Free Age Before Beauty by Virginia Smith Page A

again. Sort of like the Three Musketeers. Or maybe Huey, Dewey, and Louie.
    “Speaking of babies, where’s my namesake?” Tori peered into the living room, her face lighting when she spotted Joan in the recliner holding Joanie. She swept in that direction, tossing her handbag to the floor, and stood in front of Joan with her arms outstretched. “Give her up. It’s my turn.”
    Joan’s arms tightened around the infant as she turned a mischievous grin upward. “ Whose namesake is she?”
    “Ours.” Tori conceded the point with a quick eye roll. “Your first name, my middle name. But you get to spend quality aunt time with her every day if you want, so tonight I am claiming my rightful share. Hand her over.”
    “Oh, alright.”
    Joan transferred Joanie into Tori’s arms, and Allie watched her little sister coo into the baby’s face.
    “Is that Tori?” Gram called from the kitchen.
    “It is.” Tori moved carefully in that direction, whispering to the baby as she walked.
    Allie followed, and Joan rose from the recliner to fall into step beside her. Mom joined them, all the Sanderson women crammed into the small kitchen. Tori, holding the baby close to her chest, leaned forward to kiss Gram’s wrinkled cheek. Tori always looked professional, like she just stepped off a fashion runway. She’d cinched her belt in to accent her tiny waist, and the form-fitting gray skirt showed off slim hips without an ounce of excess bulk. Though the baby of the family had always been petite, and Allie more curvy—voluptuous, Eric generously called her—she had never felt the slightest hint of jealousy. They were different. All three of them.
    Never, that is, until now. At that moment, looking at her little sister’s slim figure, Allie felt like a giant blubbery walrus next to a sleek dolphin.
    On the counter sat a tray of goodies Gram had prepared to serve after dinner. Allie snatched one and thrust it toward her sister. “Here,” she said. “Have a cookie.”
    Tori didn’t even look up. “No thanks. I don’t want to spoil my dinner.”
    “It’s chocolate.” Allie waved the tempting morsel under Tori’s nose. “You won’t spoil your dinner. We still have to wait for Eric and Betty.”
    “Ken’s coming too.” Joan glanced at her watch. “He should be here any minute.”
    “Hey, I think she’s wet.” Tori hefted Joanie up and down in her arms to test the feel of her diaper. Her eyes gleamed as she grinned up at Allie. “Can I change her?”
    “Sure. The diaper bag’s back in the spare bedroom.” Allie tossed the cookie back on the tray as Tori headed down the hallway, her eagerness for diaper duty apparent in her wide smile. Mom followed, and Gram, with the aid of her walker, turned toward the stove to stir a pot.
    “It won’t work, you know.”
    Allie peered sideways at Joan. “What won’t work?”
    A smirk played at the edge of Joan’s lips. “Fattening Tori up with cookies won’t make you look thinner.”
    Darn. Joan always could read her like a book. Allie widened her eyes with what she hoped was an innocent expression, and raised her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    Joan lifted a shoulder. “Whatever. Listen, if you’re worried about fitting back into those size 8 jeans, you should run with me in the mornings. We could bundle Joanie up and take her in that fancy stroller Mom bought. I’ll even come to your house a couple times a week, if you want.”
    Allie didn’t meet her sister’s eye. She didn’t want to admit that the size 8s were so far out of her reach she’d considered donating them to the Salvation Army. She’d be ecstatic to fit into a 10. Twelve was a more reasonable goal. But running? All that jiggling and bouncing? Fine for Joan, who was fit and trim and had always been the most athletic of the three sisters. To Allie, it didn’t sound appealing.
    “I don’t run in public.” She tightened her lips. “Not since I hit puberty.”
    Joan laughed.