Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

November 2016, Breckenridge, Colorado

Evelyn opened her eyes and braced herself. It took her no time to remember that the poster-clad walls of her childhood bedroom weren’t a cruel facade from a dream. They were real. She was home for Thanksgiving, and Sophie was sleeping in the room right next door.

Or maybe she wasn’t sleeping, because Evelyn hadn’t, not until almost dawn. She had tossed and turned all night, questioning her decision to return home. Her mother had insisted, but what did that matter? It was a horrible idea. As much as she wanted Sophie to forgive her, she knew it was too soon. Sophie wasn’t going to understand what had happened between her and Miles. Evelyn herself hardly understood, even though it had now been over a year since he first came to stay at her apartment.

Evelyn forced herself out of bed and cracked the blinds at the nearest window, letting the weak autumn morning light filter in. She stared at the landscape outside the condo—muted, desolate, awash in gray and brown.

She pulled on a pair of fleece-lined leggings and a lightweight shirt and stepped into the hallway. Sophie’s door was still shut. She made her way down the stairs and smelled coffee. Her mother was already awake, reading the news on her phone as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Good morning, Evelyn,” she said as she glanced up. “Coffee?”

“Later, thanks. I’m going for a run.” Evelyn continued down the hallway, grabbing her down vest from a hook by the door and stepping out into the cold morning air. Not cold enough , she thought, wishing yet again that she was on a remote mountain, unreachable. She would have to make do with a ski resort.

A map of the roads and trails around the resort had long ago burned its way into her mind. She turned left away from the condo complex and ran uphill, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her leggings, but she ignored it. It was probably Miles, asking how things were. Bad. Things were bad.

Evelyn had flown in the day before, as close to Thanksgiving as possible. Her mother had picked her up from the airport, chatting nonstop to fill the void between them. Evelyn hadn’t seen her since the summer, when she’d shown up at the apartment unannounced. Since then, they’d maintained a cordial relationship. Her mother rarely asked about Miles, which Evelyn appreciated. If she could pretend he didn’t exist, she could ignore some of the pain she’d caused. But she had, from her mother’s updates, a strong idea of exactly how hurt Sophie was. Her sister wasn’t working. She rarely left the house. For the first time in her life, she was on antidepressants. Evelyn took all this information and locked it away in a black box in her brain. She opened it often, the guilt gnawing at her from the inside out.

That same guilt had carried her home. Her mother hadn’t even insisted. She had suggested, gently, that it might be nice to spend the holiday together. Evelyn had time off work anyway, and Sophie was already home. The ski resort didn’t open until December 1. Wouldn’t it be nice, the three of them in the same room together? Evelyn hadn’t given herself time to think before she said yes, because she could have thought of a thousand reasons to say no.

Sophie had known about her relationship with Miles for several months now. They hadn’t spoken since July, and Sophie’s rage and disappointment had been palpable then. But Evelyn wondered if, with the passage of time, Sophie’s feelings might have softened. Even if she wasn’t ready to forgive Evelyn, maybe she would listen to her. As irrational as she felt, a small part of her hoped for a path forward and knew she wouldn’t find it without seeing Sophie again.

In a perfect world, she could convince Sophie that she and Miles were meant to be together all along. In her most self-indulgent moments, Evelyn told herself that Sophie had only been a detour in Miles’s path to her. They made sense together, Miles’s spontaneous, freewheeling spirit tempered by Evelyn’s need to plan and prepare, though she allowed Miles to draw her out of her shell sometimes. He was the only person who could talk her into attending a late-night comedy show or trying a new hole-in-the-wall restaurant after a long day of working on a case.

The sisters had avoided each other yesterday. Sophie had gone to the grocery store around the time of Evelyn’s arrival and returned while Evelyn was unpacking. Evelyn had feigned exhaustion to avoid dinner together and later snuck out for a burrito under the pretense of buying cranberry sauce—a Thanksgiving staple that the rest of her family hated, but Evelyn loved. She had eaten her dinner in the strip mall parking lot and driven back slowly, watching the minutes tick by on the car clock until she was certain Sophie had gone to bed.

Which brought her to now. The immediacy of running took over most of her brain, leaving little room to ruminate. She followed the winding road up past the lodge—memories of Sophie’s wedding flooding back—past more condos and chalets, past the storage warehouses. Her end goal was the top of the mountain, the glass-sided building where the lift arrived, but soon she was bent over on the side of the road, hands on her knees, heart hammering against her chest. Nausea swirled in her empty stomach, bringing an unpleasant taste to the back of her mouth. She waited for her breath and heart to slow before straightening up to study the road. It continued snaking up the mountain until it grew tiny, a mere line cutting through the brown grass. She could see her destination but running the rest of the way seemed impossible. She admitted defeat and turned around.

Back at home, the door swung open as Evelyn reached for the handle. There stood Sophie, dressed for a run.

She looked Evelyn up and down. “Same idea.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Evelyn replied, unprepared. “I should have waited for you.”

“No worries,” Sophie said, brushing past. “I would have said no.”

At 4:00 p.m. they sat down for dinner. Evelyn had spent most of the day in the kitchen. It was a safe bet—Sophie wasn’t fond of cooking. But to Evelyn’s surprise, Sophie had ventured down to the living room in the afternoon and stayed there, reading a book. Many times, Evelyn had fought the urge to go speak to her. By dinnertime, she wondered what she was afraid of.

Sophie had made no effort to dress up for dinner. She wore a sweatshirt with fraying sleeves, and her hair still wasn’t dry from the shower. Evelyn sat across from her, their mother at the head of the table, which was covered with a traditional spread—rolls, mashed potatoes, green beans, roasted vegetables, a turkey breast, Evelyn’s cranberry sauce, and a pumpkin pie from a local bakery. More food than the three of them could possibly eat. The sight and scent of the food, the familiar ritual of the holiday, brought a knot to Evelyn’s throat. It almost felt normal.

Their mother cleared her throat. “I just wanted to say how much I appreciate you both being here. I’m thankful, every day, to have two wonderful daughters who have grown up to be such incredible women. I’m so proud of you both.”

Out of habit, Evelyn caught Sophie’s eyes and rolled her own. They always made fun of her Thanksgiving speeches. Can’t we just eat? Sophie used to say. But now Sophie simply held her gaze, her eyes rimmed in red. Had she been crying? Evelyn shifted in her seat, aware of how much discomfort Sophie probably felt from her presence.

“Do you want to share what you’re thankful for?”

Evelyn blinked. She took a deep breath, trying to think of the least troublesome thing to say. “I’m thankful that I’m healthy and strong,” she said quickly, though the memory of her failed morning run mocked her. At least I made it halfway , she thought.

“Sophie?”

Sophie glanced at their mother, then back at Evelyn. “I’m thankful that a person’s true character is always revealed.”

“Look, if you don’t want me here—”

“Why wouldn’t I want you here?” Sophie replied, cutting Evelyn off. She held Evelyn’s gaze, silently daring her to answer the question. “Fine. Let’s eat.”

Evelyn stole a glance at her mother, but she was looking at Sophie. Evelyn knew whose side she was on. She lowered her head, focusing on the plate of food in front of her, though her appetite had already deserted her.

“Thanks for cooking, Mom,” she remembered to say.

“You did half the work.”

Evelyn looked at Sophie again, but her face was stony as she ate. Evelyn suspected there would be no more cracking through to her interior. Sophie, like Evelyn, was stubborn. If she didn’t want to speak, she wouldn’t.

Thirty minutes later, Evelyn exhaled in relief when her mother stood up from the table, signaling the end of the meal. No one had spoken—not even a “pass the potatoes,” since everything was within reach on the small table. The clinking of silverware had drilled into Evelyn’s brain, leaving her with a headache and punctuating just how much she didn’t belong. If she hadn’t been there, it would have actually been a normal Thanksgiving. Sophie and their mother would have talked, maybe even laughed. Instead, she sat across the table, the elephant in the room, barging in to remind them of the broken state of their family.

“I’ll help with dishes,” she announced, offering Sophie an out if she wanted to go back upstairs. To her surprise, Sophie returned her gaze.

“I will too. Mom, why don’t you go relax? You’ve been busy all day.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Oh, alright. Maybe I’ll read a book. I’ll be just in the other room, if you girls...need me.”

In the kitchen, Evelyn let the sink fill halfway with hot, soapy water and plunged in. Sophie stood to her left, ready to dry the dishes that Evelyn handed to her.

Evelyn took a chance. “This feels like old times. Like when we were kids.”

Sophie took a plate. “Has it occurred to you that I don’t really want to reminisce?”

Evelyn bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m sorry. I just thought—”

“Thought what?” Sophie’s voice dropped to a harsh whisper, barely audible above the running water. “The last time I saw you, you told me you were having an affair. With my husband. Who I am still married to .” Evelyn opened her mouth to speak, but Sophie shook her head. “It’s not even about that, Evelyn, it’s...” She trailed off, blinking in frustration, her cheeks growing red. “You realize you’re going to be next, right? He’s just using you. He didn’t want to be in Wyoming anymore. You have an apartment in New York. How convenient. When the excitement wears off, he’ll find some other woman who has the next thing he wants. And you can’t come crying to me when it happens.”

“Sophie...” Evelyn had no idea what to say. Her heart pounded. She wondered if Sophie was right. She hadn’t forgotten their conversation on K2 and the numerous phone calls with Sophie after they returned home, when Sophie complained to her about the continued arguments between her and Miles—he didn’t want to go through another winter in Wyoming; she was determined to stay. Evelyn knew he wanted to move to a big city, but—didn’t he love her, too? Wasn’t he happier with her? Tears threatened to spill and Evelyn blinked them away. “I don’t know how we ended up here.”

She had meant to say something else. Something that captured how backward it all felt, that explained that even she couldn’t make sense of her own actions. She didn’t want sympathy. She wanted something else: acceptance, understanding, from the one person she could always rely on to grant her that.

Sophie’s lip twitched. “I do.” She set the dish towel on the counter and closed her eyes. “I need a minute.”

Evelyn needed forgiveness. The one thing she couldn’t have.