shook my head slightly, trying to tell her I wasn't. She gave a tiny nod and looked away, relieved.
May you like
I realized then I hadn't felt uncomfortable looking at her either. I'd been watching where she was so I could stay out of her way. She'd been watching where I was for the same reason. We were both trying not to take up too much space in a house that suddenly felt like it wasn't big enough for all of us.
The look she meant wasn't the look her mom described. It was fear of being caught in the middle.
