Page 36 of The Same Backward as Forward

Is it lung cancer?I swallowed the question back. When I did speak, my voice came out tight. “Are you going to be okay?” I felt like a child, asking that question. I sounded like one, too. I didn’t want to care about the answer. I should have been looking out for myself—not her.Neverher.

Shrewd eyes took me apart, piece by piece. “You loved your sister. Never would have guessed you felt a damn thing for me.”

I don’t want to.

She stared at me for the longest time. “You’re smart, Hannah.” There was no logical reason forthatto be the sentence that sent a chill down my spine. “You’re my daughter, truly.”

No.I wasn’t. Not in any way that mattered. “You don’t want me back,” I said.

“Is that a threat?”

I’d seen her here. I knew her secret. There were people in the Rooney family who’d never been happy with a woman running things, people who would absolutely take advantage of any weakness she showed.

It is to your benefit to keep me away from them.I didn’t say that. What I said was: “Am I smart or am I a person who would threaten you?”

She let out a little snort. “You look like me, you know. People have said so since you were a child.”

I thought about Harry’s drawing, about the way he’d made me look—notsoftorhardorsharpordreamyorwildbutalive. My mother and I didn’t look a thing alike.

I was nothing like her.

I turned to leave, but as I hit the threshold, I paused. Iknewnot to hesitate, but I did it anyway, because for better or worse, she was mymother.

“Does Dad know?” I asked without turning around.

“What do you think?”

I shook my head. “I think I should go.”

I made it all the way out the door before she spoke again “Hannah?” I didn’t turn around, but I stopped long enough for her to issue one parting shot. “I miss her, too.”

Chapter 30

For as long as I could remember, I’d only ever cried in the shower. The one in my apartment was tiny, but that didn’t stop me from latching my hand around the shower curtain and slamming it back into the wall.

Tears were weak, but crying in the shower didn’t count.

I turned on the spray. Every muscle in my body felt like a rubber band pulled to the breaking point. Not even giving the shower time to warm up, I stepped into the tub.

I shuddered.

I let go.

I’m not crying.When my tears mixed with the spray, I could tell myself they didn’t exist. And whywouldI have been crying, really? If anyone on this planet deserved cancer, it was my mother. If she died, what was it to me?

Seriously, what was it to me that she’d claimed to miss Kaylie?

What did it matter that I knew my sister had loved her, too?

What did any of it matter?

My breaths were ragged now. But Iwasn’t crying, and I refused to hurt. Slowly, my breathing evened out, one thought rising up over all the rest, one thought allowing me to turn off the spray:I have a wager to win tonight.

“You’re late.” Harry was the one who opened the door when I got to the shack. There wasn’t a single light on inside.

“You’re still up,” I said.

“I’m always up.” Harry gave a little shrug. “Sleep is for mortals.” I could feel him peering at me through the darkness. “You’ve been crying.”