into surviving one more summer.
Her door opened up onto the interior stairs that connected the five floors of the old family brownstone. Formerly for servants’ access, the stairs now ran from the bookstore on the first two floors, to the storage room on the third floor, to Ronnie’s apartment on the fourth and her brother Nat’s on the fifth.
She eased the door open and stepped onto the landing, avoiding the weak spot that always rang out like a shot. Since the burglary, Nat had been fussing over her safety. No sense letting him know she was having trouble sleeping.
On the ground floor she paused and looked back up the stairs, making sure no light appeared from above. Nothing. Good. She would down a gallon of coffee in the morning and Nat would never know just how lousy she’d been sleeping lately.
Slowly, carefully, she turned the knob, pushing the door at just the right speed to minimize the creak of the old hinge she never remembered to fix. When she’d maneuvered the door open enough to squeeze through, she slipped in, shut the door and flipped on the light.
Success.
“Careful, sis, you might wake me.”
Or not.
With a frown, she surveyed the room, finally locating Nat in one of the cushy armchairs she kept near the antique furnace. “What are you doing down here?” she asked.
“I figured you were still a little antsy after our uninvited guest. Thought I’d wait up and commiserate with you.”
“I’m not antsy,” she lied.
“Come on, Ronnie. I know you too well. Besides, it’s not quite morning and you’ve been awake for hours.”
“Hours?” She dropped her papers on the antique desk that served as the command center for the store, then hit the power switch on the coffeemaker she always kept filled and ready to brew. “How do you know how long I’ve been up?”
He waggled his eyebrows, the familiar gesture making her laugh. “I see all.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, dropping into the chair opposite him. “Give.”
“I got home about one. Your light was on. About an hour ago, I woke up, dead thirsty, and realized I was out of soda.” He leaned forward and gave her knee a quick squeeze. “When I came down here to grab one from the break room, what did I see but a light still shining from underneath my darling little sister’s front door?”
“Maybe I went to sleep with the lights on,” she said, then immediately regretted it. Staying awake or sleeping with the lights on—either way he’d assume she was nervous, scared of the dark, or otherwise put off by the robbery.
On cue, he shrugged and took a swallow of Mountain Dew. “I’m just looking out for you, Ron. I don’t like worrying about you. Knowing you’re scared.”
“Nat,” she crooned, trying out her reasonable-and-responsible-sister voice, “you’re supposed to be on a plane in just a few days. A Galápagos shoot for National Geographic is a really big deal. Worry about that. Not me.”
“I’ll always worry about you, McDonald.”
Ronnie rolled her eyes at the silly nickname. During eighth grade, she’d had a crush on Billy Hobbs, who happened to like redheads, not girls with uncooperative, mousy-brown ringlets. After a little mishap with a bottle of hair dye, Ronnie had ended up with curls more flaming orange than sultry red. Billy Hobbs had laughed and Nat had cheered her up. And after he was sure she’d survive, he’d pinned her with the rather annoying nickname of Ronald McDonald. Apparently the rule book for big brothers required an obnoxious-to-nice ratio of about three to one.
She looked at him fondly, and he smiled back, an easy gesture. Finally, she shook her head, half laughing. “You’re impossible.”
“That’s why you love me.”
“Who says I do?” she teased.
He flashed her a smirk. “I know all. I see all.”
As she laughed, he took another sip of soda. She squinted at the nasty-looking scratch above his elbow. “What did you do?”
“Huh?” He followed her gaze. “Oh, that.” He shrugged, dropping his arm. “I was hanging some of my photos and I tripped. Managed to catch my arm on the nail.”
“Ouch,” she said. She ran her finger along it, and he winced, as if he was holding back a burst of pain. “Jeez, Nat. Is it infected? What did you put on it?”
He tugged his arm away, looking sheepish. “Hydrogen peroxide. It’s fine. I’ll put some more on it when I go back up.”
She frowned but didn’t argue. “You shouldn’t be doing that, anyway. I told you I wanted to frame your stuff for you, and then hang it. You need more color in your apartment.” Her brother was a wonderful photographer, but he kept most of his best stuff shoved in boxes, and he had no decorating sense whatsoever. For more than a year, she’d been promising to place his stuff in colorful frames and arrange it on his deathly dull bare walls. Being a terrible sister, she hadn’t yet gotten around to it.
“No big deal,” he said. “And no fair trying to change the conversation.” He aimed a stern finger in her direction. “I know what you’re trying to do.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Really.” She spread her arms wide. “Snug as a bug in a rug.”
“You’re nervous,” he said, holding out his hand to her. “I don’t like that.”
Bless his big-brotherish little heart. She took his hand, giving it a little squeeze. Ever since their mom had walked out, Nat had played parent. Granted, it was a role that needed playing, particularly since her dad had been too busy with his books to take any interest in the job.
Nat’s father had died when he was five, and their mother had married Kendall Parker, who’d promptly adopted the little boy. A couple of years later, Ronnie had come along. Two days after Ronnie’s fifth birthday, Ashley Parker had decided she was tired of motherhood. She’d walked out and never looked back. Then twelve, Nat had been Ronnie’s calm during the storm of the next few years. He’d helped her through a typically rocky adolescence, and held her hand when her father had died.
But she was thirty years old now, and Nat’s days as the daddy du jour had run their course.
But when she told him so, he just shook his head. “I don’t care how old you are, Ron. You’re still my little sister and I’m gonna watch out for you.”
Exasperated, she pulled away. “I don’t need looking out for. It was just a robbery. The electrician is coming tomorrow to rewire the alarm system.”
Nat pressed his soda can against his forehead. “Ka-ching,” he said. “The place is a money pit, Ron.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Then you fix it.”
He shook his head. “Beyond my capabilities, I think.”
She doubted it. Her brother was as handy as they came. He’d built a state-of-the-art darkroom in his apartment, installing the special lighting and
