Molly Somerville, the fifteen-year-old half sister Phoebe barely knew, sat in a chair by the window, still dressed in the shapeless brown dress she’d worn to the funeral. Unlike Phoebe, who had been overweight as a child, Molly was rail thin, and her heavy, jaw-length dark brown hair needed a good trim. She was also plain, with pale, dull skin that looked as if it had never seen the sun and small, unremarkable features.

“How are you doing, Molly?”

“Fine.” She didn’t look up from the book that lay open in her lap.

Phoebe sighed to herself. Molly made no secret of the fact that she hated her guts, but they’d had so little contact over the years that she wasn’t certain why. When Phoebe had returned to the States after Arturo’s death, she’d made several trips to Connecticut to visit Molly at school, but Molly had been so uncommunicative she’d eventually given up. She’d continued to send birthday and Christmas presents, however, along with occasional letters, all of which went unacknowledged. It was ironic that Bert had disinherited her from everything except what should have been his most important responsibility.

“Can I get you anything? Something to eat?”

Molly shook her head and silence fell between them.

“I know this has been tough. I’m really sorry.”

The child shrugged.

“Molly, we need to talk, and it would be easier on both of us if you’d look at me.”

Molly lifted her head from her book and regarded Phoebe with blank, patient eyes, giving Phoebe the uneasy feeling that she was the child and her sister the adult. She wished she still smoked, because she was in desperate need of a cigarette.

“You know that I’m your legal guardian now.”

“Mr. Hibbard explained it to me.”

“I think we need to talk about your future.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

She pushed a wayward blond curl behind her ear. “Molly, you don’t have to go back to camp if you don’t want to. You’re more than welcome to fly to New York with me tomorrow for the rest of the summer. I’ve subleased an apartment from a friend who’s in Europe. It has a great location.”

“I want to go back.”

From the pallor of Molly’s skin, Phoebe didn’t believe her sister enjoyed camp any more than she had. “You can if you really want to, but I know what it’s like to feel as if you don’t have a home. Remember that Bert sent me to school at Crayton, too, and packed me off to camp every summer. I hated it. New York is fun during the summer. We could have a great time and get to know each other better.”

“I want to go to camp,” Molly repeated stubbornly.

“Are you absolutely sure about this?”

“I’m sure. You have no right to keep me from going back.”

Despite the child’s hostility and the headache that was beginning to form at her temples, Phoebe was reluctant to let the issue pass so easily. She decided to try a new tack and nodded toward the book in Molly’s lap. “What are you reading?”