Stepping completely inside, Lisa’s stare moved over me, as though I were somehow different, or she was searching for visible bruises. She then bent down to open the cabinet beneath the sink and extracted a black rectangular bag.
“Sit down,” she said, motioning to the closed toilet lid and unfastening the gold-toned zipper of the bag.
“Where’s Gabby?” I asked once I was seated.
“She left.”
I nodded faintly, watching as she pulled a brush from the black case. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to do your makeup.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t want to cry.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “And makeup will stop me from crying?”
“It’s a great deterrent. If you have makeup on, crying will ruin it. It’s helped me keep my shit together.” She lowered her eyes, took a deep breath, and finally finished, “It’s helped me a few times.”
I stared at my typically prickly sister, sensing that she considered this statement a secret, a valuable weapon that might be used against her. It was a window—albeit, a closed window—into a softer, gentler core than she showed the world.
Nodding, I uncrossed my arms and said, “Okay.”
Lisa’s gaze cut back to mine, her eyebrows jumping. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“Yes.”
“You’re actually okay with me doing your makeup?”
“Sure.” I shrugged, admitting the truth, “It actually sounds fun.” Compared to talking about the incident, everything sounded fun. Even a colonoscopy. Even a mammogram. Even a root canal. Even all three occurring at the same time.
“Who are you and what did you do with my sister?” Lisa gave me a smile I suspected was supposed to be teasing.
“I wear makeup.”