Wild Swans - Jessica Spotswood Page 0,13
should be here by now.”
I can tell Granddad is biting his tongue. Language, Erica.
“Girls, would you like to see your room?” he asks instead. “Ivy can show you.”
“I’ll do it,” Erica says quickly. Like she’s worried that if I’m alone with them, I’ll spill her secret.
I should. I should tell them right now. I’m not your aunt. I’m your sister. Your mama’s my mama too. She ran out on me when I was a baby. She’s a liar and a terrible, selfish person, and you can’t trust her. Better you learn that now.
I step forward. Open my mouth to say it. But then the wind shifts and I’m hit with the scent of strawberry bubble gum. I look down at Gracie’s sunny, gap-toothed smile and I can’t.
I don’t know where Erica would go, but I believe she is just selfish enough to pack the girls back in her car and drive away, and Granddad and I would never see Gracie and Isobel again.
And I want to get to know them. It kind of punches me in the gut how much. Who is Isobel texting? Does she have a boyfriend? Does she play sports or maybe an instrument? Is Gracie obsessed with Disney princesses and dogs like I was at her age, or is she into soccer and nail polish like Abby’s little sisters?
Has either of them inherited some marvelous Milbourn talent?
Maybe it’s different if you don’t grow up here with the weight of all those expectations. But between Isobel’s slouch and Gracie’s worried eyes, I’m not so sure.
“Are you putting us in my old room?” Erica asks.
Granddad shakes his head. “The girls can have the guest room. The nursery last time you were here. Ivy’s up in the attic now.”
“You get to sleep in an attic?” Gracie asks. “Is it haunted?”
Isobel looks up from her phone long enough to roll her eyes. They’re like Erica’s, big and brown, coated in sparkly purple shadow. “Don’t be stupid. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“Iz, don’t call your sister stupid,” Erica snaps, and Isobel curls into herself.
“No ghosts. We’ve got a widow’s walk though.” I point to the roof. “That balcony up there. Have you ever seen one before? We can go watch for the moving truck if you want.”
“Can I go see, Mama?” Gracie asks. “Please?”
Erica turns her dark gaze on me. Watching. Weighing. Will I tell?
I stare back, chin up, game face on. But I can’t help wondering what she thinks of me.
“All right, Grace,” she says after a long moment. “Go ahead. But be careful.”
She says it like she cares. Gracie squeals and throws herself at Erica, hugging her around the waist. Erica pats Grace’s shoulder, and her face softens when she looks down at her little girl.
“You want to come?” I ask Isobel.
“No,” she scoffs. I don’t miss the way she glances at her mother afterward, seeking her approval, rewarded when Erica tosses a scrap of a smile her way.
“Suit yourself.” I lead the way inside, Gracie skipping after me.
“Izzy’s mad because she wanted to stay in DC with Daddy,” she confides the second the screen door bangs shut behind us. “She was supposed to go to theater camp and she didn’t want to leave her friends. And her boyfriend.” She draws the word boy out like it’s seventeen syllables long. “You got a boyfriend?”
“Nope.” But I think of Connor and his tattoos and the way his eyes trailed over my legs, and I feel myself blushing. “What about you?”
“Ew! No! I’m six, silly!” Gracie giggles, climbing the stairs next to me.
“I meant are you okay with being here for the summer?” It must be hard, leaving her father and everything familiar to come live with strangers.
She shrugs. “Daddy says I can visit him on the weekends. Izzy too. Or he’ll come and visit us. He says there’s a hotel here where you can have a tea party. Like with the queen!”
I laugh as I open the attic door. “There is. I’ve been there.” I had my seventh birthday party at the Blue Heron Inn. My friends and I wore poufy dresses and little hats. We thought we were incredibly fancy. Alex was the only boy and Luisa made him wear a suit and he was so mad. Only till he saw all the cookies though. We both ate ourselves sick.
“Is blue your favorite color?” Gracie points at my navy comforter and the navy-and-white-striped curtains. “My favorite color is pink.”
“I like pink too. My prom dress was pink.” I