The taxi pulled up to the Mathis family's villa on Long Island.
As she stepped through the door, her mother, Helen Mathis, rushed to greet her. Her eyes immediately darted past Kate, searching the empty driveway.
Disappointment washed over Helen's face. "Where's Iverson? He really didn't come?"
Kate slipped into a practiced smile, linking her arm through her mother's. "He had an important international conference call, he really couldn't get away. He sends his best."
Her father, David Mathis, emerged from his study. He gave her a brief glance and a nod. "You're here. Good." Then his attention snapped back to the financial news channel on the television.
Kate was used to it. She is nothing more than a tool to be used, and that's all.She let go of her mother and looked toward the living room sofa.
A woman in a white Chanel tweed suit stood up. She had soft, golden waves of hair and a gentle, perfectly polite smile.
She opened her arms. "Kate. It's been so long. You look more beautiful than ever."
It was Wendy Mathis. Her sister, in name at least. Back after two years of studying art history in Europe. She seemed even more polished than before, like a pearl that had been carefully buffed to a high shine.
Kate returned the hug, her body stiff. She could smell Wendy's perfume—Gabrielle by Chanel. It was the same scent Iverson's mother, Eleanor, always wore. The thought was a small, sharp sting.
The atmosphere at dinner was tense. Helen couldn't stop praising Wendy's adventures in Europe, her new degree, her sophisticated taste.
Kate silently cut the steak on her plate, feeling like an outsider at her own family's table. It was just like high school. Wendy was always the one with better grades, the one loved by teachers and parents. And now, it seemed nothing had changed.
Wendy, as if she just remembered something, said casually, "You know, it was such a coincidence coming back. I almost couldn't get a cab at JFK, but luckily, I ran into Iverson."
The fork and knife in Kate's hand scraped loudly against the china plate. She looked up, her head snapping toward her sister.
Helen's face lit up. "Oh? Iverson went to pick you up? He told Kate he was in a meeting."
Wendy immediately put on a look of apology, dabbing her lips with a napkin. "Oh, goodness, that's not what I meant. He was just in the area for business and gave me a ride. We barely spoke. He seemed incredibly busy."
Her explanation was flawless, but Kate's heart plummeted.
Iverson had lied to her. He wasn't in a meeting. He was with Wendy.
The color drained from Kate's face. She put down her silverware. "I'm not very hungry."
Helen shot her a disapproving look. "Don't be rude, Kate. Your sister just got home."
Wendy was quick to smooth things over. "Mom, don't blame her. Maybe she's not feeling well. Kate, are you alright? Are you upset that Iverson couldn't come with you?"
Kate forced a tight smile. "No, I'm just a little tired."
The air in the room felt thick, suffocating. She made an excuse to step out into the garden for some air.
The cool night wind on her face did little to clear her head.
She leaned against the garden railing, pulling out her phone. She opened her chat with her best friend, Jazlyn Sherman.
She typed: "Jaz, I think I'm going to lose my mind.I'll wait for you at an upscale bar in SoHo."
A moment later, Wendy followed her out. She was holding a cashmere shawl, which she gently draped over Kate's shoulders.
"It's cold out here. Don't catch a chill," Wendy said softly, standing beside her. She looked up at the night sky. "Still angry with Iverson? He's a workaholic, you know. You shouldn't take it to heart."
Kate didn't answer. She just stared at Wendy's perfect profile, a single thought circling in her mind.
Was it really just a "ride" from the airport?
