Chapter 433: Just Like The Old Days

They let the conversation sit for a while as a comfortable silence descended on them and the city loosened as they left the tighter streets; lights grew farther apart.

When the silence sat too long and was getting uncomfortable, Sacha then talked about the old neighborhood in pieces, the shortcut behind the bakery, the neighbor who watered plants at midnight, the summer Mia fell off the low wall and refused to cry until Mrs. Edith appeared with ice and a look that made crying unnecessary.

Stan answered in shorter lines, but he answered. A name here. A correction there. The back-and-forth found its old rhythm, the one that did not need to announce itself.

After a while he said it almost off-handedly, as if the thought had been waiting for a gap.

"I don’t know if I already told you. Mia’s father died a year ago. Not long after they recalled him to the military."

Sacha turned her head. For a second the banter simply left her face.

"Damn," she said quietly. "That kind man is dead..."

The road hummed under them. She looked at her hands, then at the dark running along the window.

"He used to call me ’the general’ when I made you two sit down and eat. I thought he was joking because I liked being in charge. He wasn’t, not really. He was just... kind like that. Noticed people." Her throat worked. "A year. And I was walking around thinking they just moved and life got busy. That’s ugly of me."

"You didn’t know."

"I still feel ugly." She was silent another moment. "Mrs. Edith. Mia. God."

Stan kept his eyes on the road. "When I visited about a week ago I asked where he was. I thought I was being polite. I wasn’t. I opened something they had already started closing. So tonight, don’t bring it up. If they do, follow them. If they don’t, leave it."

Sacha nodded, smaller than usual. "Yeah. Okay. That’s, yeah." She let out a breath that was almost a laugh and failed. "I’m sad for them. That’s all. Just sad."

"I know."

After a stretch he added, quieter, "We still don’t know about ours. Alive, dead, neither, both. So we know the shape of it, at least. Not the same. Close enough to keep our mouths shut."

Sacha looked at him then, really looked, and the older-sister thing returned without the jokes.

"We do," she said. "We know that part."

A few more lines passed between them, low and unpretty and useful. Then the city gave them a longer straightaway, and Sacha rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand, as if physically filing the subject away.

"All right," she said. "I’m not walking into that house with a funeral face. Mrs. Edith will feed it."

"She will."

A mile later, the smile came back, crooked.

"Is Maya still obsessed with you as she was when you and she were still kids?"

Stan smiled despite himself. "You were a kid too."

"I was the older one." She twisted in the seat, already warming to the trial. "I was looking after the two of you whenever the parents were away. You and Maya throwing tantrums like the world had personally insulted your juice cups. I was the responsible one."

"You hid in the closet during the blackout and told us the dark was a game so we wouldn’t notice you were scared."

"That was strategy."

"You ate the last of Mrs. Edith’s tarts and blamed the neighbor’s cat."

"The cat had a history."

"You started the water fight that ruined Dad’s papers."

Sacha pouted, a full, committed pout that belonged on a much younger face. "That was only a few times."

He laughed. The sound filled the cabin before he could stop it.

"Don’t laugh too hard, you’re driving."

"I’ve got it." His hands stayed easy on the wheel. "See? Control. Unlike the water fight."

"A few times," she repeated, stubborn.

He was still smiling when she jabbed the air toward him.

"And you still haven’t answered. You’ve gotten quite skilled at dodging. Is Maya still obsessed with you?"

Caught. He let the dodge die.

"From what I saw last week," he said, "she seems to have grown even more obsessed."

Sacha’s eyebrow went up.

"And how exactly do you plan to handle two women? Camilla and now Maya."

He has more than two but did not correct her.

Inside, the count unspooled with dry amusement. Two. She thought two was the problem. Camilla. Maya. As if the ledger stopped at the names she could see.

He had been close with more than that, had slept with seven, if he was honest, including that one time with Vivian’s sister Lily, which still sat in a category of its own. Counted properly, he was balancing around eight. Eight different temperatures, eight different claims on the same limited hours. His sister thought two would stretch him. He found that faintly funny, and a little exhausting, and not something he intended to unpack on this particular road.

Outwardly he only sighed.

"The girls I’m with love me as I am," he said. "I hope they’ll understand."

Sacha heard two women in that sentence and treated it as two.

She sighed too, the practical one now. "Money can attract people. You know that. Make sure their feelings are genuine. Some women can be snakes. They smile at the car and the watch and then they smile at something else when you’re not in the room."

I know."

"You’re turning out to be a playboy... You know that right?"

"Yes," he sighed, "I guess with more money comes that..."

His sister fell silent for a while before saying

"I’m your sister but I don’t want to headbutt too much into your personal life." She glanced at him, softer. "You’re an adult. You can take care of yourself. I just get the one warning, then I shut up. Handle your girls with care."

"Thanks for understanding."

"Don’t thank me like I gave you a medal. I gave you a sentence and a threat about snakes. Just the way you may or may not be using them for whatever reason you have, the girls you have may or may not be using you two... so handling many girls, you’ve got to be careful, to take anyone serious make sure her love is genuine." Giving that advice, She tipped her head against the rest.