Chapter Ninety-One. Isabelle Whitmore
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
ISABELLE WHITMORE
Isabelle Whitmore drives down Main Street toward the library with the windows rolled down, her long, dark hair whipping around her face. She is thinking of her sister, of how she knows that her sister is right. That she needs to break up with her boyfriend, but the thought of it makes her sick.
She knows exactly how he’ll respond, has played it over in her mind for months.
He will nod his head. He will not say a word.
And it will be done. There won’t be tears and pleading conversations.
He has none of his father’s explosive anger, but he does have his stoicism.
Once she does this, there is no undoing it.
And that scares her because she knows this will hurt him.
She has always hated seeing people hurting.
But she can’t stay with him forever just because it’s the nice thing to do.
It isn’t fair to him or her. Not when she feels like a kite about to catch the first gust of wind.
She senses the rush of the months, tumbling toward graduation, and then college.
And then she will be spinning free-fall in the open sky.
She almost gasps sometimes when she thinks of it.
All her life has been in this little town, the same parties with the same people.
But the world is big, mountains and oceans and foods she has never tried and views she has never seen.
She wants to see them all. Wants to experience, wants to taste and smell, wants to make mistakes without being tethered to anyone.
Except, of course, her sister. Not a kite string holding her back. But a wing.
She is lucky to be a twin. That big open world would seem scary if she had to do it alone. But she doesn’t, and that thought calms her as the light turns green.
She changes direction on a split-second decision, turning the car without even using her blinker.