“I highly doubt that.”

            Ethan smirks, gathering his sister’s bags. Therese watches him and notices the flicker of black cursive on the inside of his wrist. Her brother tosses the duffel over his shoulder and grasps the suitcase with his free hand. Another train pulls into the station, the brakes screaming. The people come alive, snatching their belongings, feet scuffling against the thin carpet. They weave around the pair, someone occasionally jabbing Therese in the side or the back. The door bangs open and shut, open and shut, as the travelers anxiously exit. She wants to ask Ethan about the tattoo; the question is ramming against her closed lips, hoping to undo the tight stitch of hesitation.

            “C’mon, we’d better get going. All of the spaces out front were taken and I didn’t feel like parking in the garage. I had to park in the handicapped one.”

            She rolls her eyes and follows. The weather is idyllic, even sweeter because Therese knows it won’t last. Ethan gropes in the pocket of his jeans, fishes out a set of keys. He presses a button and the car doors unlock. They make their way over to his Ford Explorer. Therese attempts to help her brother, but he refuses. Settling into the clean seats, Therese notices that the floor is spotless, loose change neatly placed into their respective holders; dimes grouped together, nickels clustered with nickels, pennies solely with pennies. Ethan backs out without looking, swinging into traffic as though navigating an enormous ocean liner. Therese grips the sides of her seat, toes bunching together in her Keds. Ethan brakes at a stoplight, blinking at its red face. He is an impatient driver, the kind that taps their foot and fiddles with the temperature controls.

            
            “Both Mom and Dad are coming for the weekend?” she wonders.

            “Yes, but not until tomorrow.”

            “What about Lena’s parents?”

            “Yep. They should be here tonight. They’re driving,” Ethan replies.

            “Great. Should be a regular barrel of laughs. Dad and Mr. Malove can argue about who had it worse during Vietnam. And in order to draw the attention away from their bickering, Mom will feel the need to reveal every embarrassing detail about us, starting with the time when you were six and you played dress up in her closet.”

            “Oh c’mon, it’s not that bad. I think, deep down, Dad and Rick like each other.”

            “Right, that’s why Dad called him an uptight WASP.”

            “All right, he said that one time. And it was like a year ago, when they first met,” Ethan argues.

            “I’m just saying…”

            “Saying what? Besides, Jack’s gonna be there. Dad’s not going to act up with another guest around, especially since it’s Jack.”

            Therese feels like a vacuum is trying to suck out her ear drums. She hears an ugly roaring in her head that creeps between her temples and down the back of her throat like a black snake. She swallows, afraid of the inevitable expression leeched onto her features.

            “You remember Jack, right?” Ethan asks.

            Therese nods.

            She remembers.

***

            
            The room is much too white. There’s the obligatory print of Van Gogh, Starry Night to be exact. Therese knows that Lena isn’t too interested in real art, the non-commercial side attached to names that rarely grace the walls of the everyday buyer. Ethan helps Therese with her bags; Lena trails after them like a puppy on speed. Lena bombards her with questions, which Ethan begins to answer and Therese finishes.

            
            “Dinner should be ready in five or ten minutes,” Lena announces.

            
            Therese nods. The pair lingers in the doorway, staring at her turned back.

            
            “Ok. Well. Holler if you need anything,” Ethan says.

            
            “Will do,” Therese replies.

            They leave and Therese is surprised that she’s relieved. She goes over to the door and shuts it half-way. The hinges sigh, and she returns to her bags. The bed looks comfy enough, though maybe a little big for one person. The comforter is blue, while miniature sailboats sway across the sheets. She wonders if this trip was such a good idea, after all. She’d felt obligated to come, for Ethan’s sake. Lena is nice, almost to the point of motherly. But if Lena had been the only one wanting her to come, she would have stayed home.

            When someone knocks on the door, Therese continues to fold her sweater, back facing the intruder.

            “Yes?”

            “Mind if I come in?”