Page 10 of Your Every Wish

“No problem. It gets cold here at night. I’ll let you get back to your shower, or phone call. And next time I’ll call first.” He bobs his head at us while trying to smother a grin.

“She didn’t mean that,” I call to him as he walks away.

Kennedy shuts the door and starts to laugh. “I can’t believe he heard us. Thin walls in these trailers.”

“That was horrible. The guy fixes our window and that’s how we reward him. Tomorrow, I’m going to bring him a cake or a pie, or something.”

“The guy obviously wants special treatment.”

“Special treatment? Like what?”

“How the hell should I know? But men don’t typically do nice things for women unless they want something in return.”

“That’s a bit cynical, don’t you think?”

“It’s just the truth.”

“What in the world happened to you to make you so . . . distrustful?”

“Life. Your water is boiling.”

I finish the pasta with a sprinkling of Parmesan, and we eat in the living room on little TV trays left behind by the previous tenants.

“You think he ever lived here?” I ask.

“Willy? Hell no. My guess is he won this dump in a poker game and forgot he even had it until it was time to make out a will. And this is what he gave us.” She takes a visual turn around the living room, landing her gaze on the cottage cheese ceilings. “Unless he left you more.”

“You were there in the lawyer’s office, Kennedy. We got exactly the same. Why do you keep acting like I have some inside track on Willy Keil?”

She takes a few moments to ponder the question, or perhaps her answer, then says, “Because you’re his legitimate daughter. I’m the one he had with the young showgirl, who he thought so little of he left her barefoot and pregnant to fend for herself.”

That’s not the way I heard it. According to my mother, Willy left Mom high and dry for the showgirl. “He didn’t think that much of us either because by the time I was three, he was gone.”

Kennedy takes her plate to the kitchen and returns a few seconds later. “Thanks for dinner. I think I’ll turn in for the night. ”

It’s not even nine but it’s been a long day.

“Good night,” I say and watch her disappear down the narrow hallway to her bedroom.

After cleaning the kitchen, I make my way to my own room, plop down on the lumpy bed, and call Dex.

“What’s up?”

“Just calling to see how your day went.” It’s nice hearing his voice even if he sounds surly.

“It’s late, Emma. You of all people know how early I have to get up.”

“Sorry. I miss you, is all.”

“Yeah? How’s it going in Bum Fuck?”

“All right. Kennedy’s still insisting we sell.”

“I can’t say I blame her. But don’t let her push you into anything you don’t want to do. What do you know about this woman, anyway?”

I roll over to my side, propping a pillow under my head. “Not a lot, other than she’s my half sister. I actually like her, though. A lot.”

“You like everyone, Emma. That’s your problem.”

“I like you,” I say playfully. “Are we still on for Saturday?”

“Yeah, about that . . . I have a work thing. The boss invited me for dinner at his club.”

“Dex, you promised.”

“I know, babe. But you don’t want me to pass up an opportunity like this.

He only invited three of us. You of all people know how long I’ve worked to make it inside his inner circle.

I turn down an invitation like this and in the blink of an eye, I’ll find myself on Digsby’s team again.

” Dex had hated working for Mark Digsby, whose specialty was taking credit for other traders’ work.

“All right. I get it.” I’m not happy about it but it’s Dex’s career we’re talking about.

“Thank you for being understanding. I’m going to sleep now.”

“Okay. Call me tomorrow. Love you, Dex.”

I wait to hear the words back but all I get is the click of the phone. Oh well. It’s probably been a long day for him, too.

It’s too early to sleep, so I change into my pajamas and go outside to look at the stars. You can actually see them here, where the sky is always clear and the moon shines brighter than San Francisco streetlights. It smells good, too. Like fall and pine and wet earth.

I drag a battered plastic chair from the side of the house to the front yard and stare up at the sky, taking it all in. Somewhere in the distance an owl coos, the only noise in an otherwise still night.

A person can really think out here, which leads me to contemplate what I said to Dex about Kennedy.

I like her, despite her snarkiness and cynicism.

And bitterness. Because she’s got plenty of that.

But she’s also tough and resilient and intuitive.

The kind of woman who takes zero shit. Self-sufficient.

She has the kind of traits that I guess I wish I had a little more of.

And then there’s the whole familial thing.

I feel it with her. From the first day she showed up at Townsend’s office it was there. A sibling connection.

Dex would say I’m imagining it, that I hardly know the woman, that I’m letting my eternal optimism—and insatiable need to be loved—tell me things that don’t exist. Even Mom, who is the most trusting soul in the world, says to be wary where Kennedy’s concerned.

“She sounds pushy,” Mom said when I told her that Kennedy was relentlessly pressing me to sell our inheritance. “She actually sounds a lot like your father. A bully.”

So, for once in my life, I’m going to err on the side of caution and not rush to embrace Kennedy as my long-lost sister.

Business partners, yes. Because what choice do I have?

But just because we share the same feckless father, the same DNA, doesn’t mean we have to be family, or even bosom buddies for that matter.

And I’m definitely not going to tell her the secret I know. The secret about Willy.