Churchill's wheelchair was at the corner of the patio, facing an incline at the north side of the garden. I stopped short as I saw my sister standing at the end of a zip line, a cable that had been mounted on the incline and hung with a pulley that slid from the higher end to the lower one.
Gage, dressed in jeans and an ancient blue sweatshirt, was tightening the end of the line while Carrington urged him to hurry. "Hold your horses," he told her, grinning at her impatience. "Let me make sure the line will hold you."
"I'm doing it now," she said in determination, grasping the pulley handle.
"Wait," Gage cautioned, giving the cable an experimental yank.
"I can't wait!"
He started laughing. "All right, then. Don't blame me if you fall."
The line was too high, I saw with a jolt of terror. If the line broke, if Carrington couldn't hold on, she would break her neck. "No," I cried out, starting forward. "Carrington, don't!"
She looked toward me with a grin. "Hey, Liberty, watch me! I'm going to fly."
"Wait!"
But she ignored me, the obstinate little mule, grasping the pulley and pushing off the incline. Her slight body sped above the ground, too high, too fast, the legs of her jeans flapping. She let out a shriek of enjoyment. My vision blurred for a moment, my teeth clenching on a pained sound. I half staggered, half ran. reaching Gage almost at the same time she did.
He caught her easily, plucking her from the pulley and swinging her to the ground. The two of them laughed, whooped, neither noticing my approach.
I heard Churchill calling my name from the patio, but I didn't answer him.
"I told you to wait," I shouted at Carrington, dizzy with relief and rage, the remnants of fear still rattling in my throat. She fell silent and blanched, staring at me with round blue eyes.
"I didn't hear you." she said. It was a lie, and we both knew it. I was infuriated as I saw the way she sidled up next to Gage as if seeking his protection. From me.
"Yes you did! And don't think you're going to get off easy, Carrington. I'm ready to
ground you for life." I turned on Gage. 'That...that stupid thing is too damn high off the ground! And you have no right to let her try something dangerous without asking me first."
"It's not dangerous," Gage said calmly, his gaze steady on mine. "We had a zip line exactly like this when we were kids."
"I bet you fell off it," I shot back. "I bet you got banged up plenty."
"Sure we did. And we lived to tell about it."
My outrage, salt-flavored and primal, thickened with each second that passed. "You arrogant jerk, you don't know anything about eight-year-old girls! She's fragile, she could break her neck—"
"I'm not fragile!" Carrington said indignantly, huddling closer to Gage's side until he put a hand on her shoulder.
"You're not even wearing your helmet. You know better than to do something like this without it."
Gage's face was expressionless. "You want me to take the line down?"
"No!" Carrington shouted at me, tears springing to her eyes. "You never let me have any fun. You're not fair. I'm going to play on the zip line and you can't tell me not to. You're not my mom!"
"Hey, hey.. .shorty." Gage's voice had gentled. "Don't talk to your sister like that."
"Great," I snapped. "Now I'm the bad guy. Screw you, Gage. I don't need you to defend me. you—" I raised my hands in a defensive gesture, wrists stiff. A cold wind struck me in the face, needling the inner corners of my eyes, and I realized I was about to cry. I looked at the two of them standing together, and I heard Churchill call my name.
Me against the three of them.
I turned away abruptly, hardly able to see through the bitter slick of tears. Time to retreat. I walked with fast, digging strides. As I passed the man in the wheelchair, I growled, "You're in trouble too, Churchill," without breaking pace.
By the time I reached the warm sanctuary of the kitchen, I was cold to the bone. I sought out the darkest, most sheltered part of the kitchen, the narrow recessed niche of the butler's pantry. The space was lined with glass-fronted china cabinets. I didn't stop until I was hidden at the back of it. I wrapped my arms around myself, shrinking, trying to take up as little physical space as possible.
Every instinct screamed that Carrington was mine, and no one had the right to dispute my judgments. I had taken care of her. sacrificed for her. You're not my mom. Ingrate! Traitor! I wanted to stomp outside and tell her how easy it would have been for me to give her away after Mama died, how much better off I might have been. Mama...oh, I wished I could take back all the hateful things my teenage self had said to her. Now I understood the injustice of parenting. Try to keep them healthy and safe, and you got blame instead of gratitude, rebellion instead of cooperation.