Page 42 of Thicker Than Water
“For the record, I don’t care that he’s my brother,” Sienna says as she slams the door shut. “I’m furious that he cheated on you. I’m a million percent livid with that idiot.”
But she isn’t. I know Sienna’s fury, and this—her jaunty steps down the porch stairs—isn’t it. Because Jason hasn’t been unfaithful toher. He’s disappointed her, sure, likely ripped open her Wyatt wounds, but no matter what, he is still her family, her blood; he didn’t break any vows the two of them made.
Mine and Jason’s had been generic (in sickness, till death), because we hadn’t been together long enough to be more specific. It was only on our eighth anniversary that we opted for a “do-over,” each of us scrawling into cards the promises we now knew to make. That night, beneath our blankets, we read our do-overs aloud, Jason laughing when I said I’d always warn him, from now on, when the avocado he thinks he’s about to eat is actually a chunk of wasabi, and me rolling my eyes when he said he’d love me even when I left him sleepless during allergy season by “snoring like a clogged tuba.”
And now I’m the one who’ll be sleepless, tortured every time I close my eyes by Maeve’s couch, Jason’s lies. It’s impossible to reconcile—Jason’s promise to “always save the first dip into the peanut butter jar” for me with someone who could be so reckless with my trust.
I settle clumsily into Sienna’s passenger seat, my legs heavy and cumbersome, like columns of granite. Sienna eases in.
“We didn’t intend to hurt anyone,” she says, mocking Maeve’s voice, the excuse she first gave us, as if intention means anything, as if their sex was so fiery it burned all thoughts of me from their minds. “What a bitch.”
She pivots toward me. “But now we have an alibi. And this will all be over. So at least there’s a silver lining to Jason’s affair.”
It snatches my breath, how insensitive she sounds. Not to mention inaccurate. Jason’s affair—god, hisaffair—has already plunged me into such darkness that the silver can’t possibly shine through. As I buckle my seat belt, I don’t respond—because I shouldn’t be surprised. Sienna is hardwired to love her brother. She simply isn’t equipped to criticize him for long.
But there’s something else, too—a question that’s slow to form, gummy from my grief. If Maeve is Jason’s alibi, why did he have Gavin’s phone in his car, his address in his pocket?
Could it be as simple as Sienna originally said? Maybe Gavin forgot his phone at the hotel. Maybe Jason picked it up to drop it at his house. And maybe—my stomach twists—Jason forgot that errand after leaving Maeve’s, his mind fogged by sex and guilt.
“Jules,” Sienna says, squeezing my hand, “why didn’t you tell me about the money?”
Even in this lightless car, I see her face darken with confusion and hurt.
“I saw you in there,” she continues, “when you figured out what Jason really used it for. You seemed almost as upset about that as you did about him—him cheating. And you’ve known about it for, what, months now? But you never even mentioned it to me.”
For a moment, my knuckles pinch in her grip. I adjust my hand, forcing hers to loosen.
I don’t tell her the real reason that comes to mind—that I was sure she’d take Jason’s side, stung by the injustice of someone screwing her brother. Instead, I tell her a different truth: “He took the money from our Europe account. There’s barely anything left.”
Sienna’s jaw drops. “Oh my god.”
“And what am I supposed to make of that?” I continue. “He was the one who called the trip our second honeymoon, he knew how much it meant to me, and he just… took it. I didn’t want you to think he and I were having problems—that our marriage wasn’t—”
Without warning, I gasp out a sob. Then I hunch forward, twist my hand out from under Sienna’s and cry into my palms. My despair ricochets, a desperate sound that bounces off the walls of the car, crashing into our ears.
“Oh, fuck, Jules, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Sienna rubs the length of my spine, nestling her forehead against my shoulder.
I hiccup breaths, my back lurching as if with dry heaves.
“I love you,” she says. “I’m here. I’m sorry. I love you.”
She stops speaking to let me sob, and I love her too—so much—because she doesn’t try to shush me. Despite her knee-jerk allegiance to Jason, I know that she’s still devoted to me, that she understands exactly what I need right now: to curl up with this anguish, to feel it fully, to figure out the future—mine and Jason’s—another time.
But then she says one more thing: “You and Jason will work this out.”
And I feel walloped anew, deep in my stomach, as my sob trembles with a sigh.
Chapter TwelveSIENNA
I wake up in the wrong bed.
Sunlight needles through the windows, gritty and intrusive as sand in my eyes. Wyatt’s arm snakes around my body, tightening the space between us as he breathes against my shoulder.
I pick up his wrist and move his arm away.
It was such a sloppy move, coming over two nights in a row. This should have been the last place I’d choose to go. But when I pulled into Julia’s driveway and snapped off my seat belt, she’d put her hand on mine to stop me from opening my door.Not tonight, she said, tears still crowding her eyes.I just want to be alone.
I nodded at first—because for a few seconds, I didn’t comprehend whatalonereally meant. To me, it meant Julia and me together, nobody else. But as she unbuckled her own seat belt, opened her own door, planted one foot on the pavement, she said she’d drive separately to the hospital tomorrow. And I knew then whatalonereally meant: Julia wanted me gone.
