Chapter 13: Two Pens

"Right here," I said.

I picked the orange case out of the open flap and held it up where everyone could see it.

My hand did not shake.

Daphne's eyebrows rose a little, as if I had passed a test she was not sure I would pass.

Her thought was light and pleased. Good. Keep it close, little sister. It makes it easier to count.

Mrs. Wheelock looked from the case to my face and back.

"Is that an allergy pen?" she said.

"Peanuts," I said. "I've had one since I was nine."

"Your sister seems to take a great interest in it," Dr. Wheelock said slowly.

He was looking at Daphne when he said it.

She laughed, warm and easy, and brushed pastry flakes off her fingers.

"I've looked after her since she was little," she said. "Someone has to."

She stood, kissed the air near my cheek, and told the Wheelocks she would see them Monday.

The bell over the door rang behind her.

I sat still until the street outside went quiet.

Then I put the case in my coat pocket, zipped the pocket shut, and asked Mrs. Wheelock if I could leave early.

She did not ask why.

She squeezed my shoulder, hard, and I went out.

Kellan's car was at the curb with the engine running.

I got in and shut the door.

"Tell me," I said. "All of it. I'm ready now."

He looked at my face for a long moment, and then he told me.

He told me about the rent, and his mother, and the white lilies.

He told me Daphne had stood in his hall the night before the lawn and he had listened to her for four minutes.

"Four minutes too long," he said. "I'm sorry."

Then he took out his phone, set it on the dashboard, and pressed play.

I heard the lobby of the Wheelock lab.

I heard my sister's voice say, And she won't live through that dinner, Kellan.

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