Clarisa stood under the recessed lighting of the porch. Mud dripped from her sweatpants, pooling on the imported Italian marble. She was a stain on the pristine facade of the Dillon family.
The heavy oak door swung open.
Helen Dillon stepped out. She was wearing a silk evening gown, emerald green. Her hair was coiffed into a helmet of blonde perfection.
"Oh my god," Helen gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Look at you. You're... a mess."
Clarisa looked at her mother. There was no hug. No tears of joy. Just shock that her daughter had ruined the aesthetic.
"Hello, Mother," Clarisa said.
Kaleigh stepped out from behind Helen. She was wearing a soft, white cashmere cardigan that looked like it cost more than a car. She looked angelic. Innocent.
"Clarisa!" Kaleigh squealed. She rushed forward, arms open. "You're finally back!"
She lunged for a hug.
Clarisa sidestepped. It was a smooth, practiced movement. Kaleigh embraced the air.
"Don't," Clarisa said flatly. "You'll get your cashmere dirty. It's dry-clean only."
Kaleigh froze. She looked at Clarisa, then looked past her to Ambrose, who was walking up the steps. Her lower lip trembled perfectly.
"I just missed you," Kaleigh whispered, her voice breaking.
Ambrose reached the top step. He moved to Kaleigh's side, placing a hand on her shoulder. A protective gesture.
Clarisa felt a sharp pang in her chest, sharper than her bruised ribs. That used to be her spot.
"Let's go inside," Helen said nervously, glancing at the driveway. "Before the neighbors see."
They moved into the foyer. The crystal chandelier overhead was blinding. The light reflected off the polished floors, making Clarisa squint.
A maid stepped forward, reaching for Clarisa's plastic bag. "Let me take that for you, Miss."
Clarisa jerked the bag away, clutching it to her chest. "No."
Brady, who had been leaning against the staircase banister holding a tumbler of whiskey, laughed. "What's in there? Gold bars? Drugs?"
The word drugs hung in the air like smoke.
"It's my life," Clarisa said quietly. "It's the only thing I have left."
Brady rolled his eyes. "Dramatic. Just like always."
"Clarisa," Helen chided, smoothing her dress. "Watch your tone. Brady is your brother."
Clarisa turned her dead gaze on her mother. "And what am I? The stray dog you let in out of the rain?"
Helen paled. She looked away, unable to hold eye contact.
"Your room is ready, sister," Kaleigh said softly, leaning into Ambrose. "I made sure they put fresh flowers in it."
Clarisa looked around the foyer. The walls used to be lined with family photos. Now, they were different. There were photos of Kaleigh graduating. Kaleigh winning a debate trophy. Kaleigh and Ambrose at a gala.
Clarisa was gone. Erased.
"I don't see my room," Clarisa said. "I don't see me anywhere."
The room spun slightly. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving only the pain in her ankle and the gnawing hunger in her belly. She swayed.
She bit the tip of her tongue, hard. The sharp pain grounded her. Do not faint. Do not give them the satisfaction.
"Mary," Helen snapped at the maid. "Take Clarisa to her room. Let her get cleaned up."
Clarisa turned to follow the maid. She didn't look back at Ambrose. She didn't look at her family. She walked with a limp, dragging her bad leg, a broken soldier marching away from the war.
