no deep discussions about our relationship status or where it was headed. I was a recovering drunk, and he was a recovering whore. Any therapist I’d seen over the last five years would say the same thing I was thinking: we had no future.
I picked up the remote and turned on the television. The news channel was already reporting on the fire, the latest updates scrolling across the bottom of the screen. I only listened for a few minutes before turning it off.
My phone buzzed, lying in the same place on the bed where I’d tossed it earlier. Even from ten feet away, I could see it was my sister. It rang a few times before going dark, and then the display lit up again.
I walked the few steps and reached for my phone, unsure of whether I would throw it across the room or answer it until I held the speaker to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Ellison?”
“Hi, Finley.”
She sighed. “I thought you were dead. Mother and Dad thought you were dead.”
“I guess to them I sort of am.”
I could hear her wrath building, cringing when she yelled into my ear. “Not to me! I haven’t done shit to you, Ellie, and you’ve been ignoring and avoiding me for months! Do you think I’ve been hanging out on the beach just hoping you were okay?”
“No, but I hoped…”
“Fuck you! Don’t hope nice things for me right now. I’m mad at you! I don’t deserve this from you!”
I froze, wondering if she meant more than just being ignored.
“Say something!” Finley’s voice broke, and then she began to sniffle.
I wrinkled my nose. “Are you crying? Don’t cry, Fin, I’m sorry.”
“Why won’t you talk to me?” she cried. “What did I do?”
“Nothing. You didn’t do anything. I just didn’t want to ruin your vacation. I didn’t want you to feel guilty, and I didn’t want you to worry.”
“You’ve failed on all counts!”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry!” she snapped. “I want you to answer your fucking phone when I call!”
“Okay,” I said. “I will.”
“You promise?” She was calmer now, taking a deep breath.
“I promise. I’ll answer when you call … if I’m not working.”
“What are you doing, anyway? Mother said you’re a secretary or photographer or something for the magazine there.”
“Yes.”
“Are you using the camera I bought you?”
I could hear her smiling. She had already forgiven me. She didn’t know about Sterling, and when she found out, she would remember this conversation and feel even more betrayed. All I wanted to do was get off the phone, but that would only make her suspicious.
“I am. It’s a really good camera, Fin, thanks.”
Finley didn’t talk for a few seconds. “I feel like I’m talking to a stranger.”
“It’s me,” I said.
“No, it’s not you. You’ve changed.”
“I’m sober.”
She breathed out a laugh. “How is that going?”
“Well, actually. Well … one fuck-up. How’s Sanya?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve been in Bali the last three weeks.”
“How’s Bali?”
“Beautiful. I’m coming back to the States to see you.”
I panicked. “I miss you, Fin, but I’m traveling a lot with this job. I’m following around the interagency hotshots, and we’re all over the place until early October.”
“The hotshots? As in Tyler’s crew?”
“Yes.”
“You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”
“Occasionally.”
“I knew it!” She giggled.
I was going to miss this Finley, the one who was never shocked, and who always let my misdeeds slide off her shoulders. Finley always made excuses for me; she led me around life holding my hand, and bossed me around without a second thought because that was what older sisters did.
No matter how much I wanted to prevent it, there would come a time when we would be sisters but no longer friends. Even if Finley forgave me, she would forever feel the pain of my betrayal and never know if she could trust me again.
I chugged one of two bottled waters in the room, wishing it were something stronger, and then paced a few laps before deciding to go back downstairs. My reflection in the mirror by the door caught my attention, and I stared into the round, icy-blue eyes staring blankly back at me. My reflection wasn’t kind. Dark strands of wavy hair hung from my messy bun. I was sober, and working, doing everything normal people did … was I happy?
A part of me hated Tyler for having to ask myself that question. If I couldn’t be happy doing something I loved, sleeping next to a patient man trying to care for me the only way he knew how, did