The Sister Season by Jennifer Scott

think back to when I was young and free and I wish I’d appreciated it more.”
    And, oh, how she did. How she looked back on the freedom and ease of her life before Dusty had walked into it with that lazy, bowlegged stride of his and wanted it back with such an intensity it almost made her limbs ache. How she watched her students, arriving late, hungover, already making plans for the next night’s party, and wanted to leave the classroom with them. Leave the stacks of paper and the battered laptop case and the . . . suicide worries . . . behind and dive into a bucket of Mexican beers, her only concern whether or not her bra matched her panties, just in case she might get laid. What happened to that life? Where did it go?
    Claire disappeared into a stall, a cutting chuckle echoing off the tile walls, leaving Julia at the sink alone once again. “Well,” Claire said from inside the stall, “I’m maybe not as free and easy as you like to think, Queenie. I may have a little drama left behind in my own life.” Her voice was tinged with sharp edges. “And it isn’t easy, anyhow.”
    “What do you mean?”
    But before Claire could answer, the restroom door whooshed open again, and Elise entered. “Oh, there you are,” she said to Julia. “You left the table so quickly we thought something was wrong.”
    Julia wadded up the paper towel she was holding and tossed it in the trash bin. “I just needed some space,” she said. “I’m going back now.”
    “Oh. Well, the others have gone. It’s just us now. Well, and Bradley. Maya took the kids home. Maya doesn’t seem like herself.” She touched Julia on the elbow. “Do you think there’s something else going on there?” she asked. “Between Maya and Bradley? I know Claire makes Maya tense, but—”
    “I’m in here, Mom,” Claire said over the stall door, and Julia could have sworn her mom blushed.
    “Oh, okay,” Elise called out, then continued in a loud whisper. “It just seems like there’s more going on between those two than . . . you know . . . the old thing with Claire.”
    The toilet flushed, and Claire stepped out, pulling the bottom of her sweatshirt over the top of her shorts. “You mean the
lie
about Claire.”
    “That’s not what I meant. You know that.”
    Claire edged Julia out of the way at the sink and turned on the water. “Of course I know that, Mom, but nobody seems to say it but me. And to answer your question, even though I know you weren’t asking me, I’d say yes, it’s a fair bet there’s something else going on between Maya and Bradley. It’s a fair bet something else is going on between Bradley and someone with a boob job and a spray tan, if you know what I mean.”
    Julia stepped back to avoid water droplets slinging through the air as Claire flicked her hands over the sink. “Did he say something about it out on the sunporch this afternoo—?” she said, but Claire shot her a look, causing the words to dry up in her throat. Clearly, her sister didn’t want anyone to know that she’d been with Bradley on the sunporch earlier, and while Julia believed that was because Claire didn’t want any more suspicion cast over her, a part of her—the same part that remained unconvinced about Claire’s innocence years ago, the same part that saw too many unanswered questions, too many shifty behaviors to ignore—wondered if Claire was once again covering. She shifted gears. “Maya did say something about not feeling well earlier. I thought it was an excuse to leave the room, but maybe she’s sick. Maybe that’s what we’re all picking up on and everything with Bradley is fine.”
    “Well, I hope it’s not serious,” Elise said, and pushed into the stall Claire had just come out of. “I’d hoped that the two of them had gotten over everything and moved on. The children really need a happy home.”
    Julia and Claire glanced at each other, and Julia guessed that both of them had the same thought on their