Under the Dusty Sky (Holloway Farms)

out my thoughts, but the only one that is clear and concise and makes any sense is the need to see if she’s okay. That’s all I care about. Is she okay?
    My feet start moving, and I back away from my sister. She’s playing the hurt game. Say the most hurtful thing you can just to prove you win. I shake my head. I don’t want to play this game right now, but I don’t stop myself from laughing at her. A short mean scoff as I gesture to her with my hand.
    “ Coming from the girl who got caught screwing some other woman’s husband on the day of our father’s funeral. When she was seventeen… Real classy, sis. Maybe you should think before you say things. Maybe you of all people should realize that sometimes decisions are made for much deeper reasons. When your halo starts shining, then you can start judging people, okay?”
    Sasha’s mouth hangs open. I win. When it comes to mistakes, my sister’s a pro. I know why she makes most of them. I know where her behavior really comes from. Sasha acted out when Dad got sick. Started living recklessly. Disrespecting herself and everyone around her. She wanted everyone to feel the pain she felt. I handled it differently. I internalized it. Only wanted me to feel pain. I tried to save people from pain, to show as much love and affection as I could to any girl that wanted it. Smothering them with gifts and money and time in the studio to record. When I started to realize I couldn’t save them, when the pain came back, I bailed. I knew I was being used, which made it easier to run, but it also kept the hurt inside. I lived in it by thinking I deserved to be used. Just like Sasha lived in her pain by inflicting it on everyone around her.
    For a moment, I feel like apologizing. I hate fighting with my sister, but I also hate how quick she judges without ever turning inward to take a look at herself. She needs to hear it. Or I need to say it. I don’t know which one is true. All I really to know is I have to see if Gracie’s okay.
    I spin around and leave my sister still shocked, still unable to respond.
    ***
    Gracie sits on the thick wooden railing of her porch, her knees pulled tightly into her chest with the blanket still wrapped around her. She leans against the huge pillar that holds up the awning and stares blankly at the rain, coming down in sheets. The hammering of the drops on the roof creates a rhythm that, mixed with the expression on her face, fills me with sadness. There’s that need to wrap her up. To save her. But Gracie doesn’t need saving. Gracie needs to be real. With herself.
    “ I just needed fresh air. Don’t come close or you’ll catch whatever it is I have.” She doesn’t look at me, and her voice is flat. She’s living inside her head, and she’s almost as good as me at locking it away. But I’m better, which means I notice it.
    “ I don’t think I can catch what you have, Gracie.” I lean against the rail at her feet, and she turns a hard stare my way.
    “ I know something happened. You don’t have to tell me. I just need to know you’re okay.” I touch her knee, and she jerks back.
    “ I’m fine. Nothing happened.” She’s a terrible liar. A great manipulator but a terrible liar.
    “ Alright. I like to come outside and stare at the rain and look like someone just drowned my pet kitten when I’m fine, too. Maybe I’ll join you.” I pull my legs up and lean against the opposite pillar and rest my feet against hers. The corner of her mouth twitches, and she moves her toes against mine. The blanket falls off her shoulder exposing her arm and the little leather book that is clutched in her hand like it’s her life force.
    “ What’s really in that book, anyway?” I nod toward it, and she shakes her head.
    “ Poems written by my mother.” She turns her head away and continues to watch the rain, but her eyes become shiny, and she looks up to stop whatever’s happening behind them.
    “ No, Gracie. I know that. What’s really in that book?”
    The tear that falls has nothing on me because I’m up and sitting at her feet before it hits the porch. I’m straddling the rail, sitting on her feet with her hands in mine around that book. Her eyes are wide as she looks around.
    “ Your dad’s not here. He’s with Diana. I don’t give a shit what your brothers think.”
    Another tear falls, and she tightens her grip on the book, pulling her hands from mine.
    “ You should care what my brothers think. And you shouldn’t