“Yeah.” Jenna uncoiled her limbs in one graceful movement and stood up, looking down at Nola with contempt. “Only if I get away from you.”

Nola scrambled to her feet. She was six inches shorter than her baby sister. “What do you mean?”

“I hate being in your shadow. You’re always controlling me.”

“Jenna, I love you. It’s not control; I’m eight years older. Without our parents around, wasn’t it natural that I’d take care of you?—”

“You’re such a selfish bitch. What do you mean, ‘I’m so proud of you?’ Who are you to patronize me? The big celebrity helicoptering down to the masses?”

“Jenna, please. You’re taking it the wrong way.”

“Here we go again. The Chosen One has spoken. I’m always wrong and you’re right.”

“Sorry. Jenna, I’m really sorry. I don’t know when and how I hurt you. Now that we’re both adults we should find a way to have a beautiful sisterhood—”

“Bullshit. You’re so full of your own hot air, you make me puke.” Jenna broke into a run. “I’m moving far away,” she yelled over her shoulder. She galloped up the steps two at a time. “And don’t you dare come looking for me.”

Nola stood at the bottom of the stairs, the breeze blowing her hair onto her wet cheeks.

She had meant to discuss Jenna with Beverly, to ask her to intervene, maybe suggest that they seek joint counseling. Anything to get through Jenna's anger and stop her from disappearing again. But when Nola arrived at Beverly’s home, she was shocked at the weakened, emaciated look of the formerly plump, vivacious woman. Beverly’s gray hair had been chopped close to the scalp.

God. Oh, my God. Trembling with knowledge, Nola followed Beverly into the living room. “You’re very sick,” she finally managed to say. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“My leukemia has returned.” Beverly let out a hoarse chuckle, then doubled over with a cough. Nola brought water from the kitchen and tapped on Beverly’s back until the woman caught her breath.

“Returned? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Exhausted, Beverly whispered, “For six years, those little terrorists have been blowing up bombs in my blood. They’re winning.”

Nola began to weep. She sat next to Beverly on the couch and they held each other as both cried. Beverly’s bones were tiny, like a bird’s, and she smelled sour, as if her flesh already lay underground. “I was thinking of buying an island in the Caribbean,” Nola wept. “You’d have your own cabin.”

Beverly smiled, and her exposed gums seemed large. She patted Nola's hand. “Do it anyway.”