In response, a knowing smirk bloomed on Kennedy’s face, and she lifted the book from her lap to reveal the cover. Deven recognized the lilac purple diary immediately. Butterflies and rainbows adorned its tattered cover, and a sleeve held the now broken heart-shaped lock. A gift for her eleventh birthday, Deven remembered. She’d received an identical diary, only hers had been a powder blue. Another difference? Deven had only used her once while Kennedy had actually been faithful with writing in hers, all the way up until she moved out.

“I didn’t know you still had this,” Deven said.

“Of course, I do. Lots of memories in here.” For emphasis, Kennedy thumbed through the pages, the colored inks blurring together like a watercolor painting. “I like to go back and read stuff every now and then.”

“What did you put in there about me?”

“What makes you think there’s stuff in here about you?”

Deven rolled her eyes at the taunt. “Because we didn’t get along, so I know you were cussing me out a few times.”

Kennedy eyed the page, almost pensive. “Actually no, there’s nothing in here about that. Just how much I looked up to you.”

Deven felt the stab of guilt at Kennedy’s admission. Thankfully, her baby sister hadn’t been tainted by her little sibling jealousy from time to time. It certainly made up for it because of their close relationship now.

“You still have your diary?” Kennedy asked.

Deven pictured the book in her closet among her storage containers of childhood trifles. She didn’t even know why she had bothered keeping it. “Yeah, it’s at home somewhere,” she said, vaguely.

Kennedy placed her pen in the crease between the open pages and leveled her eyes with Deven. “Let me ask you something. Why didn’t we stay in touch when I left?”

Deven felt convicted. Kennedy’s twelfth birthday party had been the catalyst for the change in their family dynamic. But hell, what could she do about that now? She’d only been fourteen, a child herself. Deven’s shrug was cagey camouflaged as nonchalance. “I mean, we were kids,” she reminded her. “It’s not easy having different dads because you have your family and I had mine, you know?”

Something that looked like pity (or maybe it was disgust) crossed Kennedy’s face before it was replaced with a grin. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” she said.

The conversation had discomfort settling. Instead of dwelling on it, Deven pretended to reach for the diary. “So, what else did you write about me in there?”

“That you can be a bitch who doesn’t know how to mind her business.” Kennedy flipped up a playful middle finger before closing the diary and unfolding herself from her seated position. “So, what’s going on today? You have any plans?”

“I was going to relax a little. Why?”