“Your sister really saved the family,” she said.
I was standing in a ship passageway, clipboard in hand, the air smelling of metal and fuel.
“Saved the family?”
“Oh, you know Serena. She doesn’t brag. Your father said her financial guidance made all the difference.”
I looked down at my hands. One knuckle was split; a bruise faded near my wrist.
“Did he?” I said.
The next month, my parents hosted a barbecue.
I went because I was on leave and still had not learned that walking into a burning house does not make it less on fire.
The backyard was full of relatives, lawyers, neighbors, and women from my mother’s clubs. The grass was perfect. White lights crossed the patio. The new painting hung inside where everyone could see it.
My father stood by the grill, beer in hand, praising “Serena’s sharp mind” for helping the family through a rough financial period.
