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

“Hey, Carla. What’s up?”

“Most likely my cholesterol.” She laughed. “But it sounds like you weren’t up. I can call later.”

I assured her I was wide awake, and we spent the next ten minutes discussing details for her Christmas ad campaign. Since work had always been a positive distraction for me, I promised to revise the spots and send them to her before the weekend.

All I wanted to do was crawl back into bed, but that would only give me time to think about Stella. So, I pulled on yesterday’s jeans and sweatshirt and stumbled to the kitchen. Scarlett stood by the door.

“Didn’t mean to keep you waiting, Your Majesty.” I stepped aside to let her pass into the small fenced-in backyard.

Then I made coffee and took a few sips before a sharp bark alerted me the dog wanted in. Together we wandered to the den. She climbed into her bed, circled three times before plopping down with her back to me. I sat on the sofa with my laptop, trying to come up with an ad that would convince buyers we had created a light, lacy concoction of frills with the protection of full body armor.

Turned out it was no easy task. “Not your grandma’s bra” was nostalgic but evoked images of bosoms that had lost their war with gravity. “Throw away your bullet-proof vests, ladies,” while reassuring, seemed antagonistic. I settled on “Sensual support.”

I stood to stretch, and Scarlett rose to give me her where the hell’s my breakfast face. When I checked the time, I couldn’t blame her.

“I bet you’re starving, sweet girl.”

After filling her dish, I washed my hands and poured cereal. A few bites in, I lost interest. How could I sit safe in my kitchen eating cereal when Stella might be—no, I would not go there.

If Scarlett worried about her missing mistress, it hadn’t affected her appetite. She wolfed down her food and was licking the bowl when I removed her leash from its hook. She sat at attention. Quivering as I attached it, she scrambled toward the front door.

Sunlight spewed over us, hinting today would be one of those mild December days that make you happy to live in the South. We headed down the street, Scarlett lunging while I scurried to keep up. After a few blocks, she slowed to a brisk trot, stopping to sniff at the spot where some phantom night creature had lingered. The trot became a saunter as she examined random sticks and scraggly patches of half-frozen monkey grass.

Now that my survival didn’t depend on trying to stay on my feet, I was able to think. But not about Stella. No, I would make myself concentrate on subjects unrelated to my sister. I revisited the copy for Carla’s spot, then thought of the last time I’d seen my friend.

I stopped by to check out her new holiday collection. Her hot pink Lexus with its custom license plate BB4ALL was parked in front of the store. The vivid colors of her vehicle correlated with her special line of brassieres for cancer survivors. Her specialty plates represented her philosophy of beautiful breasts for all.

A wintery window display featured a white-tinsel Christmas tree decorated with bras and panties tied into bows. I winced at the bitter contrast of the festive cheer and memories of the starkness of our past few Christmases without Stella.

Carla greeted me with an embrace, then stepped back and stared at me. “So, how are you doing? Remember, I’m a human bullshit detector.”

I plastered on my brightest smile. “Much better, more like myself,” I lied, unsure what my pre-betrayal self had been.

“Honey, you’re never going to be your old self again. The good news is you can be someone better, but only if you want to.”

Her remark had irritated me. I wanted to be a better person, to let go of my rage. Who the hell wouldn’t?

Today, heading back home with a much calmer Doberman, Carla’s words took on new meaning. She was right when she said I’d never be my pre-betrayal self. But it wasn’t Stella’s behavior that made her assessment accurate. It was because without her, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be. I had been a loving older sister devoted to my charming, albeit egotistical, sibling. I had spent so much time excusing and adoring Stella.

Now, the possibility I might lose her forever terrified me. Who would I be without her? Not Stella’s older sister. Not one of two daughters. Just me.

I couldn’t be sure if it was the dropping temperature or the thought of what that sister-less life might be, but I began shivering so violently I had to hold Scarlett’s leash with both hands.

Chapter 7

Once home, I slipped into a bra from Carla’s not-so-well-endowed collection. She insisted on giving it to me as a thank you for a great quarter. I had to admit it enhanced my attributes, but at over one hundred dollars a pop, I’d have to stick with Target’s line.

Dressed in clean jeans and a sweatshirt, I turned to check myself out in the mirror. As expected, my too-thin, hollow-eyed-face stared back at me, but I wasn’t alone. Eleven-year-old Stella stood beside me, wearing one of my push-up bras and frowning.

“Grace, when do you think my boobs will come in?” she asked as if they were a reluctant crop of tomatoes.

I weighed my answer, not mentioning my concern that as petite as she was, I suspected she might not receive a bountiful pair. Instead, I assured her she would start developing any day. But I underestimated the generosity of the breast fairy. Like everything else in Stella’s life, she was abundantly gifted. She accepted the largess with her usual composure and set about using her new assets to her best ability. At fourteen, she mastered the art of exposing just the right amount of cleavage to captivate her prey without seeming slutty.

I blinked, and she disappeared. But she wasn’t done with