The Sometime Sister Katherine Nichols (reading in the dark txt) 📖

carelessly defined. Streets started and stopped with no apparent plan. Buildings were scattered like children’s blocks. The nearer we got to the airport, the more order was restored. Our landing was a moderate white-knuckler for me, as we bumped and bounced to a halt. Justin continued reading his magazine until the plane came to a full stop.

I was stiff and sluggish waiting in the customs line. A website I visited warned of dishonest agents rifling through bags to steal loose valuables, but I saw no evidence of anything suspicious. The interior was modern with an organized and efficient system in place. The personnel were polite and friendly. Several mounted plaques proclaimed Guayaquil’s airport the best in South America.

Once they checked our passports, we headed for ground transportation, where Mike’s friend waited to drive us to the hotel. Before I could ask Justin how we would recognize him, a bronzed man in an orange and green shirt covered with parrots, knee-length denim shorts, and an Atlanta Braves cap approached.

“Grace Burnette,” he said. “Mike sent me your picture.” He held up his cellphone with a photo of my mother and me at her last birthday party on the screen. “I’m Harry, Harry Davenport. Welcome to Guayaquil.” He tipped his hat, revealing short salt and pepper hair. His smile unleashed multiple creases around his eyes and mouth. “And you must be Justin McElroy. I’ve heard good things about you.” The men shook hands.

“Here, let me take that.” He picked up my bags, and I didn’t protest. Almost ten hours of traveling weakens a woman’s need to assert her independence.

While my mother’s boyfriend had the build of a former college football player, tall with wide muscular shoulders and long legs, Harry Davenport was more of a wrestler. I guessed him to be around five-nine with thick arms and thighs. Like Mike, his stance suggested he’d been in the military.

Justin looked our escort up and down before following him to the parking area. He put his hand on the small of my back in either an unexpected gesture of affection or a proprietary statement. We passed a winding pond filled with fat goldfish and surrounded by palm trees, the only exotic touch in an otherwise typical airport setting. A steady drizzle emphasized rather than relieved the heat. Harry set our bags on the curb and instructed us to wait while he brought the car.

Minutes later he appeared in a black Ford Bronco. He hopped from the driver’s seat and escorted me to the passenger side. Justin loaded our luggage and sat behind me.

“Mike’s got you booked at the Wyndham,” Harry explained as he pulled out of the lot. “You’ll have an incredible view of the river from the Malecon, the city’s Riverwalk.”

The farther we drove from the airport, the less modern the city became. Small dwellings with roofs and doors painted in tropical colors were sprinkled in next to newer multi-storied buildings. Little chapels shaped like ice cream sundaes interrupted commercial areas with an occasional full-fledged cathedral asserting itself in the middle of the block.

He continued his narrative. “Guayaquil doesn’t have much in the line of tourist attractions. And the local bigwigs are fighting the reputation of being Ecuador’s most dangerous city. They beefed up security at the Riverwalk and around your hotel, but I’d still be careful. And avoid those yellow taxis. They aren’t always the real deal. Passengers get kidnapped, robbed and beaten and worse.”

I shivered at the duality of the place.

“Here we are,” he announced as he turned into the Wyndham lot, situated across from tenement dwellings painted in vivid oranges, reds, blues, and yellows. As we neared the boxy units, they became less vibrant. Peeled paint and cracked foundations, so close to the casual elegance of our building, were disorienting. A lighthouse with a swirled blue tower, topped by a golden dome, overlooked the apartments. Next to it, the Ecuadorian flag waved high above the cluttered chaos of the city. The hotel curved outward toward the river, away from the hillside homes. The arrangement was a subtle reminder that proximity means little in a world of haves and have-nots.

Harry parked in the check-in area and we walked into the lobby. Soft gray carpeting and furniture were surrounded by multi-paned windows, which offered spectacular views of the river, now sheeted in mist. A tree decorated in gold and silver with rows of twinkling lights sat beside a Nativity scene, reminding me Christmas was less than three weeks away. Only a week and a day since someone had murdered Stella, but it seemed a lifetime ago.

Before, whenever anyone asked if I had any siblings, I would shake my head and smile. “No brothers, but I have this incredible sister.” Now, what would I say? The simple answer “no” wasn’t right. Wouldn’t that negate Stella’s existence and somehow lessen my own? But “yes” didn’t work either. I’d entered the ambiguous world of loss.

I had become the main character in a fairy tale gone horribly wrong. Once upon a time, I had a sister, but an evil force ripped her from me.

I turned my back to the glittering tree and the Virgin Mary’s luminous face.

“Earth to Grace. You were a million miles away,” Justin said. “Why don’t you check out your room and freshen up. We can meet in the bar in an hour, get some dinner, and talk about what to do tomorrow.”

Images of steaming water and luxurious soap and shampoo were so enticing I barely noticed the conspiratorial looks exchanged between the two men. I suspected Mike had talked to them and they were making plans without me. It made sense for them to be in charge but giving up power gave me a helpless feeling.

When Ben and I were together, I’d given him permission to make important decisions for me. After he left, it took a long time for me to regain confidence in my judgment, to retake control. I never wanted to lose it again.

An attentive young man in a loose-fitting