10. Sophie
SOPHIE
The familiar stench of grease and fish permeates the cabin of the old Jeep in a way that would be nostalgic had I not just worked through our busiest early shift to date.
Usually, I manage to skip kitchen duty entirely, but Mia had called in sick and Trent was at school, so it was all hands on deck.
The only glimmer of hope I clung to through the awful rush was the five-minute conversation I had with Meredith before she boarded her plane to Boston—the one that placed her back in Nantucket in time for Thanksgiving.
At which point I shall be handing over my proverbial—and literal—apron for a few days.
Perhaps if I’d spent some of those five minutes asking about our other sister, however, I wouldn’t be so surprised to see her sitting outside my front door as I parked up.
The plastic bags filled with leftovers dig into my fingers, and I almost drop them right there on the path.
I knew she’d come back eventually, after we heard her charges were dropped. But I wasn’t ready for this. I thought I’d get at least a day’s warning, a buffer, time to rehearse something clever or calm or, at the very least, not completely stunned.
“Hey, Soph,” she says when our eyes meet. Her voice sounds scratchy, smaller somehow. She stands, brushing off her jeans like she’s nervous.
“You’re back.” It comes out flat, not the warm, sisterly greeting I probably should’ve given, but I’m too busy keeping my heart from pounding out of my chest.
“Yeah,” she says, eyes flicking to the bags in my arms. “I wanted to…talk. Can we go inside?”
Inside. In my cottage. My new, hard-won, harboring-no-illegal-artwork cottage. My first thought is a childish “absolutely not”.
But then she adds, softly, “Please.”
I juggle the bags higher on my arms, buying myself a second. The truth is, if I turn her away, she’ll just camp out on the steps until the neighbors start rubbernecking, and Trent will definitely come home in the middle of it. That’s the last thing I need.
“Fine,” I mutter, stepping past her to unlock the door. The key sticks in the lock, of course, like it knows how awkward this moment is and wants to make it worse.
The door creaks open and warm air drifts out, carrying the faint smell of laundry detergent and garlic from last night’s pasta.
In the past weeks and months, our little corner of the world has become more and more our own.
Trent’s presence and mine are now reflected in the little things, discarded shoes, letters, and notes to each other.
The scuff marks on the walls I’ll need to paint over to get our deposit back.
But the more homely things too, like the house plant I decided to commit to, and the photo from the Shacks’ official launch framed on the windowsill.
I set the leftovers on the counter with a thud and glance back at her, standing in the middle of my living room like she doesn’t know where to put herself. For once, June looks smaller than the space she’s in.
She catches my eye and swallows. “Nice digs.”
No thanks to you.
“So,” I say instead, a little too brightly. “How was New York? The food any good?”
June raises an eyebrow at me. “Seriously? That’s your first question?”
I shrug, forcing a smile. “What? I hear the pizza’s better than L.A.”
“Yeah, jail food pairs really nicely with sarcasm.”
Ouch. Okay. I fold my arms across my chest and lean against the counter, pretending like I’m totally unfazed. “That’s a funny way to describe a hotel room.”
Her mouth twists. “I was on house arrest, I couldn’t exactly leave to take in the sights when my ankle monitor barely let me out the front door.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from retaliating. But I don’t want to hand her a reason to snap, so instead I just nod.
“You look…” I search for something neutral. Not terrible, even though her cheeks are hollow and the bags under her eyes have their own hand luggage. Not thin, because that’ll sound like pity. “…different.”
June narrows her eyes. “Yeah, I bet.”
Right then.
We lapse into silence. I think about maybe offering her a seat, but if I do, she might stay, and I don’t really want to drag this out any longer than I need to.
I’ve not had enough time. I’ve had months now, but it’s still not been enough.
The shock of it all is still fresh. The sympathy I feel for my sister is overshadowed by everything else: her stupidity for marrying someone she barely knew, the betrayal of keeping it from us.
She’s a grown woman capable of making her own decisions; I would never argue that.
But when those decisions affect everyone else? Affect Trent?
I need more time.
There’s a part of me that knows that’s my fault. I should have addressed this sooner. I shouldn’t have neglected these feelings as much as I have, all the excuses in the world—the cottage, the Shack, Trent starting school—don’t really compare to what June has been through. But it’s all moot.
This conversation is going nowhere today.
“Look,” my voice sounds sharper in the silence. “Was there something you wanted?”
Her face flinches almost imperceptibly, “Yeah, actually. I wanted to let you know I was back.”
“I see that. You could have called ahead.”
“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
“Well, you thought wrong.” The words slip out harsher than intended. “I mean… it would’ve been nice. To know.”
June’s arms wrap around her chest, defensive. “I figured you didn’t care. You haven’t exactly been blowing up my phone either.”
I bite my tongue, because of course I’ve cared. Every scrap Meredith fed me, I clung to like a lifeline. I could probably recite her court dates by heart, knew exactly which judge she stood in front of, list the prosecutors by name alphabetically, which motion Mark filed on her behalf.
But telling her that would feel like handing her the upper hand, and I’m not ready for that.
Instead, I roll my eyes. “You were kind of… unavailable, June. Not like I could swing by the Four Seasons and knock on your door.”
Her mouth tightens. “It wasn’t the Four Seasons.”
“Oh, forgive me. The Marriott?”
Ah.
That was the wrong thing to say.
Too late, I see the anger flash across her face. “You wanna keep acting like I was on some big vacation, like nothing happened, or are you going to apologize to me?”
“Apologize?” The word bursts out of me with almost humorous disbelief.
She doubles down. “Yeah.”
The silence that follows is suffocating, only exacerbated by the click of my tongue.
In another world, I’d be pulling her into my arms and telling her how glad I am that she’s safe. I’d hug her close, maybe even cry a little into her shoulder like I did when we were kids.
Yet I find myself stepping forward not to embrace my sister, but to intimidate her. “And what, exactly, am I apologizing for?”
June might only be an inch or so taller, but she uses every centimeter to bear down on me. “Three months, Sophie. Three months, and you can’t even ask me how I am?”
I want to laugh. Or cry. “How you are? June, I know how you are! You were all over the news. Meredith called me every other day with updates. Don’t act like I’ve been living under a rock.”
“That’s not the same!” she snaps, arms flung wide like she can’t keep the fury contained. “I needed you, not your secondhand concern. I needed my sister, and you didn’t even?—”
“Don’t you dare,” I cut in, my voice cracking like a whip. My pulse is pounding so loud it’s all I can hear. “Don’t you stand in my house and accuse me of not caring. You have no idea what it’s been like, June.”
She falters, blinking at me, but her jaw stays tight. “Then tell me.”
My chest heaves. The words burn in my throat.
“You brought him into our lives,” I spit. “That criminal. And you didn’t say a damn thing to me. You married him and thought you could just… what? Keep it a secret forever? Because you got your feelings hurt when I kept something from you, you just had to get your own back.”
“I didn’t know, Sophie!” She half screams the words. “I didn’t know what he was, who he was, any of it. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore. You think I would’ve dragged you and Trent into that mess on purpose?”
“You didn’t think, June! That’s the problem.
You didn’t think at all. You ran off with some guy you barely knew and left me to pick up the pieces.
And then the FBI—” My voice breaks, hot tears burning my eyes.
“They tore through your house like you were some high-profile serial killer. Trent was here. He saw it. Do you know how terrifying that was for him? For me?”
June’s eyes widen, guilt flashing across her face. “Sophie…”
“No,” I snap, shaking my head. My hands are trembling, so I ball them into fists at my sides.
“I had to stand there and try to calm him down while strangers in black gloves ripped through your closets, your drawers, your art supplies—God, your bedroom. And Trent kept asking me if they’d arrest him, too.
Do you know what that feels like? After everything that happened this summer, when he was just starting to feel safe again. ”
June’s shoulders cave, her voice a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t know any of this would happen. I didn’t…” She swallows hard. “Someone set me up. I don’t know if it was Ashton or… but none of this was ever supposed to happen. I never wanted anything like this to happen. I’m innocent, Sophie.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m the one who had to pay the price?” The words leave me before I can stop them, ringing out into the room. “Why am I the only one who stayed in Nantucket to pick up the pieces after you left. You think I smell like this for fun?”
“Nothing about this has been fair,” June replies far more evenly.
“Not for you, not for me, not for anyone. I didn’t ask for Ashton, I didn’t ask for the trial, I didn’t ask to be locked up in some hotel room for months while everyone I love thinks I’m a liar and a fraud.
Now, I appreciate what you’ve done with the Shack–”
“Then why did you choose him over us?”
My heart’s beating so hard I can feel it in my ears.
The question hangs there, heavier than anything else we’ve said. June’s eyes glisten, but she doesn’t answer. She just stares at me like I’ve cracked her open and she doesn’t know how to stitch herself back together.
June’s lips part, her face blotchy with the effort of holding back tears. “I didn’t?—”
The front door bangs open.
“Yo, Soph, I’m home!” Trent’s voice fills the cottage before he appears. A beat later, his sneakers squeak across the floorboards, and he bursts into the kitchen, backpack hanging off one shoulder, hair mussed by the wind.
He freezes when he sees June. Then grins like he’s been handed a Christmas present.
“Someone call the police!” he crows, dropping his bag with a thud. “We’ve got an escaped criminal up in here!”
“Trent,” I hiss, shooting him a sharp glare. “That’s not funny.”
To my surprise, though her eyes are still wet, June actually manages a weak laugh. She lifts a hand in a half-wave, clearly not trusting her voice.
Trent doesn’t notice, of course. He’s already plopping himself down at the kitchen table, rifling through the leftovers that have slowly been growing cold on the counter.
“You missed everything,” he tells June, pulling out a reusable container of loaded fries.
“The Shack’s been crazy busy since your whole arrest. Like, I told Davon we needed to start doing merch or something, ‘cos everyone was asking about you. I even managed to start this writing campaign, you know, at school? My friend Danny helped me set it up, not sure if it helped, though. But Soph said you had a pretty good lawyer.”
I groan. “Trent.”
“What?” He says with a mouthful of fries. “Is it too soon or something? You don’t mind, do you, June?”
June flinches, and I want to throttle him. But she forces another smile, brittle at the edges. “Nah, I’m just happy I’ve kept your life so interesting.”
I cut in quickly. “Don’t you have homework?”
“Already did it,” he says flippantly. Then, bright-eyed, he turns to June. “Hey, are you coming to Thanksgiving at the Beach House this year? Please say yes. I’ll die if it’s just me and Soph, having to deal with Richard on our own.”
June just blinks at him, clearly still trying to recover from the emotional wreckage of five minutes ago. “You’re going to the Beach House?”
Trent just nods. “We’ve been hanging out there a bit. Eleanor’s been teaching me to bake cranberry pie ‘cos Sophie sucks at it.”
“Meredith will be back in time for Thanksgiving,” I cut in before Trent can return to the question at hand, going to ruffle his hair in an attempt to distract him. “So June doesn’t have to come… she’s had a long few months, it could be pretty overwhelming, yeah?”
Nonetheless, Trent looks expectantly at his half-sister.
June finally swallows. “Yeah, well. We’ll see.”
Trent grins like that’s a yes.