Lightbringer

scratch.”

“I agree and I’m there with you, every step of the way,” Wendy said. “But the question is… how?”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The day spun its hours out the way days do. Twilight found Wendy unlocking her front door and stepping into the foyer. In the living room Chel was sprawled out on the couch, arms pillowed beneath her head and snoring as some reality show droned on low in the background. Wendy covered her with a light blanket and went into the kitchen for a snack.

There was a good smell of cooking there: tomatoes and garlic, onions, and a hint of something spicy and sharp. A pot squatted on the back burner, simmering, and when Wendy lifted the lid and leaned over it she was hit with a cloud scented with rich, creamy garlic. It smelled heavenly and Wendy’s mouth filled with water, stomach grumbling.

“The sauce is okay, but we have to eat it over spaghetti since I messed up the ravioli,” Jon said, entering the kitchen from the back yard. His basketball was clutched under one arm and he was limping, supporting his weight on his right leg. The knee of his jeans had been torn out; gravel and grass flecked the spongy, raw wreck that had been his knee.

“What happened to you?” Wendy snatched the paper towels off the kitchen counter and hurried to the sink, dampening a handful under the cold tap. Jon slid onto one of the high kitchen stools at the counter and provided his knee for inspection, wincing each time Wendy dabbed the damp edge against the bloody flesh.

“My lay-ups suck now,” he admitted as Wendy flicked on the kitchen light in order to better see his wound. Mournfully he plucked at the fabric on his thigh. “Nana just bought me these jeans, too.”

“Well, it’s just a scrape,” Wendy replied, gingerly pulling the shredded jeans away from his knee when she was done, verifying that it was the only wound on him. “A nasty one, but it doesn’t look like you need stitches.” Rising, she patted him on the shoulder. “Hang tight, there’s some knockoff Neosporin and gauze in the bathroom.”

When she returned to the kitchen, Jon held out his hands. “Give me that stuff and go stir the sauce, will you? I don’t want the bottom to scorch.”

“Aye-aye, Cap’n,” Wendy agreed. “Anything else?”

“Turn the heat down to low. It needs to sit for fifteen or so.” While she did so, Jon thumbed the lid off the antibiotic ointment and slathered a largish dollop across his knee with fussy precision. “When you’re done, can you hold the gauze while I tape it down?”

“Gladly.” Wendy ended up applying the gauze for him and it reminded her so strongly of the prior times she’d done this very chore for Jon that she found herself growing misty eyed.

“It’s just a scrape, you big baby,” Jon admonished as Wendy applied the last stripe of tape and straightened, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m not gonna die.”

“It’s not that,” she sniffled, ripping a paper towel off the roll to use as a tissue. “It’s just, I don’t know, you haven’t come to me with a scrape in, what, five years? Six?”

Uncomfortably, Jon shrugged. “When he was here, Dad usually handled that stuff. You and Mom were always busy, you know, at the park and stuff.”

At the park. Wendy sighed. “At the park” had been the code she and her mother used to mean “out reaping.” She hadn’t had to use that excuse since their mother’s accident. So long as Dad wasn’t around, saying simply that she was going “out” usually sufficed, and these days the few times a month Dad was home he was generally at the hospital. Thanks to their sort of truce, Wendy felt little need to explain her whereabouts to him.

“I guess you’re right,” she agreed. “I was at the park a lot.”

Jon shrugged. “Whatever. We got used to it. Mom and Dad didn’t care, so what’s the big deal, right?” He limped to the stove and dipped a long wooden spoon into the sauce, smacking his lips and smiling widely at the taste. “Momma mia, the sauce, she is perfecto!”

“How are the calories?” Wendy asked and then kicked herself for asking. Jon had enough stress in his life as it was; the last thing he needed was for her to get on his case about his weight, especially since they hadn’t yet talked about her bitchiness over the past few months.

But Jon didn’t seem to care. He rolled his eyes and licked the spoon elaborately, running his tongue far past the point where the sauce ended. “Ish’s gweate,” he declared around his mouthful of spoon.

“Sorry I asked,” Wendy cried, throwing up her hands and chuckling as her brother slobbered all over the spoon. In the living room, Chel stirred and sat up, her curls sticking up every which way and frizzy at the top.

Wendy affected an outrageous accent. “My apologies, good sir!”

Discarding the damp spoon in the sink, Jon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Naw, no worries. It’s got a skim milk base, I promise, and it’s going over whole wheat pasta.” He patted his gut and grinned, waggling his eyebrows wildly. “This baby’s goin’ away slow, but yes, ma’am, she is a goin’.”

“Smells tasty in here,” Chel yawned, staggering to the refrigerator and grabbing a plastic bottle filled with some thick, milky-looking liquid. Flush with sleep, Chel caught Wendy’s eye and shook the bottle. “Protein shake,” she said coolly. “Want some?”

“I’ll pass,” Wendy said, waving her hand in front of her face. “Especially if it’s from Dad’s can. That stuff is foul.”

Chel shrugged and took a deep gulp of the stuff. “Add some fruit, it’s no big deal. It stays down, too.” She wiped her thumb against the corner of her mouth, checking for stray drops of shake. “I saw you go out with Eddie this morning. You done being a bitch yet?”

Amused at how casually Chel asked, Wendy couldn’t help but smile. “No guarantees, but I think I’m over my bitchy phase, yeah. You done puking after every other meal?”

“Working on it,” Chel said mildly and took another sip. “It’s a little harder than I thought it’d be.” Her head dipped down and she scowled, fingers tapping in rapid rhythm against the plastic sides of her bottle. “Okay, a lot harder.”

“She quit the squad,” Jon explained. Chel scowled and shot him a dark look. Jon returned her scowl with a calm smile, shrugging as if to say she had to find out sometime.

“But you love cheering!” Wendy protested. The idea that her bright and vivacious sister would quit cheerleading was as foreign to her as the idea of ceasing the search for their mother’s soul. “What about Dad? Does he know?”

“Nana does,” Chel said, belligerent. “She said she’d pay Dad back for all my gear for this year as a Christmas gift. You know, in case he flips about the money.” Nervous now, Chel gnawed her lower lip and lifted the drink up once again. Looking at her trembling hand, Wendy realized that Chel’s perfect nails, always manicured and glossed to a high shine, were now ragged and blunt, ground down nearly to the quick.

She’s chewing on them, Wendy realized, examining her sister closely for the first time in months. Chel’s nails were now too short, her hair starting to show glossy red at the roots, and even her makeup was barely there, only a one-two swipe of lip-gloss and eye shadow, leaving her forehead shiny and cheeks pale.

“You’re a mess,” Wendy breathed, hardly able to get the words past lips gone numb with shock. Guilt clawed at her chest, making breathing tough. “Did I do this? Make you a mess by picking on you over the diet pills?”

“I did this to me,” Chel retorted, draining the last of the protein shake and throwing the bottle in the sink for Jon to rinse out. “You just gave me a wake up call.” She snorted. “But don’t congratulate yourself just yet; you’ve still been a mega bitch and if I were smart, I ought to tell you to go to hell.”

“But you’re not smart?”

She shrugged. “No one’s smart when it comes to family. Blood is thicker than smart.”

“Before we all break down and group hug like the bunch of sissies we are,” Jon interrupted, “Eddie stopped by earlier, Wendy. He’s going out of town for the holidays after all. He said you’d better text him back later and he dropped off a box. It’s on your bed.”

“A box?” Wendy straightened up from the counter and started toward the stairs. Though she’d seen Eddie just that morning, the idea that he’d taken the time to stop by her house made her a little nervous. They may have