Sustained by Emma Chase Read Free Book Online Page B

walks back to the stove, dumping a heap of chopped greens from a colander into the boiling pot. Her movements are effortlessly graceful, and I wonder if she’s a dancer. “You started to tell me about Rory?”
    “Right. He—”
    But of course I don’t get to tell her. That would be too easy.
    Instead I’m cut off by the appearance of a young boy walking through the kitchen door—a boy with Rory’s face. He’s slightly thinner, a little taller, with round, wire-rimmed Harry Potter glasses perched on his nose.
    I can’t keep the horror out of my tone. “There’s two of him?”
    Chelsea grins. “If that’s your way of asking if Rory has a twin, then the answer is yes.”
    “I see you’ve met my brother,” the boy says, apparently used to this reaction. “Don’t judge me just because we share the same DNA. You’ve heard the term ‘evil genius’?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Rory’s the evil. I’m the genius.”
    “How many kids live in this house exactly?” I ask the aunt.
    It’s starting to feel like they’re cockroaches—see one, and you can bet there’s fifty more crawling around inside the walls. I shiver at the thought.
    “Six.”
    Six? I’m guessing Robert McQuaid didn’t have many hobbies.
    The boy retrieves a black skateboard from the corner and tells his aunt, “I’m going to Walter’s next door.”
    “Okay. Make sure you put your helmet on, Raymond.”
    The kid groans. “It makes me look like a dork.”
    “And when you’re in a coma after fracturing your skull on the pavement, you think you’ll look . . . cool?”
    Rory’s smartassness is obviously genetic.
    “No,” Raymond whines. “It’s just . . .” He turns to me. “You’re a guy—you understand what I mean. Explain it to her.”
    “Yes”—Chelsea crosses her arms—“explain to me how having a penis excuses you from the laws of gravity.”
    “Oh my god!” Raymond hisses, his ears and cheeks blooming fire-engine red. “Don’t say that.”
    “What?” She looks from him to me. “What’d I say?”
    I shrug because I have no fucking clue.
    “Penis?” she guesses.
    And Raymond does a fabulous impression of a tomato. “Oh my god! You’re so humiliating!” He grabs his skateboard and flees.
    “Helmet, Raymond!” Chelsea calls. “Or that skateboard will be roasting in the fireplace tonight!”
    She looks at me with a sigh and a smile. “It’s the little joys that get me through the day.”
    And I have the urge to laugh. Chelsea’s not only hot, she’s . . . entertaining, too.
    She moves back to the stove and starts to lift the heavy gargantuan pot, and I quickly step closer and take it from her hands. “I got it.”
    “Thank you.” She directs me to a ceramic bowl on the counter and I carefully pour the hot broth, with its white chunks and strips of green, into the bowl. Then we stand just inches apart, those crystal-blue beauties fixed on me.
    “So . . . how did you meet my nephew, Mr. Becker?”
    I give it to her straight, like ripping off a Band-Aid. “He stole my wallet, Chelsea. Right on the street. Bumped into me, slipped his hand in my pocket, and then took off.”
    Her eyes slide closed and her shoulders hunch. “Oh.” After a moment, she rubs her forehead, then lifts her chin and looks up at me. “I am so, so sorry.”
    I wave my hand. “It’s okay.”
    Her voice goes soft, with a ring of sorrow. “He’s taken it really hard. I mean, they all have, of course, but Rory is just so . . .”
    “Angry,” I say, finishing for her.
    She nods. “Yeah. Angry.” Her voice drops, a trace of hurt seeping in. “Especially at me. It’s like . . . he resents me. Because I’m here and they’re not.”
    “How old are you? If you don’t mind me asking.”
    “Twenty-six.”
    “Do you have any help? Your parents? Friends?”
    Rosaleen walks back into the kitchen as her aunt shakes her head. “My parents passed away a few years ago. All my friends are back in California. I was in