Windfall by Rachel Caine

had.
    But Sarah kept going. “That doesn’t mean I don’t love you, Jo. I always have loved you. I hope you still love me. I know I’m a bitch, and I’m shallow, but we’re still, you know, sisters.”
    It would have been a warm, tender moment if I’d jumped up and thrown my arms around her and burst into tears. We weren’t that kind of Hallmark Card family.
    I thought it over and said, “I don’t really know you, Sarah. But I’m willing to get to know you.”
    She smiled. Slow, but real.
    â€œThat sounds . . . fair.”
    We shook hands on it. I stood up and watched as Sarah unzipped the suitcase and started unpacking. It was a pitifully short affair. She’d left most of the good stuff behind, and what good stuff she had left was horribly wrinkled. We made a dry-clean pile, a “burn this” pile, a Goodwill pile, and a keeper stack. That one was short. It filled exactly one drawer of the dresser.
    â€œMakeup?” I asked. She pointed to a tiny plastic case that couldn’t have held more than lipstick, mascara, and maybe an eyebrow pencil. “Shoes?”
    She pointed to the battered running shoes and held up a pair of black, squarish pumps, something suitable for a grandmother, so long as Grandma didn’t care much about appearances. I winced. “The bastard didn’t even let you keep your shoes ?”
    â€œHe cleaned out the house and gave everything to the Salvation Army,” she said. “All my clothes. Everything.”
    â€œJesus.” I had a sudden flare of suspicion. “Um, look, Sarah, not that I’m doubting you or anything, but wasn’t Chrêtien the, um, guilty party . . . ?”
    She had the good grace to look just a little ashamed. “He found out about Carl.”
    â€œCarl?”
    â€œYou know.”
    â€œNope. Really don’t.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Fine, if you’re going to force me to say it . . . I wasn’t exactly guiltless. There. I admit it. I was having an affair with his business partner.”
    â€œJesus.”
    â€œAnd the donkey he rode in on,” she finished, just the way she’d always done it when we’d been in school. “But he didn’t have to get so personal about all of it. He cheated on me, after all. You’d think he’d at least understand that it was . . . well . . .”
    â€œRecreational?” I supplied dryly.
    â€œYes! Exactly!”
    â€œShould have joined the bridge club, Sarah.”
    She gave me a helpless, angry look. “I’m not saying I was guiltless, but . . . he gave me a couple of hundred dollars and told me to buy replacements. In my new price range. God, Jo, I didn’t even know where to shop !”
    I took a deep breath and said, “Tell you what? I was going to the mall anyway with a friend, so if you want to get ready—”
    â€œI’m ready,” my sister said instantly.
    I picked up the phone and called Cherise.
    Â 
    Cherise had, of course, changed clothes in the interim. She’d gone to a magenta see-through mesh shirt with lime green tie-dyed patterns, over a lime green camisole. It all matched the lime glitter toenail polish, which evidently she liked enough to accessorize to.
    â€œTen,” I said instantly when she got out of her red convertible. “Maybe a ten point five. You blind me with your magnificence.”
    â€œBut of course. Man, Jo, I knew you were a saint, but you gave up your hottie for your sister ? Damn. I’d have blown off taking my grandma to dialysis for that man!”
    Sarah came out of the apartment behind me, wearing her wrinkled khaki walking shorts and badly fitting button-down shirt. Cherise’s perfectly made-up eyes widened into something usually seen only in Japanese animation.
    â€œOh my God, ” she said, and looked at me in horror. “You told me it was bad,