Free More Bitter Than Death by Dana Cameron

when you’re at a conference. Not at this time of night.If you have the time for calling, it’s usually Brian.” There was a pause. “So how’s the weather in New Hampshire?”
    Damn. She knew. “Cold. Started snowing like mad.”
    “It’s already dumped more than a foot here. Duncan’s there, isn’t he?”
    “Yep.”
    “Seen him, have you?”
    “Yep. Today at the tour I gave of the site.” I paused. “He just cornered me in the slide room.”
    “Talk to him?”
    “Some. Not much.” Not well, I added to myself.
    “Good. He’s a shithead and I hope he burns in hell, the fat lump of pig vomit.”
    “Bucky…” I don’t know why I felt compelled to defend Duncan, as I felt pretty much the same as my sister. I was just more able, or willing, to compartmentalize my feelings and leave them—I hoped—to fade over the years.
    “He left you a letter, a note on your bureau, for when you came back from break and…poof! That was it.”
    “It was a selfish thing to do,” I agreed carefully.
    “Selfish? Selfish! You’re kidding me! Goddamned pretty boy, mama’s boy, son of a bitch, tail-chasing, monkey-humping, loser, suck-up—”
    I let her go on for a while, knowing that it was pretty much useless to break in before she’d gotten some of the poison out of her system.
    “Hey, kiddo—?”
    “—and whatever happily lives in a diseased weasel’s lower intestine would cross the street rather than run into him!”
    She drew a breath and I tried again. “Okay, Bucks? Feel better?”
    “You know my opinion on the subject, Em. Why else would you bring it up, unless you wanted some sisterly support?”
    “Ah…good question. I don’t know what I want.” I suddenly felt exhausted. Bed. I wanted bed.
    “Well, I know what you need, and I have just the baseball bat for you to use. Aluminum, bought just for the purpose, kept safe and shiny all these years—”
    “Bucky, lay off.”
    “I’ve always hated him, Emma. I’m just glad you got out of it before it was too late.”
    “He was the one who got out of it. I would have married him.”
    “No, you wouldn’t. You would have come to your senses before anything drastic happened.”
    “Bucky.” I took a deep breath, ashamed at how much effort it took to say the next words. “I loved him.”
    “Like you love Brian?”
    “God, no,” I said, without thinking. “I mean, no, of course not, now . But I was happy with him at the time, you know?”
    “No, you weren’t. You two never stopped fighting. You were always arguing.”
    “No…I mean, yes, we argued a lot.” I shook my head, trying to remember clearly. “We were young. Competitive, you know how it is.” Or maybe she didn’t; charges of laziness or performing at sub-ability levels had always been levied at my brilliant sister. Where any such comment would have driven me mad, she paid no attention and did exactly what she wanted. “We were undergraduates with a mission, ready to take the world by storm. You couldn’t not argue, not the way we were.”
    “Right. Because you were both exactly the same, that’s all. That’s not love, that’s narcissism. Maybe even masturbation. You felt the same way about enough things that it seemed like you had a lot in common. And it was probably the sex, too. I never asked, but I assume it was at least acceptable—”
    I looked away, even though there was no one to make eyecontact with, and felt my face burn. I wished I could blank it all out, I hated knowing that other people knew how young and weak and stupid I’d been. I hated how it could still affect me, that it wouldn’t just go away.
    “—and I am certain that was the extent of it. There, that help?”
    I stared at the numbers on the phone for room service and the concierge. “Oh, sure, as much as having my nearest and dearest tell me what an idiot I am ever helps.”
    “I was dumping on him, not you. There’s a difference.”
    “Oh, okay, sure, right. So, how’re things with