Chapter 11: Which Daughter

The Elks hall had round tables with white paper cloths and a banner across the stage that read, Hope for Shanna.

My face was on it, twelve years old and missing a tooth, four feet wide.

Maisie walked in beside me in a blue dress, leaning on my arm.

I could feel how much of her weight I was carrying.

Cal stood at the back by the coat rack, in his dark jacket, with his arms folded and his eyes on my sister.

He gave me one small nod.

My father met us at the stage steps in his good suit.

"There you are," he said, and he kissed my cheek in front of everyone. "Eat something first. You look thin."

"I'm fine, Dad."

"You're a fighter," he said, loudly, to the table beside us.

Heads turned.

A woman stood up and applauded.

By the time the pastor tapped the microphone, every seat was full and people were standing along the walls.

"Friends," he said. "We are here tonight for one of our own."

He talked for six minutes about faith.

My mother sat at the head table with a tissue in her fist.

My father sat beside her with his chest out.

"Please welcome Shanna Hallam."

The applause was warm and long.

I climbed the three steps to the stage.

The microphone was cool in my hand.

I looked at the hall.

A hundred and forty faces were turned up toward me, soft and wet-eyed and full of love for a woman who didn't exist.

"Thank you for coming," I said. "Thank you for the money, and the prayers. Everyone has been kind."

Keep reading free with an account. Start They Chose My Sister, Then Learned She Was Dying from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.