Julie Trewitt’s gorgeous thighs hovered precariously out of reach. “Why?”
“I have a meeting.”
I frowned. “It’s Saturday night.”
“I know, but I can’t skip this meeting. It’s with a very important guy who could do amazing things for my career. Amazing things.” She stepped farther into my room. “Which would mean having the financial freedom to give you and Lorna whatever future you dream of.”
Shit.
Why couldn’t Skye be even a little like my mom and Lorna? Selfish to the core. Instead, she genuinely cared about making life better for us.
I tried to argue anyway. “She’s fourteen.”
Skye gave me a look that pricked my guilt. “If something happened to Lorna while she was alone, neither of us would forgive ourselves.”
“Fuck.” I slumped down onto the bed. “I had plans tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I know babysitting your little sister and her best friend is not what you had in mind, but it’s just one night.”
That meant I was babysitting Jane too.
Shit, I could deal with Jane over Lorna anytime. “She’s such a brat when you’re not here, Skye.”
“Uh, she’s a brat when I am here. But she’s our sister and we love her.”
“She’s Mom.” I gave Skye a concerned look. “She’s Mom through and through.”
Skye sighed heavily. She knew I was right. My little sister was selfish and self-involved and intensely focused on money because until last year, she’d never had it. She was also exhausting. No one ever loved her enough. Cared enough. Paid her enough attention.
Mom through and through.
“I’m not sure that’s true. I think she’s fourteen, and fourteen-year-old girls can be hard work.” She shrugged. “You weren’t exactly a picnic a year ago.”
I grunted.
“And Mom didn’t have Jane Doe in her life. Jane’s a good influence on Lorna.”
I snorted. Jane was a pushover. That kid was so desperate for someone to care about her, she let Lorna bulldoze her. I felt a little guilty thinking that, knowing what I knew about the kid. As bad as we’d had it in the parental department, we hadn’t been left outside a police station as a baby.
I’d never met anyone who was a real-life Jane Doe before.
Skye smiled, her eyes flicking to the hall. “I love that kid,” she confessed. “I love that our kid is hanging out with a great kid like Jane.”
I already knew that. Skye didn’t hide her affection for the little orphan. I sighed. I guessed if anyone could temper Lorna, it would be Jane.
There went my night. “Do I have to be in the same room as them?”
My big sister chuckled. “No, drama king. But I want you in the living room and not hiding out in here. They could sneak out if you do that.”
“Sneak out where?”
“This is Lorna we’re talking about. She’s unpredictable.”
That was true. “Fine.” I pushed up from the bed and kicked off my shoes. Grabbing my copy of The Stand by Stephen King from my bedside table, I followed Skye out of my room. Down the hall came the sound of giggling beneath the strains of Kings of Leon’s “On Call.” I smirked. Another point in Jane’s favor was that when she was around, she improved my little sister’s taste in music.
As we made our way downstairs, I texted Julie back that I was babysitting, but we should catch up tomorrow night. Passing the coffee table, I saw the open sketch pad sprawled across it and stopped to look. I turned the pad by the corner so I wouldn’t smudge the drawing. It was a sketch of Skye. She was staring off into the distance, fingering a strand of hair, wearing a thoughtful expression.
Jane drew it.
I felt Skye’s chin rest on my shoulder. “I love how that kid sees me.”
I smiled.
“She’s so freaking talented, it’s unreal.” Skye moved away. “That sketch is just the tip of the iceberg.” She returned to my side and pushed her phone in my face. “Her freshman art project.”
I blinked in surprise at the structure of 3D wooden boxes of various size. They created what appeared to be a city skyline. On every single box was a sketch of a different face. Familiar faces. They wore a variety of expressions, together conveying a plethora of emotions.
“It’s a cityscape of comedians and comedy actors, and then actors and writers famous for playing more serious roles. She’s drawn them wearing expressions opposite to what they’re known for. The comedians are sad and reflective. The writers are laughing or in love. It’s supposed to be an artistic discussion about how faces get lost