I didn’t ask whether she could afford a hotel. I didn’t suggest she try her friends first. I just took one suitcase, Andrew took the other, and I said the words any sister would say.
“Stay as long as you need. Until you’re back on your feet.”
Andrew had nodded before I’d even finished.
That first week, she was easy to have around. Quiet. Grateful. A little hollowed out, the way people are when the floor has just dropped out from under them.
Then came the towel.
The first morning, I told myself she’d simply forgotten Andrew was downstairs. Grief makes people absent-minded.
The second morning, I pulled her aside, keeping my voice gentle.
“Would you mind throwing on a robe before you come down? Andrew’s usually in the kitchen around then.”
Kayla blinked at me.
“Amanda, he’s your husband. Not some fourteen-year-old.”
“I know that.”
“So what’s the issue?”
“It makes me uncomfortable.”
She tilted her head and studied me, like I’d handed her a riddle she found mildly entertaining.
Then she shrugged.
“Fine.”
The next morning, she did it again.
Part Two: The Test
So there we were — Andrew retreating upstairs, and Kayla stirring sugar into her coffee as though nothing in the world had happened.
“I asked you to stop,” I said, sharper than I meant to.
