What would things have been like if Eris hadn’t died? If instead of pushing her, Leda had taken her hand and actually listened? Perhaps they would have joined forces and gone to talk to their dad together. Perhaps by now they would be doing all those things Rylin had talked about—supporting each other, trusting each other, sharing their fears and secrets.
Accident or not, Leda had killed her half sister, then forced all the witnesses to help cover it up. What kind of sister did that?
“Eris. I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I can’t believe that I’m here and you aren’t. I wish . . .” Leda faltered, because there were so many things she wished, she could never list them all. “I wish we could start over.”
She had tried so hard, for so long, to avoid thinking of what she’d done to Eris—to amputate that part of herself and start over. But the damage was still there, buried deep within her like scar tissue. Real grief left that kind of mark on you.
The only way to heal from grief like that was roughly: step by clumsy step, as you muddled your way back toward some form of peace, or redemption, or forgiveness, if you were lucky enough to get it.
Leda couldn’t change what had happened, couldn’t bring Eris or Mariel back to life. She could only do the best she could from now on. Whatever that was.
The holo seemed to flicker for a moment, almost as if it were nodding. Leda couldn’t look at it anymore; she waved her hand through it to dispel it. Now it was just her, alone in the hushed shadows of the cemetery. Which she deserved.
Leda closed her eyes and kneeled before Eris’s headstone, her head bowed in prayer. It had been a long time since she prayed like this.
But if anyone needed a prayer right now, it was her.
CALLIOPE
“WE MISS YOU girls!” the holographic image of Elise exclaimed, from where she was projected over the coffee table like a ghostly apparition—if ghosts appeared in high-res safari attire. She and Nadav were at the woolly mammoth camp in Mongolia, bundled up in scarves and dirty hats, grinning ear to ear.
At least these daily pings from the happy couple would end soon. Calliope couldn’t take them anymore.
“We miss you too! It looks like such rewarding work.” Livya edged imperceptibly farther from Calliope on the couch, wearing her school uniform and her usual sticky-sweet smile.
“It’s so cool of you guys to use your honeymoon as an opportunity to give back, rather than to celebrate yourselves,” Calliope gushed, never one to be outdone.
“I know. It was all your mom’s idea.” Nadav exchanged a smile with Elise. “She has the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.”
Only if her heart is in proportion to her cleavage, Calliope thought, trying to amuse herself. Then it is definitely big.
“Livya,” Nadav went on, “is your grandmother there?”
“She’s right here! Say hi, Boo Boo,” Livya simpered, reaching for the vid-cam and angling it toward Nadav’s mother.
“Hello, Nadav. I hope you don’t get sick in that freezing weather,” Tamar said implacably. She didn’t even bother to acknowledge Elise.
Tamar would be staying here, living in Calliope’s room, until Nadav and Elise returned—she was literally babysitting the two eighteen-year-old girls. Calliope thought the whole thing was ludicrous. Even worse was the fact that she now had to share a room with her stepsister. That first night, Calliope had taken one look at Livya’s queen-sized bed and decided instead to inflate the insta-mattress, mumbling that she snored. No way in hell was she sharing a bed with Livya. She would probably wake up with a knife in her back.
Even though they slept in the same room, Calliope and Livya had barely spoken since the wedding. They behaved like a pair of queens presiding over warring dominions from a joint palace.
“Have a great night, girls!” Nadav butted his face before the projector so, from their end, he seemed to hover before them like a disembodied head.
“Be safe!” Calliope waved good-bye just as a flicker came through on her contacts. Are you still under house arrest?
It was from Brice.
Calliope quickly turned aside and logged on to her tablet. No way could she answer this as a flicker. Livya would hear her whispered reply and know precisely what she was up to.
Unfortunately, she typed back.
Brice had flickered her a few times since the wedding, and each time, she’d pretended that she was grounded. It made her sound completely lame and high-school, but it was essentially the truth.
Calliope couldn’t bring herself to reply the way she knew she should, the way Elise would want her to—with a snide dismissal, making Brice think that she no longer cared about him. Because she did care about him.
Even if she couldn’t see him, at the very least she could keep communicating with him.
Don’t forget our bet. You owe me dinner, Brice replied.
Calliope bit back a smile, which would certainly have given her away. We never technically made that bet. I don’t recall shaking on it.
A verbal agreement is binding in the state of New York.
In that case, I owe a lot of people a lot of things that I never delivered on, she couldn’t resist answering.
Don’t change the subject, he chided. Your mom and Nadav are out of town. It’s just dinner. What do you have to lose?
Calliope hesitated, her tablet pulled close to her chest. She knew she was playing a dangerous game. If she wasn’t careful, someone would post a snap of them—or worse, mention to Nadav that she had been out with Brice. But how would that happen? Brice and Nadav didn’t have any friends in common. It wouldn’t do any harm, would it, as long as Livya and Nadav never found out?