Free Dangerous Neighbors by Beth Kephart

Which was the same thing, absolutely.
    “You’ll wake Mother, Katherine. Please.” Anna walkedto her side of the room and sat down. Perched on the edge of her bed with a straight back, that infuriating smile still on her face, as if no argument could dislodge her from her pervasive happiness.
    “And I’m supposed to care? I’ll wake the whole of Delancey, if I wish. You’re ridiculous. Everything you’re doing is selfish.” Katherine wouldn’t turn in her bed. She lay stiff, furious.
    “You ought to give him a chance before you start accusing. Get to know him. Stop being such a snob.”
    “I’m not talking about Bennett. I’m talking about you.”
    “This is about you, and you know it. You were always jealous. Always so grim, Katherine. Never acting your age, and boys see that. Bennett does.”
    “So you’ve been speaking of me, then. To him.” Katherine felt flattened, the betrayal final.
    “Not a lot. Just some.”
    “You’re worse than I thought, Anna. You’ll stop at nothing.”
    “Where’s your heart?”
    Katherine didn’t answer, didn’t know how. Soon the silence was worse than any accusation, and now Katherine turned and saw how Anna was slipping her boots back on, buttoning each button with a frightening calm.
    “What are you doing?” she demanded.
    “I’m going out.”
    “You just came in.”
    “I won’t waste the day fighting with you.”
    “Anna.” Katherine pushed off the bed now. She stood, her bare feet on the rose-colored rug. “Don’t. Please don’t. I’m sorry.”
    But Anna had made up her mind. She was across the room and out the door and there was the sound of her boots going down, words with Jeannie Bea, the unlatching and latching of the front door, and now the pattering away on the walk. All that summer morning Katherine remained in their room, looking out as the day became itself, thinking Anna might return. When Jeannie Bea called for breakfast, Katherine excused herself. When Pa knocked on the door, she said she was lying in bed with a book.
    “What happened, love?” he said. He stood above her, blocking the rise of the morning sun. She couldn’t meet his eyes. She turned.
    “Anna was bored.”
    “She seemed agitated, not bored. There’s a difference, honey.” As if her father could bring his math to this, his economics and his rule book.
    “Why don’t you ask Anna, Pa? Please. Leave me out of it for once, will you? It’s Anna’s turn to speak.”
    “Your sister’s elusive.”
    “My sister isn’t me.”
    “But whatever she’s doing is affecting you. I asked you what happened. I’m asking after
you.”
    She looked up and she saw all the care in his face, the solemnity of responsibility, a trait they shared. She felt tears welling within her. She turned again, her father’s shadow still saving her from the sun.
    “I can’t talk right now, Pa.”
    “All right, then,” he sighed.
    “I think I’d like to stay in bed awhile.”
    “Moby-Dick,”
he said.
    “I’m trying.”
    “It’s a good book,” he said, “once you get in thick with it.” He touched Katherine’s forehead with one finger and stayed hovering above her for a long time. Finally she turned and looked him squarely in the eyes.
    “Thank you, Pa,” she said, and he leaned down and kissed her where his finger had been.
    Later there was sun, too much sun, everywhere. There was an entire blast of morning heat in a room hollowed out but for one.

T HE SUN SPILLING IN THROUGH THE STAINED-GLASS windows daubs hatbands and dresses with diluted colors—red gone slightly copper, blue like the final hour of a bruise, green like the eyes of a cat. From the nozzles of the Venus fountain, water geysers toward the ceiling struts then collapses into iron basins and pools, and now Katherine, opening her eyes with a start, feels a trickle of heat run down her cheek, past her ear.
    She plays the scenes of her sickness back across her mind’s eye, this time more slowly. She stands at that