Read Online Edgewater by Courtney Sheinmel - Free Book Online

into the house. A look of
Oh, crap, I’ve been caught.
But then it was back to his regular, disaffected stoner face. “Wassup, Lorrie?” He picked up a bottle of Corona and took a swig.
    â€œIt’s a little early in the morning for that, isn’t it?”
    â€œHangover,” Brian said. “Best cure is more alcohol.”
    â€œIs that so?”
    â€œWhat bothers you more about this—that I’m drinking before noon, or that it’s beer and not something fancy like you private school kids like—gimlets, or Grey Goose vodka, or whatever?” He put down the beer and lifted a delft china teacup to his lips. “Chaser,” he explained.
    â€œThat’s an heirloom. You’re not supposed to actually use it.”
    â€œThe regular glasses are dirty,” he said, nodding toward the sink, which was overflowing.
    â€œDoesn’t make them disposable,” I told him. “Clean them, and you can use them again.” I grabbed a glass from the sink, turned the water to hot to rinse it, and wiped it with the bottom of my shirt—no way I’d be using a dish towel—before filling it with water again.
    â€œI
am
cleaning,” Brian said. “I’m polishing the silver.” He held up one of the heavy Hollander-family dinner forks.
    At bedtime, Mom used to tell Susannah and me stories about her parents, the two of us pressed against her like the newborn kittens pressed against Pansy. I liked to curl a lock of Mom’s hair around my finger. There was one story about our grandmother and the acquisition of her prized Tiffany sterling set: When they were first married, my grandparents didn’t have much money. But Grandma saved up whatever she had left over each week from her secretarial wages and began buying one utensil at a time. After Grandpa made it big in real estate, she was able to quit her job and buy the rest of the set in one fell swoop.
    â€œI noticed they were pretty badly tarnished, and I found some polish under the sink,” Brian went on. “The cap was missing, and it was hardened on top, but I scraped off the layer, and there’s fresh stuff underneath. See?”
    I barely gave it a glance. “Why are you doing this?”
    â€œI told you. I’m cleaning.”
    I wasn’t buying his fake happy-helper story. Brian was up to something. But I knew I might need his cell phone again, so my hard gaze was his only clue that I was on to him. I drank my water, rinsed the glass out again, and shoved it deep into the back of the cabinet. There, that could be my safe glass.
    From their box in the corner, Pansy’s kittens were mewing softly. The larger cats began to gather, as if out of nowhere, multiplying like gremlins. I knew that meant Susannah was awake and on her way down to feed them. Somehow they were always able to sense her impending presence. Sure enough, shewalked in, the little calico cradled in her arms. “Hi, babies, hi, babies,” Susannah crooned to the rest of them. “Hey, Bri-Bri French fry.”
    â€œMorning, babe,” Brian said. Ugh. I hated hearing that word in his voice, especially when it referred to my sister. He rose from his seat and patted Susannah’s head as if she herself was a kitten. She leaned back into him for a couple seconds. There was something so intimate in that moment, I had to avert my eyes.
    â€œGood morning, Lorrie-glory,” Susannah said.
    I turned back toward her and tipped my head toward the kitten in her arms. “Hey,” I said. “How’s he doing?”
    â€œShe,” Susannah corrected. “Better, I think. Here, hold her.” I took the kitten from her, a minute morsel. As soft and weightless as a bunch of cotton balls. “I named her Wren, because she’s so tiny, and the way she purrs, it’s like a song. Can you feel it?”
    â€œMmm-hmm.” Like cotton balls vibrating in my cupped hands.
    Susannah moved