“I know. I only meant she’s not very experienced,” Meg said.

“Which is why this is such a great opportunity. She needs someone who can bring her out of her shell. Coax her into the spotlight.”

“Professionally, sure. But she sounded a little starstruck on the phone.”

Uneasiness slithered through me. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Look at me and Eric.”

“Because that turned out so well.”

I flushed. “My point is, he didn’t take advantage of me. Anyway, Beth would have told me if there was anything like that going on.”

“I’m just worried. She’s never even had a boyfriend.”

True. Long after Amy had moved on to magazines and makeup, Beth was still taking care of our discarded Barbies, styling their chopped-off hair, bandaging their missing limbs.

I shook my doubts away. “If she’s going to have any kind of career, she needs to get the hell out of Bunyan.”

Meg gave me her Mom Look. “What about you?”

I swallowed. “What about me?”

“You couldn’t wait to leave Bunyan and go to New York.” Meg stooped to retrieve DJ’s spoon from the floor. “I’m surprised you’re giving up on it, that’s all.”

I stared at her, stung. I wasn’t giving up. Eric wanted me gone, I was gone. Back home, where I was needed, where I was loved. “Hey. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am totally on your side,” Meg said. “You should sue his ass for sexual harassment.”

Her unaccustomed fierceness made me grin. But some deep-rooted instinct, pride or fairness, made me say, “It wasn’t harassment. Sleeping together was my idea. My choice.” I gulped my wine. “My mistake.”

Meg nodded. “So you ran away.”

I lowered my glass. “What are you talking about?”

“Well.” Meg took a sip of her own wine. “That’s what you do. You ran away from Bunyan. You ran away from Trey. Anytime you get too close emotionally, you bolt.”

Guilty. Damn it. “Not this time,” I argued. “He rejected me. He said he didn’t know me. After we’d been . . . You know. Intimate.”

“After you’d had sex.”

I scowled. “No. Yes. Meg, he slept at my apartment. We went running together. We cooked together. And then he dumped me.”

“Asshole,” Meg said.

I turned my fingers over to lace them with hers. I couldn’t stay mad at my sister. It was easier—safer—to be mad at Eric. “I love you.”

Meg squeezed my hand. “Love you, too.”

“Ath-thole,” DJ repeated.

Meg covered her mouth with her hand, her gaze darting to meet mine.

I fought a grin. “Sorry.”

“I not a ath-thole,” Daisy said. “I a kitty.”

“Athole! Athole!” DJ said gleefully, banging his spoon.

Meg’s laugh spurted. “And . . . It’s bedtime.”

I didn’t want her to go. “So, shoo. I’ve got this.” I stood to stack our plates.

“I’m not leaving,” Meg said. “I’ll put the kids down in Beth and Amy’s room until Dad gets home.”

Gratitude swamped me. If Mom were here . . . But she wasn’t. And as close as I felt to our father, I could never talk to him the way I talked to Meg. Unless he was counseling one of his vets, heart-to-hearts weren’t really his style. A daughter’s breakup barely registered on his trauma scale.