1 Cora #2
a wink, he turned and walked away.
Cora glared in his direction. He might have lived his whole life believing the world would bend to his notion, but Cora did
not. She returned the package to the rack before grabbing the single brush in the brand her dentist—an actual toothbrush expert—had
given her during her last cleaning. And yes, it was a single because she only needed the one. Besides, she did have a spare toothbrush. She kept it in her medicine cabinet like a normal person.
Luckily, Gatsby had already disappeared by the time Cora got to the checkout, which she was glad for. She didn’t know if she
could handle listening to his helpful tips on how to pay for her items.
Still shaking her head with disbelief, she dashed through the rain for a second time and tossed her new finds in the back
seat. “Well, that was something,” she said to the steering wheel, then pointed her rental car in the direction of their vacation
cottage.
Savannah had rented the same beachside cottage they’d always stayed in when they were growing up. Every year, from June 1
until August 15, it was the place they called home. Back then, the blue clapboard house with the navy-and-white-striped awning
was one of Cora’s favorite sights, and even the thought of it could fill her with buzzing excitement. There was no place in
the world she’d rather be.
Some of her favorite memories took place on the back deck that led straight out to the sand. Sparklers on the Fourth of July.
Watching movies outside on a white sheet their dad had hung between two beach umbrellas. Their mom making the most mundane
day feel special because they were at the beach house with her games and everything’s -an-adventure attitude. Just thinking about it filled Cora with a warm nostalgic glow.
Of course, that feeling was followed by an ache deep behind her rib cage, because what used to be hadn’t been around for a
long time. In fact, there were some days when she wondered if it had been real to begin with.
But that thought was the opposite of improving her mood. She pushed it deep down and switched her playlist to the one she’d
named “Beach Tunes.” If there were ever a time for Bob Marley to preach about not worrying and being happy, now was it.
The rain slowed from a downpour to a drizzle as she wound through the charming town. The GPS called out her turns, but she
didn’t need the help. Despite being gone for fifteen years, she remembered the way.
Of course there were several notable changes over the last decade and a half. There was a whole new shopping complex with
a big, fancy Publix. The new traffic light at the corner of Emerald Lane and the highway was a welcome and long overdue addition.
The heavier traffic, not so much.
Yet, the vast majority of Sunnyside was just the way she remembered it. Main Street was still lined with palm trees. The aptly
named T-Shirt Shop next to the beach still had its signature giant conch shell on top of it. Miss Mary’s Ice Cream Shop was
still on the corner next to the park.
She made two more quick turns, and then there it was. The blue clapboard house.
She turned off her engine and stared at the house for a moment as thoughts whirred around her mind. They were mostly nostalgic
ones that hit her more in the feels than she was ready to deal with on a day that had been nothing but one disaster after
another, so she did what any normal chronic avoider would do. She buried those feelings deep down with the other topics she
didn’t care to dive into at the moment. Or ever.
Plus, she really needed to go inside so she could get out of these wet clothes. She was starting to chafe.
Cora grabbed her suitcase-sized camera bag and her drugstore goodies from the back seat and headed through the drizzle to
the front door. Then she knocked.
Yes, she was aware that technically speaking she didn’t have to knock. For starters, her name was on the rental agreement.
She had the code that unlocked the front door.
But the bigger reason she didn’t need to knock was that her family stood on the other side of the door.
There was a day when no Prestly sister knocked on a door, ever. Cora couldn’t count the number of times Savannah or Bianca
had barged into their shared bathroom while she’d been in there. There was a very loose definition of privacy among them.
Of course, that had been before , when life looked different.
It was only a matter of seconds before the door flung open to reveal both of her sisters standing in the doorway.
“You’re here!” Savannah and Bianca squealed in unison and threw their hands up in the air in celebration. The bright lights
of the interior shone like a spotlight as they posed, smiles beaming, energy level off the Richter scale.
Yeah. It was going to be a long month.
To any onlooker, it was impossible to deny that the three women were sisters. The Prestly girls had the exact same shade of
chestnut-brown hair and rich walnut eyes they’d gotten from their mom and the same button nose they’d gotten from their dad.
But there were differences, too. Savannah was the shortest, with always-perfect curls that fell to her shoulders. Bianca,
whose hairstyle changed with her mood, was currently sporting new curtain bangs and chunky, wavy layers. Long, lean Cora had
always preferred her straight hair to be long with as little fuss as possible.
But if their matching features didn’t tip off their relation, the matching pajama sets Cora’s sisters were wearing—bubblegum-pink
pants with white polka-dots, and a white T-shirt with Sister Squad printed on the chest—were a dead giveaway.
Before Cora had a chance to change her mind and turn around, her younger sister Bianca grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside. “Oh my gosh! That took you forrrrrevvvverrrr .” Bianca threw her arms around her sister in a dramatic hug.
“Yeah, I know,” Cora mumbled. “I lived it.”
“We’re just glad you made it,” Savannah said. “But you’re soaking wet.”
“Rainstorm.” Cora gave a What-do-you-do? shrug.
“No worries.” Savannah ushered her into the entryway with a protective arm. “We’ve got you covered. Bianca, get her bag.”
Except, could this even be called an entryway? They were only two steps away from the front door, but they were already in
the middle of the living room / dining room. Cora glanced around, trying to take it all in. Had the cottage always been this
small?
Savannah thrust a bubblegum-pink bundle into her hands. “Looks like once again it’s matching jammies to the rescue!”
“No one has said that ever. Not even this time.”
Savannah gave her a warning look.
So maybe their hairstyles weren’t the only differences among them.
Savannah propped her hands on her hips. “Are you going to put them on? Or make fun of them while your wet clothes turn your
entire body into a prune?”
Bianca giggled.
“Fine.” Cora huffed as she carried her bubblegum bundle to the hall bathroom, although hall seemed like a bold title for the alcove between the two bedrooms. She could’ve sworn this was all larger last time she was
here.
“We used to have matching jammies every time we came,” Savannah called after her.
“We used to be eight.” Cora’s voice echoed inside the tiny bathroom.
She peeled off the wet clothes, dropped them on the floor and stepped into the dry set. While Cora maintained the pajama pants
were the most obnoxious color of pink, she had to admit they were really soft. If she was going to be stuck wearing something
for three days, at least it was comfortable.
“When do they think you’ll get your luggage?” Savannah asked through the closed door, as if she were listening to Cora’s thoughts.
“I don’t know.” Cora shrugged on the “Sister Squad” shirt. “Two or three days is what they told me.” Although the tracking
information online still listed her status as “locating” last time she checked. She gathered up her wet clothing and walked
out of the bathroom in her matching pj’s. “In the meantime, I guess I should throw these in the dryer.”
“Here, let me.” Savannah didn’t even wait for an answer. She just took the clothes and disappeared into the primary bedroom
and ensuite bathroom, which, Cora happened to know from previous visits, was where the stackable washer and dryer were located.
Bianca tucked her arm through Cora’s and steered her toward the couch in the living room. “You should’ve reminded me that
you don’t do long road trips by yourself. I would’ve flown out to Houston and driven with you. You probably would’ve let me
control the music.”
“You had full control of the music until you proved you had questionable taste. That one’s on you,” Savannah said as she rejoined
them in the living room. “Cora, are you hungry?”
“Starving,” Cora said. “Sounds like road trips also haven’t changed much.”
“Have you heard the stuff she listens to? It’s like a bad satire on indie garage bands.” Savannah pulled a glass dish out
of the fridge and held it up. “Leftover spaghetti?”
Cora nodded and Savannah popped the dish into the microwave.
“It has soul,” Bianca retorted. “And passion. Which is a lot more than you can say about the boring formulaic stuff you listen
to.”
Cora flopped down on the couch. “That’s okay. I still wouldn’t have let you plug in. My car, my music.”
Bianca gasped in mock offense. “Seriously? My own sister.”
“Also, I’m not sleeping on the top bunk in that room.” Cora nodded in the direction of the room she’d be sharing with Bianca.
“Or the extra mattress they keep under the bed as a trundle.”
Bianca crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes. “On what grounds?”
“Seniority.” Cora didn’t miss a beat.
“What? Are we, like, twelve?” Bianca threw a pillow at her sister, as if she were answering her own question.
“Ah, fighting over beds. Feels like old times.” Savannah handed Cora the steaming dish of spaghetti fresh from the microwave.
“Either of you is welcome to sleep with me in the primary until Chris and the girls get here in a few weeks.”
“In that tiny double?” Bianca wrinkled her nose. “Pass.”
“I think it’s a queen,” Savannah offered.
“Still pass.”
Cora tried to imagine Savannah, her husband, and their two little girls crammed into the tiny bedroom that barely seemed big
enough to hold the bed. “I’ll let you enjoy the space while you have it.”
Savannah shrugged. “Suit yourselves. But while we’re on the subject of housekeeping, I have another beach house tradition.”
She swiped a circle of posterboard off the kitchen table and held it up. “Ta-da!”
“Is that the chore wheel?” Cora asked, not bothering to edit the horrified tone from her voice.
“Yes!” Savannah beamed as if the tone didn’t bother her. “Just like Mom used to make. With a few updates, of course.”
The circle was divided into three sections, each containing cheerful script and hand-drawn illustrations. “Each section has
the list of daily and weekly chores you’ll be responsible for.” Savannah gestured to the chart, clearly proud of what she’d
done.
Bianca smirked. “You’re kidding, right?”
Savannah shot her the most mom-look Cora had ever seen. “We always had a chore wheel at the beach house.”
“For the record, Bianca is old enough to do the regular chores now. She doesn’t get to do half the list because she’s a baby.”
Cora blew on her steaming dinner.
“You’d better get ready to rethink your stance on the top bunk, big sis, because you can’t have it both ways.”
Savannah sighed as if this whole conversation had exhausted her. “Relax. If either of you had bothered to look in the room, you’d see there are two sets of bunk beds now. No one has to sleep on the top.”
Bianca looked at Cora. “Do you think we still fit on a bunk bed?”
Cora shrugged. “I can’t even remember the last time I tried.”
“You’ll fit. It’ll be fine. But back to the wheel.” Savannah held the wheel out in front of her. “We each have a color, see?
You’re responsible for everything inside your color. Then we’ll rotate each week.”
Cora twirled spaghetti onto her fork. “Yeah, I’m not doing that.”
Savannah glanced at the wheel, then back at her sister. “What? You’re too good for unloading the dishwasher?”
“No. I’ll absolutely unload the dishwasher like the adult that I am. But I don’t need some chart to tell me when I have to
do it.”
“I agree with Cora.” Bianca gave a decisive nod, then shot Cora a look of solidarity.
“Of course you do,” Savannah said. “You’ve never done your chores. I’ve been to your apartment. It’s a mess.”
“She has a point,” Cora said.
“Maybe. But that was in the past. I’m different now. I’m turning over a whole new leaf.” Bianca straightened her posture,
as if it were a sign of her maturity. “In fact, now that we’re all here, I have an announcement to make. Something y’all are
going to love.” Bianca scooted to the edge of the couch and beamed with so much excitement that Cora thought she might spring
off at any moment.
“Oh, this must be good!” Savannah clapped her hands together, matching Bianca’s excitement. “Let me guess. You got a new job?”
Bianca bobbed her head back and forth, as if she were weighing the guess. “Kind of, but no.”
“You finally realized you’re about to turn twenty-six and you should probably stop letting Dad pay your cell phone bill,”
Cora offered.
Bianca glared at her. “I hate you. And no.”
“You’re dating someone new?” Savannah’s eyes sparkled at that suggestion.
“It’s even better.” Bianca paused dramatically while the air around her crackled with excitement. Even Cora couldn’t help
leaning in.
“As soon as we get home...” Bianca’s smile stretched across her face, and she covered her mouth with her hands, as if she were so excited she couldn’t contain it. “I’m moving to Idaho!” She let out an excited squeal.
For the first few seconds after the announcement, the room was completely silent. Cora ran the words through her mind again
to make sure she’d heard them correctly. Moving? From Atlanta—where Bianca had lived her entire life—to Idaho?
Judging by the horrified look on Savannah’s face, Cora assumed she was thinking the same thing.
Then they both fired off questions at the exact same time.
“What?”
“Why?”
Neither the questions nor the obvious hesitation in their voices seemed to give Bianca any pause. In fact, Cora wasn’t even
sure she’d heard them.
Instead, Bianca launched herself off the couch and threw her hands up in celebration. “Because I’m getting married!”