Page 86 of Still Beating

“That’s because it tastes like dish soap.”

Mandy scoffs at me as she slips out of her knee-high boots. She saunters through the living room to the kitchen, tossing the brown paper bags of food onto the dining table. Then she wavers, taking a few steps back, and glances towards the corner of the room. She looks up at me. “You have dogs.”

I shrug, my arms crossed. “You would have known that if you hadn’t dodged my calls and texts all week.”

A bleak silence stretches between us. I take in the way Mandy’s eyes lower to the floor, lacking their usual sparkle, rimmed with dark circles. Her hair is pinned up in an ultra-messy bun, her roots growing out. She blows back a strand of hair that has come loose from her bun and leans her hip against the back of the couch. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I noticed.” I dig my fingers into the fuzzy fabric of my sweater, my insides clenching with unease. I’m not sure how I’m going to get through this night without confessing all of my dirty sins to Mandy. I clear my throat, braving a few steps forward. “How are you?”

Mandy flusters a bit and shrugs her shoulders, her eyes flickering back to me. “I’m guessing Dean told you?”

Just the mention of his name makes me flush. “It’s all over Facebook. You changed your relationship status to ‘single’ and have been posting sad, depressing quotes every few hours.”

“Helps me cope. So, you’re saying he didn’t mention anything about it?”

Something in my chest pitches and my cheeks flare with heat. “I didn’t say that.”

“I figured as much,” Mandy says flatly, turning back to the kitchen to sort through the food. “He said you had a connection. A bond. He said you were both forced to do fucked up shit.”

Oh, God.

Bile rises up my esophagus, and I choke it back down. “I-It’s complicated.”

“He said that, too.” Mandy spins around, holding out something wrapped in tinfoil. “Two steak tacos, no cilantro.”

I swallow, taking a few more hesitant steps toward my sister, and reach for the tacos. “Thank you.”

Her smile is strained. Forced. Mandy unwraps one of her tacos and takes a bite, nodding her head at Jude and Penny curled up in the corner. “What made you get two dogs?” she asks, swiping a dollop of sour cream from her lip. “Protection?”

I set my food down on the kitchen island, feeling too queasy to eat. “Companionship, I guess. I planned on getting a dog before… well, before everything happened.” I scratch the back of my head. “They’re the dogs that were confiscated from his property.”

Mandy pauses mid-chew. “That psycho’s property? You adopted your kidnapper’s dogs?”

“Sort of.”

“That’s fucked up, Cor.” She resumes her chewing and hops up onto my table, swinging her legs back and forth. “You seem to be having a hard time letting go of the things that connect you to that basement.”

Her eyes cut to me, knowing and pointed. She’s not just referring to the dogs. I slink back like the coward I am. “It’s not like that. They needed a home, and I needed a distraction from the pain.”

“There’s a million other dogs out there you could have taken.”

Pretty sure she’s still not talking about the dogs.

Shit.

“Mandy…”

She hops off the table. “Your food is getting cold.”

I watch my sister parade around the kitchen, pulling a wine glass from the cabinet and digging through my refrigerator. I feel hysterical tears stabbing just beneath the surface, ready to blow. I gather a slow, calming breath, trying so hard to rein in my fear and nerves and guilt as Mandy saunters back over with a full glass of wine. She leans forward against the kitchen island, elbows to countertop, facing me as I stand behind the opposite side.

I wring my hands together as she stares at me over the rim of her glass. There is only a small kitchen island between us, but it feels like a continent. “I appreciate you stopping by with dinner. That was nice of you.”God, I’m pathetic.

Mandy arches an eyebrow, sipping on her wine. “You haven’t touched your food.”

“I’m not that hungry. I’ll bring it to work tomorrow for lunch.” I smile as sweetly as I can, but I’m pretty sure I look like I’m about to start ugly crying.

Mandy taps a perfectly painted fingernail against the glass, her gaze shifting between me and her beverage, as if she’s trying to string together her next sentence. Her eyes are hazel and hollow as they linger on mine, her head tilting slightly to one side. “So, what fucked up shit were you forced to do?”

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