Kitty

Fake It 'Till You Make It

Very little phased Marie Aubert. As the older sibling, she'd always hidden her parents' fights from Anjulie. She'd been the one to educate her sister on the ways of bitchy girls, to introduce her to the world of parties and substances, and to provide her with (disregarded) birth control advice when she'd realized her little sister had become sexually active. It wasn't that the Aubert girls' parents would've been opposed to such exploration and sisterly bonding; in fact, the complete opposite was true. Mr. and Ms. Aubert had been so laissez-faire in their approach toward raising their children that they hadn't set boundaries at all. While other parents kept their offspring from explicit music and revealing attire, frightening stories and adult television, the Auberts encouraged their daughters' near-complete independence in shaping their own childhoods. Perhaps their liberal approach to parenting had been merely an excuse for negligence, but it'd resulted in girls and women who'd always been able to fend for themselves. Even Anjulie, in her lowest moments, had never relied on anyone else to get back on her feet.

Well, that had changed. The Anjulie that showed up at the Inn somewhere between the hours of midnight and one AM was a complete wreck.

At least the children—Silas, that girl Juniper, and the baby—were in for the night. When Marie had gotten Silas's call, she'd locked up the Inn and left it unhosted (against her better judgment). The older children had been terribly anxious by the time she'd reached her sister's house, but Marie had by then spoken with her niece on the phone, and Bijou had confirmed she and a friend were out for the night and that all was well. After scolding Bijou for leaving Silas alone, dependable Aunt Marie had scooped up all the young ones, returned to the Inn, taken them next door to the attached rectory that served as her home, and left them all snuggled up on her bed, watching television. She'd been able to get enough information out of Juniper to realize that Anjulie was dealing with some sort of crisis, and after settling the children, Marie had at last managed to get ahold of her sister.

There'd been some sort of fire, and the police, and then Anjulie had said something about stopping by a park . . .

Knowing it'd be a long night, Marie put on a pot of coffee and, while she waited for it, served herself a generous pouring of scotch. Around ten, she shut down the kitchens, encouraging Hal to head out. The lobby and dining area contained a few stragglers having conversations, playing chess or (in one case) a heated game of Magic the Gathering. Marie tended to retreat to her quarters around eleven, but she kept herself busy cleaning, organizing, and scrolling through nonsense on her cell. By the time Anjulie arrived, disheveled as anything, Marie had mentally and emotionally prepared for whatever it was her sister would bring with her.

Anjulie's energy had never been one of agitation; neither of the women (even as girls) tended toward excitability. "Be like cats, not dogs," their mother had often told them. So even for as bedraggled and worn down as Anjulie was, she still exuded a sense of sophistication, as if whatever the world were throwing at her, she remained ever above it.

"Well?" Marie asked as her sister approached. By now, all the patrons of the Inn had retreated to their rooms. The lights had been put out save for a few wall sconces in the lobby and a lamp behind the front desk, creating shadows amongst the eaves, like saints and angels still crept about up there.

"I need a drink."

"I have coffee."

Anjulie gave her a look.

"With Bailey's," added Marie, understanding. "Lots of Bailey's. Let's go talk."

The women tread their usual path toward the Inn's kitchen, where Anjulie practically fell into a chair while Marie took care of the drinks. For a moment, Anjulie sat elbows on the table, one hand wrapped like a muzzle across her face. Her hair had been pulled up into a messy knot, her eye makeup smudged downward on her cheeks, and she smelled distinctly of char and smoke, and yet the younger of the two women couldn't have dispelled the allure of her dark, tragic beauty if she'd tried any harder. Anjulie had always drawn eyes and envy.