Free The Tidewater Sisters: Postlude to The Prayer Box by Lisa Wingate

gone soon’s some other girl walks by with a platter in her hand.
    The analogy makes me chuckle now, but it also makes me wonder. Did Luke mean all the things he said back then, or was that just teenage hormones talking?
    Maybe it’s a mercy that there was never a chance for my illusion to be shattered. Maybe it’s good when a first love remains the fairy tale you always believe in.
    Opening the car door, I set the tobacco tin on the passenger seat by the box with Meemaw’s wedding dress. In the morning, I plan to see my sister face to face. Sometime before that, I’ll have another conversation with Vince, get more details about what could happen to Gina if I take her to court, load up on ammo. I want to make this sound official. To let her know she can’t walk all over her baby sister this time.
    “You know, it’s still there,” Luke says, seemingly out of the blue. He’s looking off across the yard.
    “What is?”
    “Our spot.” His lips curve playfully. “Up on top of the barn by the silo. I was up there the other day. It just crossed my mind all of a sudden. How much we used to sit out there, I mean.”
    I feel the link between us again. He remembers those times on the roof too. A smile tugs the corners of my mouth. “I loved the fact that Gina could never figure out where we went.”
    Climbing the silo ladder and hiding in that place where the barn and hay shed rooflines met was our special secret. Somewhere high enough that no one could hear us as we shared thoughts about life and dreams, and we painted fanciful wishes. We hatched a million plots to convince my parents to leave Gina and me here at the farm permanently. Everything from unexplained illness to seeing if we could find a job for my father in town. One of the times we’d actually stayed long enough to enroll in school, I’d even tried out for the school play. For some reason, Luke and I thought my parents couldn’t possibly take me away if I’d committed to a part in the fifth-grade Christmas musical. The music teacher, Mrs. Vilmer, was a veritable dragon lady. If nothing else, we were sure she wouldn’t let it happen.
    I can’t help reminding Luke of the Mrs. Vilmer scheme, and suddenly we’re reclining against the car again, laughing together.
    “Hard to believe we ever thought it would be that simple.” He shakes his head ruefully, shrugging toward the barn. “Want to see it one more time? The old place, I mean? First star oughta be out soon.” There’s a challenge in his eyes, the same one that convinced me to ignore my fear of heights and make the first climb out the silo hatch at nine years old, and many times after.
    But there’s something deeper in Luke’s face also. I wonder if it’s longing. That’s what it looks like.
    I realize I might be leading him on. I don’t mean to. But I haven’t said anything about my wedding. The sharp needle of conscience pokes a soft place, injecting an IV dose of mature reality. You can’t go back in time and grab the past, no matter how much you’d like to believe it’s possible.
    “I probably shouldn’t.”
    His disappointment is quick and evident, but he also seems to understand. “Got places to be, I guess.” The statement somehow points out that he doesn’t. He’s not trying to coerce me. Rather, he just seems sad.
    “I really should get on over to Greenville and check into a motel. I need to take some time to plan tomorrow’s full-frontal assault on Gina.” I’ve already filled Luke in on all the details, including her working hours. He’s offered to go with me, and I’ve wisely told him no. “I have a ton of things at home to check up on too. Not only is the museum opening in a couple weeks, but I’m getting married.” The last words are dry on my tongue. I taste the salt of what feels like a broken promise, but that’s silly, of course.
    He hides his reaction by watching Boomer prowl the twisted scuppernong thicket along the orchard fence. The vines have gone