Tethered (A BirthRight Novel) (2 page)

Nothing about it makes any sense.

Somehow, I manage to fall asleep, but each time I do, I wake up a short time after remembering the vision. For hours, this continues like clockwork. But as my cast-iron-eyelids finally decide to give in, a noise from upstairs startles me. I lift my hand, trying to slow the erratic thumping in my chest.

The low rumble of my sister’s voice gets clearer, talking on the phone as she clears one wooden step at a time. I’d know her throaty voice
anywhere
. My stomach knots as the creaky stairs across the room taunt me with her impending arrival.

Gulp. You can do this.

I sit up as she turns the corner, swaggering towards me with her ski-slope-nose in the air, hands on her lithe, tiny waist. If I weren’t so afraid of her, there’s a good chance I’d be in awe of the woman she’s become. At least five-seven—thin—and exquisite. Some might even say breathtaking, with her pixie-like features, flowing mahogany hair, and spidery-long-legs. The
exact
same features our mother had.

I sigh, yanking the fuzzy fleece from my lap.

I just can’t get over how much older than eighteen she looks. I mean, I’m only nineteen, but she looks
so
much older than I do with her Victoria’s Secret Angel curves.

Deep down, I’d
hoped
she might be happy to see me, but that was clearly an overly-optimistic wish. Instead, she greets me with the straight-face-of-indifference. Well it’s better than rage, right?

Deep breath, Chloe. Brace yourself for the barrage of innuendo that’s sure to spout from Dhelia Bishop’s often-cruel lips.

Standing before me, Dhelia simply stares, waiting for me to speak.

Okay, I guess I
should
be the one to say something. We talk on the phone every few months, but it’s so much easier when I can’t see her piercing eyes look right through me. But even then, it’s still forced small talk.

Well, they say it’s less painful if you just yank the Band-Aid off. Yeah, right. Who’s the moron who came up with
that
one?

“Morning, Dee. I…I hope Aunt Morgan and I didn’t wake you when we got in last night?” I clear my throat, dislodging the imaginary hairball that’s getting in my way. “We tried to be quiet.”

Now refusing to look at me, her eyes jump to the blank TV screen across the room. “Nope. Slept like a baby.” She turns her head back, scanning me up and down more thoroughly than TSA security. “
You’re
a hot mess though. Trouble sleeping?” She snorts. “I’ve heard a guilty conscience will do that.”

And
there
she is, ladies and gentlemen, wasting no time sinking her claws in. That’s record time, even for her.

I shake my head in silence.

How could this brat be my
only
sister?

I stare at cerulean blue eyes that match my own, realizing: if it weren’t for our eyes, no one would ever know we’re related. Not that most people would notice mine anyway against my pale features. But Dhelia doesn’t have that problem. The twenty layers of black mascara and eyeliner make hers pop with conviction. I tend to go for a more subtle look, where Dhelia goes for the dramatic. Go figure. Then again, she
is
the drama queen in the family.

Yes, I suppose it’s safe to say I dipped in the
other
side of the gene pool.

Average height.

Athletic build.

And golden-blonde hair of all things.

Other than my father, I’m the only blonde in the family. Chloe Bishop—oddball extraordinaire.

Now self-conscience with Dhelia’s piercing eyes upon me, I run my fingers through my imagined bed-head. If it weren’t so long, I’m sure it would be a nasty mess.

Dhelia crosses her arms, waiting for me to say something, but my mind takes me back to the last day I saw her. A frightened and helpless little girl, unable to hide her devastated emotions. Comparing it to the impassivity I see now, I don’t know which is worse. How do I navigate this?

But I’ll be the bigger person and ignore her smart-crack. For now. “It was a long, bumpy flight. I only got an hour or two of sleep once we made it here. Not that anyone else had a problem.” I tilt my head towards Aunt Morgan who lay sound asleep across from me, her face buried in a down pillow.

“Apparently.” Dheila blurts out an abrupt laugh, turning to walk towards the kitchen. “You hungry?”

Rather than yell my answer and risk waking Aunt Morgan, I get up and follow her. “Sure, what’s for breakfast? Need any help?”

Dhelia stops, her sparkly flip-flops squeaking on the ceramic tiles. “Help?” She sneers. “You’re a little
late
for that one, don’t you think?”

Ouch! Straight for the jugular. Screw the claws—Dhelia’s all fangs.

Not that I don’t deserve it.

I wipe my sweaty palms against my flannel jammy pants. “I meant with breakfast, Dhelia,” is all I can mutter without feeling like an idiot.

She waives her hand in the air so the refrigerator door slams shut with a loud thud. Showoff!

I try to think of something to say, but I can’t help but notice the kitchen’s new facelift. My grandparents must have spent a pretty penny. Dark cherry cabinets rest overhead on three walls with multi-colored, earth-tone quartz counters under each. And the stainless steel appliances bring together this state-of-the-art, spotless kitchen. Gram must adore her time in here. I sure would. But I think
my
favorite thing is the matching island for eight in the center of the room. They must spend
so
much time here.

I open my mouth to comment on the decor, but sleeping beauty walks through the door and interrupts. “Good morning, Girls.” Aunt Morgan yawns. “Been up long?”

Well
she
must have slept well. By the look of that hair, I’d say a little
too
well. Talk about a rat’s nest.

“Nope. Only about five minutes or so,” I mumble, hoping my relief at her timely entrance isn’t too obvious. “So, looks like
you slept okay.” I giggle, lifting my eyes to admire her mussed coif. “You passed out on me the second you laid down.”

She tries to look up at her hair, patting down the disaster with little success. She’s too cute. “Yea, sorry about that. I guess I needed it.” Stretching, she strolls through the wide-open kitchen taking in the new layout as I’d just done. “The minute we walked through the door I was overcome with exhaustion. I forgot how relaxing it is here.” She pokes her head into the sunroom off the kitchen. “Are your gram and pap up yet?” Aunt Morgan turns to search our faces, but my blank expression makes her look to Dhelia for a response.

“I’m sure they’re still in bed. They tried to wait up, but I don’t think they made it past midnight. What time did you finally get it in?” Dhelia keeps her eyes on Aunt Morgan like I’m not even here. Nice.

“Oh, it was between three-thirty and four, right Chloe?”

“Yeah, sounds about right.” I nod. “It was the latest I’ve been up in a
long
time...that’s for sure.”

Dhelia rolls her eyes at my response. She always makes me feel like such an ass.

We stand around the island like three strangers at a fast-food restaurant. Could this be any more uncomfortable?

I look up towards the ceiling. Save us, please!

Aunt Morgan breaks the silence, pulling out a bar stool beside Dhelia, wooden legs rumble across the ceramic tiles. “
Please
tell me there’s coffee?” Her eyes pleading. “There’s no way I can function without my fix.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dhelia laughs. “I
knew
I was forgetting something.” She grabs a bag of Dunkin Donut’s coffee from the fridge and fills the pot with water.

Aunt Morgan’s lips part as though she wants to say something. She’s wearing that stressed-out look I’ve grown to know so well, arms awkwardly crossed, eyes squinting. Clearing her throat, she looks to Dhelia. “Will he be okay, Dhelia? I....” She pauses. “I know your gram said we should be hopeful, but I need someone to give it to me straight. I need to know
exactly
what we’re dealing with.”

Dhelia turns my way. “You’d better sit down too.”

I obey, dropping onto the stool with a thud.

“Okay. Here’s what we know.” She exhales. “Pap has a grade IV Glioblastoma Multiforme brain tumor. But because of its location, his doctor isn’t sure if they’ll be able to remove it or not. They keep feeding us this hoopla about new treatments and procedures, which is why Gram’s so hopeful.” Dhelia’s eyes tear, forcing her to look down. “I just hope she’s not kidding herself.”

Oh my god! I had no idea it was
this
bad. My mouth falls open in shock as my heart drag-races through my chest, shifting gears to speed up, threatening to crash at any second.

Dhelia looks back and forth between us. “We’ve done tons of research and gotten second, third, and fourth opinions. Honestly, we should prepare ourselves. I’m not trying to be a pessimist, it’s just…. I just want us to be realistic. If the worst should happen, I don’t want us to be taken by surprise.”

Silence.

As Aunt Morgan and I digest the information, Dhelia winces, hanging her head again. Great. Now I feel even guiltier than I already had. The only reason Aunt Morgan and I are even here is because of Pap. I’m the
worst
sister in the world.

“So what’s the plan tomorrow?” I rub my frigid hands together, looking to Dhelia. “Is there anything Aunt Morgan and I should know ahead of time?” Please tell me there isn’t something else. Please!

Fidgeting with the edges of a bamboo placemat, Dhelia looks up. “Nothing I haven’t already told you. The
plan
is to remove the tumor. At this point, they don’t know how far it may have spread. Even if they do remove it, he may still need radiation or chemo. Beyond that, we have to wait and see how tomorrow goes.”

“How’s he feeling?” I lift my eyebrows, unsure if I can handle the answer.

She glances down at the table again. “Well, he has good days and bad…and has probably aged about fifteen years since this all started. Plus, he sleeps a lot and has been
super
weak lately. Had it not been for the terrible headaches he’d been getting, we wouldn’t have even known he was sick.” Dhelia shakes her head. “But about the time he got the test results, everything hit him full-force. It’s just not fair.”

“Well, I’m here to help in any way I can. I know it’s not what you want to hear right now, but I’m not going back to San Diego. I’m
staying
.” Where did
that
come from? Staying here was
never
part of the plan. What the…!

Her posture stiffens, the corners of her lips curling in that condescending way that makes you feel like an insect, just before it gets squashed. “Is that so? Better late than never I guess.”

I push out an exasperated exhale. “Please don’t be like that, Dhelia.”

She releases the mat, laying her hands flat against the gold-flecked quartz. “Oh,
my
bad. That’s
soooooo
kind of you, Chloe. I wasn’t aware you’d gotten so considerate in your years away.” Dhelia’s smug nose lifts in the air.

Why doesn’t she understand why I had to leave? She acts like I left to intentionally hurt
her.

“Girls, this really isn’t the time. I know you have issues to work out, but it’s gonna have to wait.” Aunt Morgan’s disappointed eyes narrow on us both.

Great. The last thing I want is to upset her. She has
enough
to worry about. “You’re right. We can talk about it later.” I lift my head, glaring at Dhelia across the table. She rolls her eyes with such animation she doesn’t notice anyway.

My sister gets up from the stool to throw bacon in a frying pan. Instead of offering my help again, I go to the cabinet for more pans and spatulas. Luckily, everything is right where I remember it. I’d hate to have to ask Dhelia where something is. She’d bite my head off for sure.

I notice Aunt Morgan watching our display with a grin. “Kids,” she says, chuckling under her breath. She meanders to the coffee pot to erase her morning sluggishness.

As I reach up for plates, the front door slams shut. “Honey, I’m home! Mmm mmm mmm…sure smells good in there. What’s for breakfast?”

“Dru!” I squeal.

I bolt across the kitchen floor, jumping into my baby brother’s welcoming arms. “It’s so good to see you. And when did you lose the pimples and get so handsome?”

Six-two with shaggy brown hair and a chin dimple, he’s even better looking than his pictures. He has
heartbreaker
written all over him with his dreamy, boy-band looks. I’ve never been more proud.

“Well, thank you.” He puffs his chest out. “You’re not looking too bad yerself there, Blondie.” He pushes me back at arm’s length, looking me up and down. “Looks like San Diego’s been good for you.” He hugs me again, swinging me around in dizzying circles.