Every time the sister thing came up, my stomach lurched, and my thoughts became muddled with worry. After all, this could be the only time we ever saw each other, what was the point in building a relationship. Just the subject of our family was tricky. Like playing that game where you go for the thighbone, but one wrong move makes that horrible buzzer go off. I had a store of resentments I might let out by accident or in anger. Stuff that Mirabelle didn’t need to know, at least not now.

I got up and brushed the sand off my body. “Aren’t you hot? I’m hot.” Mirabelle followed me down to the water, and we waded in up to our thighs. The water was warm, silky, and clear. I walked until it grazed the frayed bottoms of my shorts.

“What work does Merilee, I mean your mom and Bea do?” I asked, changing the subject.

“They sell stuff.”

“Oh yeah? What kind of stuff?”

“Bea likes to knit, so she sells hats and baby booties sometimes, and she makes these air-brushed sarongs that the tourists buy, but mostly she and my mom sell Turkish tobacco.”

“Turkish tobacco?”

“But you can’t tell anyone! It’s a secret, Mom says. Only for family, so that means I’m allowed to tell you.”

I tried to hide my shock. Turkish tobacco my ass. Merilee and Bea were dope dealers! If Merilee got caught, she would go to prison and then Mirabelle would wind up without a mom, just like me. Suddenly the whole situation felt a lot more familiar and, in a way, made me feel better. It gave me authority and validated my anger toward my mother. The wild card in all of this was Mirabelle. I had to be careful. If I threw any punches, it was a good bet that several would land on my sister.

“It’s illegal! What if you get caught?”

“Don’t be so judgmental, Jacqueline,” Merilee said when I confronted her that evening. Mirabelle was already asleep, Bea was taking a shower, and Merilee sat at the kitchen counter loading a crusty old bong that she had retrieved from under the sink. Apparently, the no-smoking-in-house rule only applied to cigarettes. She carried her paraphernalia into the living room.

“Nobody cares here. Everyone smokes. The cops, even the judges. By the way, I am happy to see those curly curls again. I’d forgotten how cute they are!”

“One square cop and you’d be in jail, probably for years.”

“Well, I can’t live on just what your father sends me. Besides, it provides a way to give Mirabelle extra things like hula lessons.”

I gaped at her incredulously. A dozen comebacks rose like prisoners banging their cups against the bars demanding to be set free. I gritted my teeth and sealed my lips against them.