“Oh, you’re not?”
“No.”
I tried to move around her.
She blocked me again.
That was when I realized this wasn’t grief talking.
Rebecca had been waiting for this.
Waiting five years.
Waiting for an audience.
“You didn’t come for Christmas,” she said.
I remained silent.
“Thanksgiving?”
Nothing.
“Mom’s surgery?”
My jaw tightened.
“You missed Dad’s retirement dinner. My wedding anniversary. Grandpa’s seventy-ninth birthday.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
She laughed.
It was sharp enough to carry through the rain.
“You know?”
People were openly watching us now.
Rebecca turned slightly toward them.
“For anyone wondering, this is Claire. My younger sister.”
Nobody said anything.
My Sister Called Me a Disgrace at Grandpa’s Funeral—Then a Four-Star General Saluted Me
