What’s your worst memory?

This time, Frankie angrily tapped out a return e-mail with her slim fingers:

Who is this?

She sent it before she could think twice and then slapped her phone down on the table. Pam noticed.

“What’s up?”

“Just a troll. Tell me about the interview.”

“What’s to tell?” Pam asked.

“What kind of questions did they ask?”

“I don’t know. PR questions. Are you comfortable lying to a reporter’s face? Would you sleep with a client to keep their business? That kind of thing.”

“Funny,” Frankie said.

“Come on, I’d be eye candy for them, and that’s all. You know it. I know it. They know it.”

Frankie didn’t say anything. She sipped her wine and studied her sister’s face. Pam was hiding something, but that didn’t narrow it down. She always kept secrets. She always lied. The only thing she was ever honest about was her bitter resentment of her older sister’s success.

“You didn’t go, did you?” Frankie said.

Pam sipped her martini. “No.”

“For God’s sake, Pam.”

“What? I’m not broke anymore. I’ll find a job when I am.”

“That won’t take long if you keep coming home with Nordstrom bags. Do you know the strings I pulled to get you that interview?”

“Yes, thank you for taking pity on me,” Pam snapped.

“I’m done with you. That’s it.”

“I’d like to think so, but you’re never done, Frankie. Just like Dad was never done.”

“I mean, you’re on your own,” Frankie told her.

“What, do you want me to move out of your apartment? Get my own place?”

“Is that what you want?”

Pam’s face was ice. “No.”

“Yes, a penthouse condo rent-free is pretty nice.”

“You want me to pay rent, Frankie? I’ll pay rent.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Frankie shot back.

It happened this way over and over. They couldn’t be alone without arguing. Jason was the peacekeeper between them. Without him around, the two sisters took out their knives and aimed for each other’s throats. Frankie hated it, and she knew she was just as much to blame as Pam. She’d hoped it would be different with their father gone, but they’d fallen right back into their dysfunctional routine after the accident.

Frankie let the silence drag out. Then she asked, more softly, “Pam, are you clean?”

“Excuse me?”

“Cocaine,” Frankie said.

“Wow, you were done interfering for a full five seconds. That’s a new record, even for you.”

“I just want to know. When you’ve had money before, most of it went up your nose. That’s the truth, Pam, whether you like it or not.”