“Are you hungry?”

I step to the side to allow Sienna to make her way in. She holds up two greasy paper bags. “I brought dinner.”

“It’s amazing you don’t weigh seven hundred pounds with all the fast food you eat,” I laugh.

“So you don’t want it? I even got you a double-double with bacon and extra pickles.”

“How can I resist that?”

She grins. “Kitchen or living room?”

“Living room,” I say, heading that direction. “I’m not Graham.”

“You can say that again,” she scoffs. “I accidentally set a glass of water on his coffee table once. He got me a set of coasters for Christmas.”

She heads in front of me, dressed in a pair of jeans and a black shirt with some kind of sparkles on the shoulders. On her feet are a pair of heels that make me wonder how in the hell she’s even walking in them.

I plop down on the couch and watch her place one bag in front of me.

“One time he insisted I stay at his place when I was home on leave. It was around the holidays, I think,” I say, opening the container. The scent of deep friend goodness hits me in the nose. “I took a shower, right? And hung the towel on the side of the shower to dry, thinking I’d re-use it later. I mean, I was clean when I used it.”

“I do the same thing,” she says with a mouthful of French fries.

Shaking my head, I laugh. “Sometimes it’s amazing you are our mother’s child.”

“What?” she giggles, shoving in another fry.

“Anyway, when I went in to shower that night, the towel was gone and a piece of paper was taped to the door that the towels go in the hamper.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.”

The burger oozes condiments as I lift it to my mouth. “This is so good,” I say, searching the bag for a napkin. Before I can wipe my mouth, I take another bite.

“And I was afraid you wouldn’t be hungry,” she laughs. “You don’t normally eat so late, do you?”

“No,” I say through a mouthful of burger. I swallow and take a drink before continuing. “I don’t want to call it a fight, but Ellie and I had …”

“A tiff?”

“What the hell is that?”

“I don’t know. That’s what Mom calls it,” she laughs. “So what happened?”

“The S-word,” I groan.

“Syphillis?”

I burst out laughing. “No! Space. She wants space.”

“Oh,” she says, choking on her drink. “That sucks but it’s better than a venereal disease.” She gets herself under control. “So what are you going to do? How do you play this?”

“Short from kidnapping her?”

“Kinda illegal, bud. But I know people, and Cam definitely knows people …”

“What the fuck?”

“A joke,” she says, her eyes going wide like she’s been caught in the cookie jar. “It was a joke.”

“It better be a joke.”

“Can we focus on the problem at hand?” she sighs. “What are you doing with Ellie?”

I give her a final glare to warn her about her idea of a joke. “I’m giving her space. That’s what she wants, that’s what she’ll get.” Tossing my sister a napkin, I lean back on the sofa. “I’m going to make her miss me.”

“You sounds like a country music song.”

“Well, I have the truck and the dog and the woman that’s running off. I guess it kind of works,” I laugh. “Fuck, that’s pathetic. Never tell this to Lincoln.”

“Blackmail,” she laughs, taking another bite. “But I think it’s smart to just give her some room.”

“You know what? I’m kinda pissed.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I say, propping my feet up on the coffee table. “She’s holding shit against me from years ago. That’s not fair.”

Sienna wipes her hands off and seems to gather her thoughts. When she looks at me, it’s not a look from my little sister. It’s a look from a grown woman, someone that’s been through things, and that takes me by surprise.

“You know what’s not fair, Ford? You dismissing her feelings.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“You don’t mean to, but you are. You have every right to be angry. But she also has every right to be scared if that’s what she is. You can’t force her through that. What you can do, though, is to let her work it out with you standing by her side.”

“Why are you talking to me like this? You’re my baby sister.”

She laughs, patting me on the leg. “You realize I date. And I do other things that make me—”

“Shut up, Sienna,” I laugh. “Seriously. This is not the conversation I want to have with you. You want to talk about that shit, go hit up Lincoln. I’m out.”

“I hear Barrett’s the kinky one,” she giggles.

“Grapes?”

“Yes,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m disgusted that I know that about my brother.”

“I’m disgusted you even know what sex is.”

Sienna laughs as she sips from her soda. We sit quietly for a long while, the only sound coming from Trigger’s occasional claws hitting the kitchen floor as she walks back and forth from her food dish to her bed.

I didn’t realize how lonely this house could be until recently. Sometimes now I sit here and wonder what it would be like to hear another person in another room, feel someone else’s presence. Know Ellie was in the kitchen or bedroom, waiting on me.

“So …” Sienna begins, breaking my trance.

“So …”

She looks at me with hesitation in her eyes. I can almost see the words sitting on the tip of her tongue, begging to come out. I wait for her to give in. She doesn’t.

“What’s up, Sienna?”

Sighing, she leans back on the sofa. “A part of me wants to go back to LA and a part of me doesn’t.”

“So don’t go until you’re ready.”

“But I just feel the need to … move. To go. To do. To experience,” she sighs again. “I feel like I was a nomad in a past life. A gypsy.”

“I think they make their living by fortune telling,” I note, taking a drink. “You got a crystal ball somewhere?”

“Very funny.” She crosses her arms over her chest and shoots me a look. It’s the one that I can’t just blow off.

“Okay, I’ll play. Why do you want to move or however you say it?”

“I don’t know,” she whines. “I feel like there’s so much out there that I don’t know and I’ll never see.”

“You’re in your early twenties. You have time,” I laugh.

She rises up. “I’m being serious. I feel like I’m the little sister of all the Landry boys. Like I’m the afterthought, the one no one expects anything of because you assholes have already conquered the world.”

“Lincoln had conquests, Sienna. It’s not the same thing.”

“Hardy, har, har.”

“Fine. You want to blaze your own path. You did go to fashion school, remember? You have an apartment in Los Angeles … I think? You’ve been in Savannah more or less for a few months now so I could be wrong about that.”

“My roommate there can handle the rent. She has a bigger allowance than I do,” she frowns. “Besides, her sister is staying with her now so it’s not like they miss me.”

“So what do you want to do? Travel? See the world? Get a job with that expensive degree you have?” I say, remember Graham’s outrage at how much a fashion design degree costs.

She laughs, thinking the same thing. “Graham about died.”

“If he had his way, we’d all be misers, pinching pennies and refilling ketchup bottles out of to-go packets,” I say, knocking the takeout bag in front of me.

“Do people really do that?”

I shrug. “I saw it on television once on one of those shows where people do crazy things to save a buck. Maybe you could try that out. I don’t think gypsies have a lot of money. Could work.”

“I’m being serious, Ford.”

“Fine,” I sigh. “What are you wanting to do? Answer that.”

She blushes and looks at the floor. Picking at the hem of her shirt, the sequins catch the light and bounce it around the room.

When she finally looks at me, I see the sincerity in her eyes. She twists in the seat and squares her shoulders with mine.

“I want to move to Illinois.”

“What in the hell is in Illinois?”

“I knew a girl in LA from there. She just moved back home and we’ve been texting a lot. She does some freelance design work for some of our friends in California, and it’s kind of growing really fast. She invited me to be a part of it.”

“So you want to move there? And not go back to LA?”

Her smile is contagious. “We’d run the business from Illinois. I’d join as co-CEO and we’d do the work from Illinois, going back to LA if we need to. She’s making a fortune, Ford, and Graham’s finally freed me up some cash to do with what I want.” She sets her jaw. “This is what I want to do.”

“Did you not want to design socks like six weeks ago?”

Exasperated, she throws her hands in the air. “That was then. This is now.”

“Sorry,” I flinch, scooting back a little. “So, Illinois and designing what?”

“Clothes. Computer skins. Hats. Maybe socks,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I want to do this.”

“I can tell.”

“But I need to know if you think it’s stupid.”

Of course I think it’s stupid. Designing computer skins with a fashion degree that’s fees could feed a small island for a year is asinine. I know Graham is going to have a major meltdown and Dad isn’t going to be thrilled either.

Before I can say that, I see the glimmer of hope in her eye. It’s similar to the one Camilla flashed me when she came to me to appeal to my rational side.

“Why did you come to me with this?” I ask.

“Because you’re rational.”

“Damn it,” I laugh. “Do I need to be more of a dick or something so you and Cam will stop asking me for approval for dumb shit?”

“Oooh,” she says, leaning forward. “What did Cam say?”

“I’m not talking to you about it because you won’t tell me certain things I want to know.”

Her bottom lip pouts out. “I can’t.”

“Tell me this,” I ask. “Who will flip out more? Graham? Barrett? Lincoln? Or me?”

“Maybe …” she considers this. “Barrett. I think. I don’t know. Maybe G? You aren’t going to be thrilled either.”

My head goes into my hands, my stomach churning. “If this is what having a daughter is like, may God bless me with sons.”

“Hey,” she says, punching my arm. “You know you love your sisters!”

“I do,” I say, picking up my burger. “But I love you more when you go to Graham with your crap.”

She laughs as we go back to our dinner, and I realize that even though Sienna drives me crazy, it feels good to have someone else here tonight.