“So is this.” Devon’s gaze cleared, her hazel eyes glinting with a new hardness Pris had never seen before. Like there’d been additional layers that crusted over during the years they’d grown apart. “Let’s not pretend this is what any of us want right now.”

“Mom’s death?” Pris asked, her insides clenching at the rising tension in the air. They formed a semicircle together. A memory flashed of the three of them ready to play hide-and-go-seek—squeezing into a tight knot while they picked who’d be it, back when they not only loved but liked one another.

“No. Being together. I’m not playing the role assigned to me, okay? So, let’s just agree to tackle the house piece by piece without getting all sentimental for things that no longer exist.”

Even Bailey sucked in her breath, a shadow of pain flickering over her delicate features. “Why are you so cold?” she whispered.

The air shimmered; softened; quieted. Pris waited for the answer too, wondering when the real turning point had been, when they’d decided being apart was better than trying to make the fragments of each of them fit into one clear puzzle. Two years ago? Five? Or had their relationship deteriorated so slowly no one had cared enough to count?

For a second, Dev opened her mouth and the words hung unuttered in the air, like an overfull balloon ready to pop.

Then she turned and the moment floated away.

“We better get started,” Devon said.

They watched her climb the grand staircase and disappear.

Bailey muttered something under her breath. “I need to use the bathroom,” she said, marching down the hallway. Left alone, Pris looked around, wondering if her mother’s presence would show itself. A brush of cold air. A sound. A wave of charged energy that announced Mom’s arrival to help smooth all these jagged edges between her children.

But nothing happened. Just a terrible empty sensation in the pit of her stomach and a familiar tension behind her eyes.

Pris dragged in a deep breath, set her shoulders, and headed up the stairs.

Chapter Two

Devon

Dev muttered a curse under her breath and opened the first empty box. Why did she have to act like such a bitch? At least when Bailey lost her temper, people accepted it as her artistic streak. She’d grown up with her parents shaking their heads at Bailey’s tantrums as if they were amused. But when Devon lost it? She was called ugly and out of control.

And right now?

They were right.

She yanked the top drawer of her mother’s nightstand and began to sift through an array of junk, making neat piles. One for garbage. One to sell in the estate sale. And one for treasures she or her sisters wanted to keep.