Home with My Sisters by Mary Carter Page A

but tucked behind a viaduct and set back from the main part of the city, giving the place a bit of an abandoned feel. Even though Austin insisted they had enough money to stay at a decent hotel and eat at a nice restaurant, Hope chose a fried chicken joint and the sketchy motel. The fried chicken because she had a craving, and the motel because they allowed dogs. An added bonus was the hope that the musty odor of the room might just cancel out the dog’s stink bombs. She was glad somebody had been feeding him something, but this poor guy needed some consistency. One whiff and even the most loyal of dog lovers would be tempted to turn away. She’d tried to foist him on Austin for the night, and to her surprise he’d agreed, but instead of following Austin into his room, the dog trotted into hers and commandeered the bed.
    â€œWell,” Austin said with a grin, “looks like he made his choice. Can’t say I blame him.” He treated her to a long look and a wink before softly shutting his motel room door. Hope had to admit that a part of her wished the old sitcom scenario of there being only one room left at the inn and being forced to share it with Austin Rhodes had crossed her mind. One tiny little bed for the two of them. But, of course, that didn’t happen. This was where motels went to die and there was plenty of room at the inn.
    Hope stood out on the communal balcony, taking in the crisp air and scrolling through Facebook on her iPad. Christmas lights strung around a potted tree in the parking lot blinked on and off. Joy was awake and online. She was posting about her new coffee shop. GIVE TO THE CAUSE, one posting said with a link to Joy’s Kickstarter page. Since when was coffee a cause? Hope clicked onto Joy’s Kickstarter page. She had only $57 in donations. Looked like Hope wasn’t the only one who didn’t think coffee was a cause. She navigated back to Joy’s Facebook page. Who was her sister? Would they be friends if they weren’t related? There was a time she knew Faith and Joy like they were a part of herself.
    Faith had been a protective older sister, and scrappy to boot. A girly-girl and a tomboy rolled into one. It was like having a little soldier on your side, always armed and ready to do battle. Faith could equally braid Hope’s hair and then defend her when the redheaded boy across the street tried to pull it. She’d scold Norman, the old German shepherd next door who growled whenever Hope tried to sneak a pet, and Faith even rescued Hope from their mother’s moods. All it would take was for Carla to say “I’m getting a headache,” and Faith would whisk Hope off on an outdoor adventure. They’d trip down to the corner store and buy lollipop rings, potato chips, and cans of soda. Arms loaded down with their treasures, they’d head to the beach. If it was raining they’d make forts in their bedroom, using up every bedsheet and blanket in the house. They’d curl up and color, or read Nancy Drew, or make up stories about princesses in castles.
    Hope had always felt so safe, so protected around Faith. And when Joy came, she had two little soldiers protecting her. Hope remembered feeling like Joy belonged to her and Faith. They changed diapers, and fed her, and bathed her, and dressed her. They were the first ones up in the middle of the night when Joy would cry. Often their mom would go out on dates and leave them all by themselves. Looking back, it was child abuse, but at the time it felt like freedom. Freedom from Carla’s tears, and headaches, and stale beer and cigarette smoke. Freedom from the barrage of awful things Carla would say about their father and why he wasn’t coming for them. Faith would pretend to be the mother and boss Hope and Joy around, but in a fun way.
    She’d decide what was for dinner (always macaroni and cheese), what they would watch on television ( Animaniacs, and soap operas, and