Page 5 of Getting It Twisted

Theresa Antler, beautiful but terrible. I imagine her now cold and pale, lips blue, on the floor of Nathan’s childhood home.

“When?”

“About a week ago. Dad called me on Monday.”

“A week ago? What the hell?”

George shrugs. “I’ve been busy. Family law classes started this week. I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” Now that he mentions it, he looks exhausted, his brown hair more ruffled than styled, and his usual sun-kissed complexion is chalky and pale.

“What about her house?” I ask.

“What about it?”

“She had no husband and no other children. It’s gonna go tohim. Isn’t it?” Realization strikes, and my eyes go wide. “George, you don’t think he’ll . . .”

“Do I think he’ll come here to sort out the house?” George clicks his tongue. “I dunno. Not that it’s much of a house anyway. Might as well level it to the ground and sell off the land. Besides, why go through the effort when he could get it done with a few phone calls?” George looks at me,reallylooks at me, and his face twists into a strange expression. “Unless . . .”

“Unless what?”

He scowls and looks away. “Never mind.”

I clench my jaw, trying hard to shut the floodgates of memories that threaten to resurface. If I’m not careful, they’ll be as clear in my mind as the day they happened. For all I don’t want to forget the good moments we shared, the bad ones are enough to make me damn near catatonic.

A twinkle in vivid green eyes. A mocking tilt to perfect lips.What did you think—that we’re some lovey-dovey couple now? Fucking is just fucking.

All I want now is to vegetate for a few hours before the party starts. Maybe continue the work on my latest drawing to keep my mind off the things I’ve learned.

“By the way,” George says. “Weren’t you supposed to have dinner at Gillian’s tonight?”

“Oh, right. Shit.” After Lydia and the breakup, the dinner with my mom totally slipped my mind.

The thing with her is it’s never just dinner. The question is what shereallywants.

“Danio!” My sister stretches her arms toward me in her wheelchair, smiling the brightest of smiles.

“How are you, sis?” I embrace her thin shoulders and stroke her pale cheek. At leastshe’shappy to see me. My mom, on the other hand . . .

“I see you finally decided to show up,” she says and nods to the table, hair bunched into a tight knot. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

I gesture toward Jessie. “Let me help her.”

“No. Sit down and eat.”

I do as she says to shut her up. Jessie smiles at me from the edge of the table as Gillian feeds her small spoonfuls of chili.

“I wasn’t aware your job worked you late,” Mom says.

“It didn’t.” I won’t tell her dinner slipped my mind, but I don’t feel like lying either.

“Still no plans to return to college, I presume?”

I roll my eyes. First Lydia, and now my mom too? “At least I’ve got a job now, haven’t I?”

Compared to the year I could barely get out of bed, I’m doing well. Better, at least. My job at Springvale Community Center gets me working with my hands, keeps me fit and on my feet. The pay is abysmal, and though I don’t want to be stuck doing it forever, it’s fine for now. At least until I feel well enough to start studying again. My days of dreaming of an ambitious career were numbered to begin with, but my attempts at starting college right after high school . . . Well, they went down the drain, to say the least.

Gillian averts her eyes from her daughter, and for once, she looks at me. Unlike George, who takes after my uncle and fatherin appearance, I take after my mother. We have the same dirty-blond hair, blue eyes, and square jaw. By this time of year, the skin around our noses and cheeks is dotted with freckles from the summer sun.

But that’s where our similarities end. Gillian’s hair is graying around her temples, and she looks perpetually stressed—almost ill. Frown lines are etched deep between her brows, as has been the case ever since the divorce. Or now that I think about it, ever since Jessie’s dramatic birth.

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