“Damn it to hell!” he spoke aloud.

He had worked out how he would manage without her and had arranged to meet her in public, at the coffee shop, to say it was over, to explain how he had to make a break.

With just one look she reeled him back in: as soon as he kissed her, he was finished.

He had planned how he would tell her that it was over, how he wanted to leave, to get away from all this, but she had pulled a number on him, just like she always did, and after that kiss he couldn’t get the words out right, and everything turned to shit again.

He knew in his heart that Pappy had been wrong-she did too, but wouldn’t admit as much-and he still seared inside from the way kids used to taunt them back then.

It should be over now, they should be free to go their separate ways, but Pappy’s legacy, the rotten way of things, kept them bound together.

“Damn it to hell!” he repeated. She looked at him. He moved, uncomfortable in the large chair. “What kind of a sister are you, anyway?”