Wait, was that a door slamming? Who is that stomping across the floor upstairs?

19

Tuesday, June 29:

Lies Between Sisters

Diesel’s head peeks out from under the bed, blue duvet draped over his shoulders. He gives a small woof. Alert, someone coming.

“Morgan, get out of the room. I want to take a shower.”

“Oh my gawd. It’s Rachael,” Morgan hisses. “Just a minute,” she calls back. “We’re changing!” She tosses me the clear polish. “Quick, varnish over them.” She begins ripping the tissue from between her toes. Then she rips the tissue from mine. “We have to hide our toes or she’s gonna notice them.” She pulls some socks from a drawer and passes me a pair.

“I’m really hot! Will ya hurry up?” Rachael yells.

“Rawf!” Running! The more we rush around, the more excited Diesel becomes, jumping and wagging his tail. It seems like such a fun game to him.

“Was this how it looked before?” I ask after I reshelve Rachael’s nail gear.

“Absolutely.” Morgan doesn’t even look over. “Let’s get out of here.” Diesel pushes ahead up the stairs.

“What a nice doggie,” Rachael coos to him as he scrambles to the top. She scowls at Morgan, coming up next. “Your turn to make supper and you haven’t even started.” She wrinkles her nose and sniffs. That nail polish smell. But she doesn’t say anything.

“I’m coming up to make it right now!” Morgan shoves her sister away from the door.

Rachael stands to the side to let me pass. Dressed in a blue-grey air force uniform and clunky black shoes, she looks cranky and sweaty, her blond hair escaping from a bun tucked into the back of a hat. In her arms she holds a large oddly shaped black case.

“Whoa. She’s scary,” I say after she shuts the door behind us.

“Band practice never puts Rachael in a good mood.” Morgan shrugs, then takes some meatballs out from the freezer and puts them in the microwave.

“Can I do something to help?”

“Set the table. Cutlery is in that drawer.”

I place the forks and knives on the table. Morgan puts some water on to boil and opens a couple of cans of tomato sauce.

“Can you wash this?” She tosses me a bag of lettuce from the fridge. “Here’s the colander.” As she stands up, we both notice the open box of donuts.

She sighs. “Kieran ate some.” She turns back to watch the water on the stove, a bag of angel hair pasta in her hand.

“So what? That’s not a big deal, is it?”

Morgan shrugs. A bubble pops in the water and she dumps the pasta in. “Pass me the meatballs from the microwave.”

I do and she dumps them into the sauce on the stove.

“Why did your sister join the air force if she doesn’t like practice?” I ask.

“Air cadets. She joined because she wants to learn how to fly, not play the tuba.” After about ten minutes, Morgan flings a noodle at the wall and it sticks. “Kieran!” she calls.