Sam’s return feels like a blade slicing through all that. Inside I’m shaking. If Macon’s expression is anything to go by, he’s just as unsettled. With a short nod and a long glare in the direction of the kitchen, he gently puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me upstairs.

“I can’t believe she’s back,” he grumps, stomping along as if to show his ire.

“I can’t believe she has the house code,” I mutter. It’s nonsensical that I even care, but I’m not thinking clearly. All I can think is that my sister is back, and like a virus she’s going to infect everything.

“I didn’t think to change it,” Macon says, scowling. “It never crossed my mind that she’d have the nerve to waltz into my house. Hell, I thought there was a good chance she’d never come back.”

Dread swells up within. I knew she’d return. I knew for a while and didn’t tell him. Shit. I need to, but that conversation is too complicated to have with Sam hanging out downstairs. And I’m a chicken. A complete and utter chicken.

“Well, she has.” It’s all I can say.

“Fucking Sam” is all Macon can say.

Despite the fact that my long-lost scheming, thieving sister has returned and is currently in the kitchen, Macon insists on leading us into the shower. He stays silent as he carefully washes me and then himself. His dark gaze is a mixture of anxiety and anger. I empathize. It’s as though we’ve been pulled out of a dream and don’t know what to do with reality.

Clean and dressed, we descend the stairs together, marching along as though gearing up to face a firing squad.

Sam is curled up on the kitchen banquette, a glass of sweet tea in her hand. “Your handiwork, I’m guessing,” she says by way of greeting. Glaring at me from over the glass, she takes a slow sip. “Not as good as Mama’s, but it will do.”

I roll my eyes. If she’s going to try to insult me, she’ll have to try harder than that. “I’m wounded. Truly.”

Macon crosses his arms over his chest. “Cut the shit, Sam, and explain yourself.”

The glass lands on the table with a clink. “You’re not my man, and you’re certainly not my daddy. So don’t talk to me as if you are.”

He doesn’t blink. “You told fucking stalkers where I’d be. And while I sat there in a hospital in part because of your actions, you riffled through my stuff, stole my mother’s watch, then cut and ran.”

Silence rings out. Because what can she say to all that? Not a thing, and we all know it.