gaping vortex of liquor-lust, she wasn’t going to call it that.
But then … why had she pulled off the interstate? Why had she let Claire take the wheel?
Because she was tired. She hadn’t been up for a fight.
It wasn’t because she was drunk.
She was fucking tired. Wouldn’t anyone be at four in the morning?
Murphy shut off the sink faucet with the back of her wrist, then searched around the bathroom, presumably for a paper towel dispenser. Eileen tapped the dryer she was leaning beside—a white, rusted clunker. In response Murphy wiped her hands on her jeans.
“What’s the point of those things?” she sighed.
Then she stopped in front of the bathroom door, looking expectantly at Eileen.
“What?” Eileen asked.
Murphy said primly, “My hands are clean.”
Eileen rolled her eyes and jerked open the door. Murphy could be a real princess—a trait she shared with Claire. Eileen followed Murphy down a convenience store aisle stacked with jerky out to the Caravan. In their absence an attendant had filled the tank using Claire’s dirty bribery money.
Once everyone was in the van, doors slammed shut, Claire turned to Murphy and asked, “How much do you know?”
Murphy told them how much, which was basically everything: Uncle Patrick, their inheritance, and the deal Claire had struck with Eileen. Snooping—another thing Eileen’s sisters had in common.
Claire was pink in the face by the end of it. “You’re staying in this van the rest of the trip,” she commanded.
Murphy scoffed. “What, do you think bandits are going to drag me off or something?”
“Maybe I do,” Claire snapped. “We’re going to a town no one’s heard of to see a dead man’s house. We don’t know what to expect, and what we especially don’t need is a little sister to worry about.”
“I’m fourteen,” said Murphy. “I’m three years younger than you. You always act like it’s a decade.”
“Maybe because you act like you’re four.”
“Okay,” Eileen said, dispassionately. “Can we not? Murph, you do whatever the hell you want. Claire, chill out. This is my car, and you’re both here thanks to my mercy, or whatever.”
“I’m here thanks to my money,” Claire sniffed. “Murphy is deadweight.”
“Oh my God,” groaned Eileen. “This isn’t the zombie apocalypse. We’re not fording raging rivers, we’re checking out a house. That’s it, okay? And Murph’s right, it kind of sucked that we were going to leave her alone overnight.”
It did suck. Eileen was realizing that. She’d been so set on going to Rockport, she hadn’t considered the fact that leaving Murphy behind was exactly what Mom had done to the three of them with her cruise. Big surprise: Eileen sucked as a sister. She hadn’t planned on receiving the Best Older Sibling award anytime soon.
“Yeah,” Murphy piped up. “What’s with that?”
“You chill out too.” Eileen pointed to Murphy in the rearview mirror. “You got what you wanted: You’re in the goddamn car.”
Murphy had no reply for that. She sniffed and shrugged.
“Keys,” Claire said from the driver’s seat. She extended a hand to Eileen, who’d grabbed the keys when they’d parked.
“I’m fine to drive,” Eileen muttered, not putting her heart into it.
She was too tired to argue. And that’s what had impaired her driving: tiredness. That had been it.
Claire clicked her seat belt in place and repeated, “Keys.”
Rolling her eyes, Eileen produced the keys from her pocket. Rather than hand them over, though, she jammed the car key into the ignition herself. Then, crossing her fingers out of sight, she turned the key just so.
The car started on the first go, with a full tank of gas.
One hour till they reached Rockport.
* * *
“So, our first sister road trip, huh? Go-see-our-new-house-we-didn’t-know-existed road trip. And after we see the house, we can get cheese curds for breakfast. Claire, you like cheese curds, right?”
“Those have gluten.”
“Well, what about Blizzards?”
“They clog your arteries.”
“Yeah, that’s why they’re good.”
“We don’t have time for Dairy Queen.”
“It’s a road trip. We gotta eat sometime.”
“It’s not a road trip. It’s … reconnaissance.”
“What’s the Renaissance got to do with anything?”
Eileen turned up the radio, chewing viciously on two new pieces of Dubble Bubble. She and Claire fought, sure, but at least they knew how to stay quiet. Murphy? The kid didn’t have a filter. And Claire? She always rose to the occasion.
“Murph,” Eileen shouted over the music. “You were better as a stowaway.”
The rearview mirror reflected Murphy’s grin—crooked teeth, no orthodontic intervention. Like Claire’s. Eileen’s were perfectly straight. A waste, since out of the three of them, she smiled the least.