“Fine. I’ll take the shed. At least it’s getting warm.”

Karma crosses her arms.

“Don’t you have to go get the girls?”

Karma’s glare swings to her sister. “Don’t tell me how to raise my kids.”

“Whatever. Just get out of our way if you’re not going to help.”

“Done.” Karma turns her back, slips into the house, and lets the door slam in our faces.

“Jesus Christ, I didn’t realize there was any way she could have possibly gotten worse, but . . . wow.”

Cricket shakes her head. “I told you, it’s been awful lately. I swear, she needs a joint and a good fuck—with a condom, so she doesn’t get knocked up again. Maybe she’d be in a better mood if Addy or Maddy’s daddy, whoever he might be, would show any interest in their kids.”

“I guess that’s enough to make anyone bitter.”

A pang of sympathy for Karma’s kids stabs me in the chest. It reminds me of my childhood, which was nowhere near perfect either. But instead of being angry all the time, my mom was a ghost and my dad was always pissed off and looking for her. He didn’t hesitate to take it out on me with the back of his hand when I got too old for his belt.

“Mom and I try to make up for it. Some days, Karma doesn’t even get out of bed, so we don’t have much choice in the matter.”

I think about what Cricket said her sister needed. “Sounds like she needs medication and a major attitude adjustment.”

“Something. She’s damn near unbearable. I try to avoid her as much as possible. I sleep on the couch or crash with Hunter. Hell, some nights I even sleep in my van because being around her is too much to take.” Cricket pauses. “Honestly, the shed really isn’t a bad idea. Mom fixed the place up during her DIY phase. Let’s go check it out and see if we can’t make it work.”

With a bag in each of our hands, Cricket and I head through the house, which has been updated since I left. The striped wallpaper in the hallway is gone, replaced by bright yellow paint. The couch in the living room is red leather now instead of tan cloth that I remember. The kitchen cabinets have been painted white and sanded in the corners for an artfully worn effect, and the countertops look new.

Cricket opens the back door and leads me out into the yard. The grass is neatly mowed and lilacs line the fence. Aunt Jackie hasn’t done too bad for herself, which is at least one more thing to be happy about today.

In the far corner, near the back gate, is a wooden shed hiding behind raised beds holding vine-covered lattice.

“I haven’t been back here in ages,” Cricket says as we cross the lawn. “I don’t think Mom has used it in a while either. She gave up on painting and has gotten more into gardening with the girls.”