She found Elena in a corner of the crowded club with Kristine. “I’m going home,” Sam told her sister. Kristine, white wine in hand, frowned.

“You can’t,” Elena said. “We have another hour here.”

“I don’t care. I’m leaving.”

Kristine, who usually only existed in Sam’s life as a vibration on Elena’s cellphone, spoke up. Sam couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard Kristine’s voice. It was thin and high and pointless. “Wouldn’t your mom want you guys to be doing this stuff together?”

Sam slitted her eyes at Kristine. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Lower your voice,” Elena hissed. “And don’t you talk to her that way.”

Beside Elena, Kristine murmured, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Sam couldn’t look at her. Did Kristine already know about Danny? Had she helped cover for Elena’s sneaking around all this time? “She’s the one who shouldn’t be talking,” Sam said. “Has she ever even met Mom?” But then—what did Sam know, maybe Kristine had, maybe Kristine and their mother were best friends who played gin rummy and watched game shows together while Sam was at work. Everyone else seemed to have a secret life. Why not this girl, too?

Sam could not stand it. The people around them snacking. The bright lights overhead and the wall of windows showcasing the manicured green outside. The absolute fakeness of it all. For years, in the midst of the mindless buzz produced by every other person on this island, Sam had believed she had one good, real thing: her sister. But Elena had been faking it, too.

“I’m done,” Sam said. “See you later.”

She pushed her way out of the club door and Elena followed. The side of the clubhouse where Sam had sat with Danny was empty now. Sam hurried through the parking lot. Behind her, Elena called after.

“Sam. Sam. Sammy.” Elena grabbed Sam’s elbow. “Stop.”

Sam whirled around. “You stop.”

“I’m the one of us who’s acting halfway normal,” Elena said. “Meanwhile you’re stomping around and screaming at my friends. You can’t pretend to be a regular person for three hours? Is that really too much to ask?”

“Oh,” Sam said. “Oh. I see. You want me to be normal and regular and pretend, just like you.”

Elena had let go of Sam’s arm but her words still clenched tight. “I want you to keep it together for the length of our mother’s memorial. At least try.”

“Let me follow your lead,” Sam said. “Elena, the role model. Why don’t you show me what to do. Insist to everyone that nothing’s wrong? Put us so far in debt that you say we’ll never get out of it? Lie a million times in a row to your own sister? Sleep with Danny fucking Larsen?”

Even as Sam said it, she prayed for a denial. Elena looking struck and shocked: what are you talking about, I would never…Instead Elena’s expression firmed. She looked exactly as indignant as she had the moment before, only more. It was true, then. She was with him. She had been hiding it from Sam.

Sam said, “How could you.”

In the yellow sun, Elena was whitewashed stone. Almost as pale as their mother had been, when they found her. “How could I what? Attempt, for one second, to feel good, instead of sacrificing my entire existence to you and Mom?”

“I never asked for you to—”

“You did worse than ask,” Elena said. “You expected. Both of you. Forever. That I would be this perfect person, never weak, never with a complaint, like I was made only to take care of this family and didn’t have a single need of my own—”

“No, sorry, that’s bullshit,” Sam said. “You were the one who insisted on doing it this way, you’re the one who said no relationships.”

Elena actually scoffed then. The sound of it, ugly, didn’t fit her. “When I was in high school. When he was living with us. That was— Sam, that was the sort of thing a kid says when they’re scared, not a rule for living the rest of your life.”

“No.” Back then, they’d set all sorts of rules. They’d come to an understanding, together, that Sam had spent every day since depending on.

“We’re not children anymore, making up stories about what our grown-up selves might be. We’re adults. I have friends, I have responsibilities, I sleep with people.”

“With Danny Larsen.” Sam was the one sneering now. It seemed more natural, coming from her.

Elena rolled her eyes. “And I don’t tell you about any of it for this reason: because you can’t handle it.”

“That’s not true.”

“I know you’ve never liked Danny. You’re rude to him. Whenever he spoke to us, even when we were kids, you’d insult him or talk in this mock polite voice. You can be so condescending. I don’t need you to act that way to me about how I spend my time and who I spend it with.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Sam said. “I’m fine with Danny.” Her fingers on his leg. His eyes soft, his beard curling. “And you know about Ben and me and— I mean, I tell you everything.”

Elena shrugged. “Okay. Well. I don’t.”

Her shoulders had risen so easily. Behind her, a few people trickled out of the club, heading to their cars, leaving dry dirt to puff from the ground under their feet. A row of golf carts sat empty. In the light from the evening sun, Elena’s beauty, her exhaustion, was clearer than ever. Faint lines drew from her nostrils toward her mouth.

“You think I’m not supportive of you,” Sam said. “That I make all these demands. But you’re wrong. I’m actually…I don’t care what supposed friends you have. You’re never going to find anyone, ever, who’s more dedicated to you than I am. I’ve been putting in all my effort for years to make your dream come true.”

And this was love. Wasn’t it? They might argue with each other or waste their time with random men, but this bond was what really mattered. Their mother was gone, and this narrowing family, this long and precious sisterhood, was all Sam and Elena had left.

Elena didn’t recognize that, though. She only said, “What dream?”

Sam said, “To leave.”

Elena shook her head. She actually shook her head. “That’s not going to happen.”

“I get it,” Sam said, “you explained it to me, the house, the debt, we— I get it. But you can’t give up. I’m not giving up. We can make it out, somehow, together.”

“You’re not listening,” Elena said. “I’m not saying I don’t think we can do it. I’m telling you I don’t want to.”

Her sister. Her guide. Elena here, on San Juan Island, forever. Serving up Caesar salads alongside Kristine, paying the minimum on her accounts, sneaking over to the Larsens’ to make out with Danny, never doing anything beyond this. She’d told Sam before how tired she was, and she’d been right—Sam hadn’t understood. Sam, sustained through years by faith in what was coming, had no idea, even as Elena described it, how dire the situation had gotten.

All the times, even just today, Sam’s heart had broken. Of all of those, this one devastated her the most. Her sister faltering. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.” In this parking lot, the woman Elena might age to be was made obvious. Thin, pale, and, eventually, formerly beautiful. Her hair would turn white as their mother’s never had. Day by day, this island would take her down. Elena said, “God knows this isn’t perfect, but there’s something here that’s nowhere else. Something I love.”

You’re in love with Danny Larsen? Sam had the urge to shriek. Then she realized: no. Elena wasn’t talking in this bizarre way because she was moved by the boy next door. Something else had pushed her to this point. A thing stranger, wilder. Bestial.