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Izzy adjusted her T-shirt—the hem scratched her skin, and the sensation raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Everything irritated her. As lovely as the crisp blue sky was, with happy flocks of birds and tufts of white clouds, she boiled inside. The rage churned her gut and barreled up her throat. Each word she spewed was laced with venom.
Dad met her gaze in the rearview mirror and winked.
She huffed, folding her arms across her chest and focused on the passing scenery.
Mom and Simmy were discussing the merits of Jane Austen’s Emma.
Izzy gritted her teeth. Ms.-Goody-Two-Shoes Simmy basked in Mom’s attention. Her grades were exemplary, whereas Izzy couldn’t pass English, her home language. No offense to Austen fans, but she couldn’t wrap her head around the way it was written. Shakespeare was as much a mystery.
Give her something to do with her hands, and she could master it. But studying was for the...well, birds.
“What do you think about Emma, pumpkin?” Dad asked.
She grinned. “I don’t think about Emma, Dad.”
“I’d be happy to give you a crash course, Izzy, so you won’t have to read it next year.” Simmy flashed a sweet smile and reached across the backseat to squeeze Izzy’s arm.
“No, Simmy, Izzy must read it. There are no shortcuts in life.” Mom twisted to face Izzy. “Perseverance is a necessary trait. Especially with things you hate.”
Izzy wrinkled her nose. “Does an audiobook count?”
Mom laughed. “It’s not a shortcut when it takes twice as long to listen than to read.”
“Mrs. Granger said reading builds your vocabulary. It also helps with comprehension.” Simmy dropped those little gems of wisdom then peered out the window as Dad pulled into the parking lot. The park stretched for miles on either side. Colors exploded in the plants, flowers, and the aviary nearby blasted the silence with raucous calls and cries.
Mrs. Granger, Izzy mouthed, pulling a face.
“I saw that.” Simmy tapped the window. “If you read more, your grades would improve. If you spent less time doing track, you could focus on studying.”
Heat burst across Izzy’s face, and she narrowed her eyes, conveying as much hatred as she could muster. “If you did more track, your ass wouldn’t be so big.”
Mom gasped. “Izzy.”
“Language.” Dad shook his head, tossing his mop of curls so like Izzy’s.
Simmy’s face paled then flushed. “My ass can shrink or grow, but your brain will always be the size of a pea.”
“Simmy, that was uncalled for.” Mom opened the car door. “Izzy’s smart, just in a different way.”
“Sure she is.” Simmy laughed.
Izzy trembled. Her fingernails dug into her palms, and she thumped her thigh before climbing out of the car. When she circled the trunk, Dad was pulling out the picnic basket. Mom clutched the blanket to her chest and raised her face to the warm unfiltered sunlight.
Simmy stood on the verge, overlooking the bank sliding into the surrounding trees. A breeze caught her luxurious mane of blonde curls, so unlike Izzy’s tight ringlets. And her ass wasn’t big, far from it. Everything about Simmy was perfect, from her long legs to her pretty green eyes she got from Mom.
Izzy had Mom’s short height, Dad’s curls, and gray eyes, and of course, her stupidity was all her own.
“Here, take the umbrella.” Dad dumped the ancient thing in Izzy’s arms and strolled past lazy-Simmy by the steps descending to the picnic area. Mom trailed, chatting to Dad about the mocktail she had made as a starter.
Still, Simmy just stood there with her precious Austen clasped in her hand.
Stomping past, Izzy swung the umbrella and whacked her older-sister-by-one-year on the ass.
Simmy squealed, twisted on the spot to rebuke Izzy, but teetered. She threw out her arms to find her balance, sending Emma tumbling down the hill. With a cry, she lunged for the book. In slow motion, she tilted and, head-over-heels, followed the book’s path.
A grating snap and piercing scream silenced the birds.
Dad bellowed Simmy’s name.
Izzy threw down the umbrella and scrambled after her. From where she rolled, farther down lay a row of pine trees. Izzy stretched out her hand as if to warn Simmy, but it was too late. A crunch echoed in her ears when Simmy slammed into a tree, her body like a rag doll.
Whimpering at what she’d done, Izzy sprinted down the bank, using her athleticism to reach her sister.
Blood trickled from a gash on her temple. Her skin was pale and tinged gray.
“Mom!” Izzy flicked her tears aside and gathered Simmy close, patting her cheek to wake her. She scanned her sister’s body, searching for injuries, and settled on her ankle twisted into an odd angle.
I did this.
Dad slid the last few yards to stop beside them. Mom hovered at the top of the embankment with her mobile pinned to her ear.
“What happened, pumpkin?” Dad ran his hands over Simmy’s legs and hissed when he reached her ankle.
“I whacked her with the umbrella, but not hard. I swear it, Dad. Emma fell from her hands, and she went after it.” Ice encased Izzy’s heart and hardened until it formed a shell. “This is my fault. I did this.” The sobs shook her body, and she wailed, unable to slow the tears. “Please, Simmy, please.”
“It’s okay, pumpkin. Medics are on their way.” Dad tried to take Simmy from Izzy, but she hesitated. “Go take care of your mom.”
Mom? Izzy whipped her head up, focusing on her mom pacing with her arms wrapped around her torso. Izzy dragged her arms away and let Dad take Simmy from her. With a last glance, she clambered up the hill and gathered Emma, tucking the book into the back of her jeans.
“What happened, Izzy?” Mom gripped Izzy’s arms the moment she reached the top.
Izzy whimpered. “I whacked her with the umbrella. It’s my fault.”
Mom jerked back, and her face paled. She opened and closed her mouth while tears trickled free. “Get in the car. We’ll...talk about this later.”
Dad told her to comfort Mom. She couldn’t do it from inside the car. “But—”
“Izzy.” Anger hardened Mom’s tone.
Izzy gathered the dropped items. The meals and treats spilled out of the picnic basket. The blanket looked like a sad, soggy crepe. And the umbrella lay where she’d thrown it. Climbing into the backseat, she tried not to stare at where Simmy had sat not ten minutes earlier.
The medics arrived and lifted Simmy onto a stretcher. Mom climbed into the ambulance, leaving Dad to deal with Izzy. He sat in the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel. Resting his temple on it, he sucked in deep breaths before meeting Izzy’s gaze in the mirror again.
“Not your fault, pumpkin.”
“It is, and you know it. Mom knows it.” She pinched her lips and ignored the tears flowing free. “What did the medics say?”
“Broken ankle, that’s a given. Concussion, at the worst.” Dad started the engine, reversing the car to follow the ambulance.
The scenery whizzed past, blurred by her tears. Dad tried to cheer her up, but his stiff shoulders and strained chuckle implied his heart wasn’t in it. She didn’t expect it to be, and anything he said highlighted how much this was her fault. Not one to pray, she did so now, desperate for help. But not aloud. Shame curled her shoulders, and she shoved her hands between her thighs, hoping the warmth would calm the shivers racking her body.
Dad parked outside Winston Memorial and twisted in his seat. “Simmy will be fine. It’s just a broken ankle, pumpkin.”
Izzy met his gaze. “And if she dies?”
Dad laughed. “From a concussion?” He climbed out of the car and opened her door, pulling her into a hug. “Come, let’s find Mom. She might need a coffee.”
“Or wine?” Izzy looped her arm around Dad’s waist and let him usher her into the hospital.
Information sent them to Simmy’s hospital room where Mom paced. When Dad strolled in, she cried out and threw herself at him. He hugged her, rubbing her back while nuzzling her temple with his chin. She sobbed uncontrollably, her words garbled.
“Monica, calm down. What are you trying to tell me?”
“She’s awake.” Mom sliced a glance at Izzy and narrowed her eyes. “They took her for tests.”
“Yes?” Dad smiled. “All good so far.”
Mom pulled away to rub her face. “She can’t see, Gerard.”
Dad stilled, and his smile faded. “What do you mean?”
“She’s blind.” Mom wrapped her arms around herself and paced. “They don’t know if it’s permanent.”
Heat and ice took turns to bathe Izzy as her lungs burned. She shook her head. No, this wasn’t possible. Dad had said Simmy would be fine. Why? Why wasn’t she fine? Izzy threw out a hand, caught the wall, and crumpled to the floor. Her vision blurred, and her cheeks flushed like someone had draped a heated cloth over her head.
A nurse touched Izzy’s shoulder, drawing her back to the moment. Mom and Dad stood to the side, watching her. Their stiff postures weren’t welcoming. Izzy hitched on a sob. They blamed her.
“I’m so sorry.” She chanted it, wrapping her arms around her legs to rock. “I did this.”
The nurse returned with a glass of sugar water, urging Izzy to drink. “She’s in shock, Mrs. Reeves.”
Mom, her cheeks glowing red against her pale skin, leaned over Izzy. “How are you feeling, pumpkin?”
“Feeling?” Izzy jerked. Nausea churned her gut, pain seized her muscles, and her heart screamed as if torn asunder. “How’s Simmy?”
“She’s just gone through the x-rays for her ankle. The MRI scans reveal a swelling, but nothing wrong with her eyes. They say her sight could return.” Mom laced her fingers through Izzy’s and tugged. “See for yourself.”
Simmy lay in a nearby bed, smiling as she chatted with Dad.
Izzy winced at the bandage around Simmy’s head, and the orthopedic boot on her foot. She sucked in a sharp breath, then resisted when Mom tried to pull her toward the bed.
“Pumpkin?” Dad opened his arm.
Izzy lunged to hug him, desperate for his warmth and strength.
“Izzy.” Simmy giggled. “Sweet sister.”
“She’s on pain meds,” Dad whispered into Izzy’s hair.
“No, Simmy, don’t touch your bandage.” Mom tucked the blankets under Simmy, pinning her in place.
“But Izzy’s here. Why can’t I see her?” Simmy pouted then squirmed in the bed. “I’m sleepy, Mom.” She moaned when she rubbed her face across the pillow.
“Come, pumpkin. Let your old Dad treat you to a milkshake.” He ushered Izzy to the hospital’s coffee shop. After ordering for her, he rested his hands on the table. “It wasn’t your fault. Simmy told us what happened.”
Izzy pinched her lips. The scene replayed. Her hatred when she swung the umbrella. Her wicked glee when Simmy cried out and faced her. But the snap of her ankle had torn away what joy Izzy had relished. The crunch when Simmy’s head hit the tree had ripped Izzy’s heart out. A hollowness remained.
She yanked the Austen out of her jeans and placed it on the table. Simmy couldn’t read it anymore. Izzy stifled a sob and clung to the chocolate milkshake a waitress served.
To be reminded like this that she did love her sister was the hardest lesson she’d ever learned. Never again would she treat Simmy like she had. The resentment was Izzy’s alone. Her inability to compete with her perfect sister was her burden to bear.
But taking it too far, endangering Simmy’s life because Izzy reacted like a child... that was on her.
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