Page 113 of Shelter
Elise rolled her eyes. “No, I’ve never been that smart.”
I winced at the remark. I’d forgotten the habit, but she used to say things like that all the time when we were kids. I didn’t like it any better now that we were older.
“I hate wasting money, so I kept using it until my scalp starting flaking, and Alberta made me throw it away.”
“Thank goodness for Alberta.”
She gave me a rueful smile. “And Mast Brothers have gorgeous labels for their chocolate bars, but Divine is much better.”
“Is it?” I could see she’d relaxed now, so I did too. She could tell me everything she knew about shampoo, and chocolate, and label design. I wanted to know everything about her. All her thoughts. All her wishes. I glanced at her hands resting in her lap. I would have given pretty much anything to be able to hold them in mine.
“And it’s fair trade.” The tone of her voice took on a firmer edge. “That’s important to me.”
I looked up to find her amber eyes suddenly ablaze, and if I hadn’t been sitting, the look would have knocked me on my ass.
“Tell me more.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Alberta and I have done a lot of research about fair trade gemstones, and that’s just opened my eyes to how many things we buy and eat that would horrify us if we knew how they ended up in our stores.”
“Like what?” I asked, leaning forward now, drawn in by the fire in her eyes.
“Like cashews.”
My brows rose. “Cashews?”
She nodded. “Did you know it’s almost impossible to buy cashews that haven’t been harvested and shelled by children?”
The thought made me feel a little sick. I shook my head. “No, I’ve never heard that.”
“I learned that about a year ago, and I haven’t eaten cashews since then because I can’t find any that are fair trade,” she said, looking indignant. “Not even at our Whole Foods.”
A kickass camera and fair-trade cashews. I was buying them for her the first chance I got. Silently, I rejoiced. Elise had always been passionate in her beliefs. Hearing her talk about fair trade and child labor humbled me, but it didn’t surprise me at all. It was so like her.
“You know what really depresses me?” she asked on a whisper, her eyes widening with sorrow.
“What?”
“I read an article a few months ago about how if all child labor stopped tomorrow, the global economy would collapse.”
I sucked in a breath. Elise’s reading material had clearly evolved since the days ofTwilight.Again, she’d humbled me. When was the last time I’d read something that wasn’t self-serving in one way or another?
“That’s truly horrific,” I admitted. “The way you talk about that — about child labor — it inspires me.”
Those warm eyes, soulful and serious, locked with mine. I read something weighty in them. “I’ve always felt it was wrong for a child to have to carry the responsibilities of an adult,” she whispered.
I swallowed.Dear God, is she talking about me? Is that where all this came from?
“Always,” she whispered again, answering my unspoken questions.
Her gaze never left mine, and I felt conquered. Slain. Completely undone by the look in her eyes.
Unable to speak, I slid my hand, palm up, along the cushion that separated us. I wouldn’t simply grab hers, no matter how much I wanted to. I wouldn’t make her take it. The choice was hers, and—
In a flash of movement, Elise’s hand gripped mine. Her tight squeeze seemed to wrap around my heart as well as my hand. I held on with everything I had.
“Elise…” Her name, my oldest and purest prayer, was the only word I could manage around the knot in my throat.
Here, I realized, while my sister washed dishes ten feet away and “Men of the Sea” played around us, was our reunion. Not in an art gallery a week ago. Not in the letter I had taken six years to write. But here, with our clasped hands and our eyes lost in each other.
