Did I look up to her? Was there a time? Something comes back to me then. First grade. I got in a fight with Grover Teague at recess and the school called my mother. In the principal’s office Mom’s hands worried over each other. She had such sturdy hands, scuffed around the nail beds from all the farmwork. Why can’t you be more like Ruth? she said when she heard what I’d done. The principal sighed in agreement. Her shirt was buttoned all the way to the throat. In her hand was a viciously sharpened pencil. It always amazes me, Mrs. Van Ness. Same gene pool, entirely different child. You might as well have bought her in a shop. In my head, I imagined her pitching forward and impaling herself on the sharp tip of her pencil. But that didn’t happen. It took years for me to understand how power works—how to build it, how to wield it. Only when I grew did I understand the long game.

Sully clears his throat. “Earth to Alex? Did you hear me?”

It frightens me that I did not. “Sorry,” I say, managing a light laugh. “You’d think I’d be a better listener.”

“I was saying that in sibling relationships there’s always a jostle for power. There’s a hierarchy, but I don’t think it’s always set by age. I have a twin brother who’s four minutes younger than me, but he still tries to boss me around.” He smiles. “Doesn’t mean I let him.”

I want to meet him, I think, but I stop myself. Instead, what I say next shocks. “When I was fifteen, I helped Ruth get an abortion.” I blurt it out, just like that.

“Whoa.” He’s stunned, but only for a second.

“Sorry. God. Sorry. You were telling me about your twin brother. I swerved off course.”

“No, no. The less I say about him the better. I’ll ruin my own day. So, your sister, you helped her do that? When you were so young?” His eyes are soft at the edges.

“She wasn’t in a good place—she’d gotten into drugs. I convinced her that she couldn’t have the baby. It wouldn’t be safe. We told our parents that we were going into town for a milkshake. I directed her to the clinic. She played music the whole ride and didn’t speak to me.”

“You were fifteen?” He moves his travel mug to the side of the table.

I just keep talking. “Outside were all these women with posters on sticks with horrible photos on them and banners about being a murderer. We had to push through them to get to the front door. She walked in pregnant and walked out not, and then we got in the truck and drove home.” I glance up at him. “I’ve never told anyone this before.”