Page 1 of Big & Lily

Prologue

I move the muddy toe of my boot an inch closer to the edge of the trail, testing the ground for stability, fearing the earth may break away beneath me.

Dark dirt, twisted roots, sharp rocks, and muscular scrub come in and out of focus, layering vertigo and a roiling nausea on top of my abject fear and panic. The sound of raging water fills my ears. Or is that the blood threatening to burst my eardrums? I remember hearing the creek down there, before all the shouting had drowned it out.

“No, no, no, no,” I whisper, chant, pray, plead as if the words were an eraser that would, if rubbed briskly across the scene below, make all of this disappear.

After this week of trying to protect my sister, I may have just killed her. Shit.

I manage one more small step. If I’m not careful, if I don’t stop to breathe, to watch my feet, to step around the gnarled root reaching up through the ground like a claw from a grave, I will suffer Lily’s fate.

My hands are shaking. Sweat rolls down my chest, between my breasts. The pain from my earlier fall bites at my back. I’d said I was fine, but I am not fine. None of this is fine.

I always imagined I’d be prepared for these situations, when disasters happen in a flash, without warning. Twenty-two years ofmotherhood taught me to be vigilant. Prepared to leap in, a Band-Aid, a Tylenol, a needle and thread, all in my Mother’s Survival Kit. But now I am frozen. This is no skinned knee.

If Lily were okay, she’d be shouting at me. Yelling obscenities up the mountain, blaming this on me, and demanding that I get herthe hell out of here right now!I don’t hear anything from my sister. Again, it could be the swarm of bees in my brain that won’t shut the hell up long enough for me to suss out the situation. Or it could be the worst. My mother would be so disappointed in me if she could see us now. Lily’s my baby sister.

One more tiny step toward the edge. It feels like hours that Lily has been down there, but I know it’s only seconds. I just need to peer over and see what’s what, even if it’s as bad as my worst fear.Do it, you coward.

The early morning sun does nothing to warm me; my teeth chatter in my jaw. “What’s the point of twenty hours of sunlight if it can’t do its job?”I grumble.

This wasn’t my idea. I came out here to keep an eye on her. But Lily is like Jell-O.Goo in my hands, oozing out of my grip no matter how I tighten it.

Now the toes of both boots are on the ledge. One dizzy spell, one slip of the foot, a little weight too far in one direction or the other, and down I’ll go. With excruciating effort, I slow my breathing, keeping my eyes on a focal point, a tree with a twisted trunk, growing out of the slanted earth on the other side of the gully. I’ve been working on my fear of heights all week, but this is going to do me in. Finally, I will myself to peer down into the ravine that swallowed Lily. I scan the muddy, leaf-strewn forest floor, and I ask myself the question I’ve been muttering since we arrived in Alaska.Why the hell did I agree to any of this?

Chapter One

Lily is late.

I’m saying this like it is news. It’s not news. It’s a regular occurrence. I can set my watch by her, if I put it ahead at least half an hour.

The coffee shop is crowded and loud, packed with gig workers, telecommuters, and budding novelists. How any of them can concentrate, with the noise of the to-go customers and the piped-in Billie Eilish and the few actual socializers who aren’t trying to make their living in this space between work-from-home and sitting in an actual office is beyond me.

There was one table left when I walked in, and I couldn’t afford to stand on the long line and lose it. Now I’m sitting facing the door, ready to wave my sister over when she finally shows up. I plan to chastise her, although what’s the point? Next time we say ten, I’ll show up at ten thirty, instead of the five minutes early I generally need to quiet the scurry of squirrels scrambling my brain at the very thought of being late myself.

Two women, holding Venti iced somethings in one hand and square, brown pastry bags in the other, scan the shop looking for seating. Their eyes land on my table, empty but for the napkin I have been folding and unfolding. It’s clear from the pressed lips they don’t think I deserve this coveted spot. Paying customers only,I’ll bet they’re thinking. They glance at each other, their nostrils flaring with not-so-secret indignation, but I only sit up straighter and lift my chin. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, ladies.

The table stalkers wander off to stare someone else down, and I pull my list from my bag. This one is written on the back of a gas bill envelope. Coupons that I may or may not remember to use are clipped to it with my favorite pen du jour. For the hundredth time I think I need a better system, like a cute new spiral notebook with a Zen llama or cheerfully hand-drawn flowers on the cover. All my problems would be solved if I could keep all my lists in one place. Of course, every time I remember that I’ve been wanting a cute new spiral notebook, the thought flies out of my head moments later as all my other to-dos shove their way in. That’s why we keep lists, people! I unfold the envelope and add a Number Seven:Cute New Notebook.

At ten seventeen Lily steps up to the glass front door of Bean There Done That. A man, hands filled with coffees tucked into two cardboard carriers, risks dumping them on the floor to open the door for my sister, who is perfectly capable of it getting herself. That’s how it goes with Lily.

I often forget how beautiful my sister is, so every time I see her, even though it’s often daily, I’m caught off guard, hit with a weird sense of jealously mixed with pride, as if I’m somehow responsible for how she turned out.

Lily flashes the door holder a smile that he will interpret as being just for him. I wave and she looks my way but is stopped by a middle-aged woman with a large, square designer bag and an oversize pair of sunglasses. One of her customers, most likely. She looks well-heeled, well-coifed, and well-appointed. “Exactly the kind of person who would pay anything for a good night’s sleep” was the line Lily and Eric had used in their pitch to us. Sweet Dreams has been a success, earning my sister and her husband the cover ofNewJersey Magazine—making the shop a Small Business of Bergen County Award winner—and enjoying a steady stream of devoted local and out-of-town customers.

I see Lily isn’t wearing her work uniform, her nap dress—a cozy, flowing garment meant to let customers know she could curl up to sleep any time, and with her help, they can too. Instead, Lily’s in a matching set of sweats, which manages to look effortlessly chic on her, not baggy and sloppy as it would on me. That means she didn’t go in today. I frown. It’s Tuesday. I know she’s on the schedule. I helped her make it. Lily and Eric had said they were looking for silent investors. Tim and I weren’t supposed to be involved in the day to day of the store. But that’s Lily. And that’s me.

The woman holds her hands in prayer, clearly thanking Lily for whatever miracle cure she had sold her. My sister smiles and squeezes the customer’s shoulders. She could sell sand to a fish, my sister. I watch the woman leave and Lily’s face settle back to its off-duty mode, but instead of coming over to the table I’ve staked out and fought for, she heads for the coffee line. My cell phone rings. It’s Lily calling me from twenty feet away.

“Come stand here with me,” she says instead of hello.

“I don’t want to lose the table. Get me something.”

“No. You come here. I need to talk to you.”

“I want a Grande skim latte.”

“Get it yourself,” she says and then hangs up and turns her back on me.