The Space Between Sisters Read Free Page B

going to live now?”
    â€œHere?” Poppy asked, hopefully.
    â€œPoppy,” Win said, shaking her head. “Do you remember the last time we—”
    â€œLook, I know what you’re going to say. And I get it. I do. Before you say it, though, I want to ask you one question. One simple question.”
    There was more massaging of temples from Win. But Poppy, undiscouraged, pressed on. “What day is today?”
    â€œThat’s your question?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œIt’s Saturday.”
    â€œNo, what day of the month is it.”
    Win sighed. “It’s the twenty-first.”
    â€œIt’s June twenty-first,” Poppy said, significantly. “Think about it, Win.”
    â€œIt’s . . . the first day of summer?”
    â€œYes,” Poppy said triumphantly. “ Yes, yes, yes . It’s the first day of summer, and here I am. Here we are. At the cabin. At your cabin,” she added, quickly, “but still, the cabin where we spent every summer of our childhoods. Don’t you get it, Win?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œ This is it, Win . This is our chance to have another summer together, on this lake, at this cabin, for the first time in thirteen years. I mean, I’m between jobs, and you’re on vacation, and—”
    â€œI wouldn’t call it a vacation —” Win interposed. She was a social studies teacher at the middle school in Butternut and she used summer break to plan for the year ahead.
    â€œAll right, fine, you’re on a working vacation. The point is, you’re still going to have some free time, and now, you’re going to have it with me,” Poppy said, giving Win her most charming smile. “It’ll be fun. We’ll go canoeing, and we’ll go on picnics, and we’ll go raspberry picking. And skinny-dipping. There’s no age limit for that, is there? And that goes for making s’mores, too. Oh, and playing Monopoly. We can do that, and maybe, maybe , if you’re really nice, I’ll even let you have the thimble this time,” she said, of the Monopoly game piece they had battled over as children. “And Win, seriously, when was the last time we watched 13 Going on 30 ?” she asked of their favorite chick flick.
    Win chewed on her lower lip. “I don’t know,” she said. Because while she and Poppy had had fun together over the years, they’d had other things, too: hurtful words, screaming matches, slamming doors. And the six months they’d shared an apartment during Win’s last year of college came to mind now. Poppy had left a trail of wet towels, unwashed dishes, and unpaid bills in her wake—unpaid bills that, in the end, Win had paid for her. And she was always avoiding some lovelorn suitor, and worse, always carrying that godforsaken cat around with her.
    â€œLook, I really need this,” Poppy said, with an urgency that surprised Win. “I need a change. I need to figure things out. And, for some reason, I feel like . . . like this is the place I’m supposed to be right now,” she said, looking around the kitchen.“Right here, with you, on Butternut Lake.” She smiled at Win, a little tremulously.
    â€œOh, Pops, then of course you can stay,” Win said, with a rush of emotion.
    â€œYay!” Poppy said, grabbing her and twirling her round. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”
    But as they were spinning around, something caught Poppy’s eye, and she stopped, mid-spin, and pointed at the cherry pitter, still sitting on the kitchen table. “Winona Robbins,” she said, with mock seriousness, “were you rearranging your kitchen drawers tonight?”
    â€œNo,” Win lied.
    â€œNo? Then where are the cherries?”
    Win didn’t answer.
    Poppy walked nonchalantly over to the kitchen table and picked up the cherry pitter. “So you don’t mind if I just put this . . . in