Geneva shakes her head. She opens her mouth, but instead of words, sobs come barreling out. She leans forward, throws her arms around me, and starts crying.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen my sister cry.
She holds me like a child would hold her mother, with that deep trust that comes from instinct. So I hold her back and wait for the tears to slow.
They don’t. Not for a long time. When she finally pulls away, my legs are numb with pain. I force myself up and onto the coffee table in front of her.
“Genny,” I say gently, “can you tell me what happened?”
Her eyes are wet, her cheeks creased from where she had her face pressed into my shoulder. She doesn’t make any move to wipe her face clean, so I do it for her.
“It’s okay,” I encourage. “Just tell me.”
She looks down for a long time, try
