Three weeks before my sister became a millionaire, she called me from a Kroger parking lot and asked if I could send her sixty dollars so her checking account wouldn’t overdraft before payday.
Chapter 3
She waited until closing, when Beth had already gone home.
I was turning the sign on the door when Rachel marched across the parking lot.
“What did you say to Daniel?”
“Hello to you too.”
“Don’t.”
She looked different.
The designer clothes were still there, but the polish had slipped. Her hair was pulled back carelessly. There were shadows beneath her eyes.
“He went to your house.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
I stared at her.
“Why would I?”
“Because I’m your sister.”
That almost impressed me.
“You remembered.”
Her face tightened.
“Are you trying to get him back?”
I actually laughed.
“What?”
“You’ve been waiting for our marriage to fall apart.”
“He asked to come back.”
The anger vanished from her face.
“What?”
“I told him no.”
She stared at me.
For one brief moment, I saw fear.
Then she recovered.
“You always have to win.”
Something in me snapped.
“Win what, Rachel? You took my husband as part of a joke, married him, spent half your lottery winnings, and now you’re angry because I don’t want him back?”
Her eyes filled.
“You agreed to the bet.”
“I made a stupid joke.”
“So did I.”
“No. I made a joke. You made purchases.”
“You think this is all my fault?”
“I think buying my husband thirty-five hundred dollars’ worth of gifts while offering to pay for his divorce was a pretty active role.”
“He could’ve said no.”
“Yes.”
That answer surprised her.
I stepped closer.
“He could have said no. He didn’t. That’s why I don’t want him back.”
Rachel wiped her cheek angrily.
“If you really loved him, maybe you would’ve fought.”
“He said the same thing.”
“Maybe because it’s true.”
The words hurt.
I hated that they hurt.
I had asked myself those questions at three in the morning.
Had I been too focused on the shop?
Too certain of my marriage?
Too proud?
Probably, sometimes.
But none of that absolved them.
“I wasn’t a perfect wife,” I said. “But I didn’t make either of you do what you did.”
Rachel looked away.
“I spent my whole life being the screw-up.”
The sudden change in her voice caught me.
“What?”
“You were always the one Mom and Dad trusted. Marin has savings. Marin has a business. Marin has a stable marriage.”
She gave a small, bitter laugh.
“I was the one calling everybody for sixty dollars.”
“So when you got money, you wanted what I had?”
“I wanted to stop feeling like the pathetic sister.”
“And taking Daniel fixed that?”
“For a while.”
There was something painfully honest in her face.
“He looked at me like I was exciting,” she said. “Everybody else looked at the lottery ticket when they looked at me. He made me feel like I was somebody.”
I folded my arms.
“So did you love him?”
She was quiet.
“I thought I did.”
“That’s convenient.”
“I’m trying to tell you the truth.”
“The truth would’ve been useful two years ago.”
She flinched.
“I’m sorry.”
The words hung there.
Then, because Rachel had never managed an apology without adding a defense, she said, “But you have to understand—”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What?”
“You don’t get to put a but after it.”
“I’m explaining.”
“You’ve explained.”
I picked up my keys.
“Rachel, you were insecure. I understand that. You were tired of being compared to me. I understand that too. You can be insecure and still be cruel.”
She looked at me for a long time.
Then she said quietly, “You can be hurt and still be cruel.”
That one landed.
Because she was right.
A month later, her sports car appeared online.
By then, Rachel and Daniel were separating. Their arguments had apparently become daily accounting sessions in which each blamed the other for the disappearing money.
The car was being sold through a small local dealership.
I should have ignored it.
Instead I clicked the listing.
Then I went to see it.
Then I test-drove it.
Then I bought the damn thing.
Even now, I have no respectable explanation.
I didn’t need a sports car. I owned a gift shop. Half my life involved transporting boxes and ribbon.
But I had rebuilt my savings. I could afford it without touching business funds or taking a loan.
So I bought my sister’s former car.
Spite with leather seats.
When the salesman handed me the keys, I sat behind the wheel and whispered, “What the hell am I doing?”
That evening I posted one picture.
Made an irresponsible decision today.
Daniel texted within an hour.
Is that Rachel’s car?
Then:
Seriously, Marin?
I ignored him.
Rachel called three times.
Then she wrote:
Tell me you did not buy my car.
I ignored that too.
The next afternoon she appeared at my house.
She stood in the driveway staring at the car.
“Why?”
“Because it was for sale.”
“Don’t be cute.”
“I’m not.”
“You could’ve bought any car.”
“Yes.”
“You wanted me to know you could afford it.”
I could have lied.
Instead I sighed.
“Maybe part of me did.”
Her eyes filled.
“That’s sick.”
“No. Petty, definitely. Stupid, possibly. Financially questionable, according to Beth. But not sick.”
“You waited until I lost everything.”
“I didn’t make you sell it.”
“No. You just picked through the wreckage.”
That hurt because it was true enough to matter.
I looked at the car.
“You’re right.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“It was petty.”
Apparently she had expected me to fight.
“I shouldn’t have bought it for the reasons I did.”
For about thirty seconds, we stood there as two middle-aged sisters admitting things we didn’t particularly like about ourselves.
Then Rachel touched the roof.
“Would you sell it back to me when I get things straight?”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Her expression hardened.
“There. That’s you.”
“Rachel—”
“You enjoy this.”
“I enjoy that you can’t rewrite what happened.”
“I’m not rewriting anything.”
“You keep saying the bet got out of control like you slipped on a banana peel and married my husband.”
She stepped away.
“There’s no point apologizing to you.”
“Forgiveness isn’t a vending machine. You don’t put in one apology and get your sister back.”
She stared at me.
“I hope the car was worth it.”
I watched her walk away.
It wasn’t.
I knew that almost immediately.
Their divorce took months.
The giant house sold. Furniture went. Investments were liquidated. Lawyers got paid.
Daniel learned that marrying someone with millions did not mean millions would still exist when the marriage ended.
Rachel moved into a small apartment.
Daniel moved back with his parents.
I sold the sports car six months after buying it.
Beth watched the new owner drive away.
“Going to miss it?”
“I’m going to miss the heated seats.”
“That’s all?”
I considered.
“I’ve learned revenge has terrible insurance rates.”
She laughed.
I bought a practical SUV.
It felt better.
