Money. It was so fraught. Money ruined people, both the lack and excess of it. Here, we had food and a good strong roof over our heads, and I knew how damn lucky we were. While my grandfather had been steadily employed since he was seventeen, Grammy’s health insurance hit its limit three years before she died of ALS, and their life savings was sucked into that particular black hole. When I came to stay, Pop opened his doors, but he hadn’t been able to help me with college or grad school. Even though I’d worked, the mountain of my student debt resembled Kilimanjaro.

The dream of having my own house was secondary to helping Riley pay for college. My career was just getting started, and it was only last year that I’d been able to quit my longtime job at the grocery store. Half of my clients talked about their debt, their financial fears, their inability to get on top of things, the anxiety it caused, how they were putting off marriage, children, home ownership, moving. A lot of them lacked faith that they’d ever get caught up.

So Genevieve dangling this carrot, though I recognized it as the bribe it was, was hard to ignore. Once, she had been all set to send me to college. I wondered if she’d do the same for Riley. If Riley could walk into adulthood, into a career or grad school without debt, it would be a game-changer. Right now, she wanted to be a doctor, and I’d already done the math. With interest on student loans, it was more than likely she’d be half a million dollars in debt before she even joined the workforce.

And then there was Hope. Genevieve had to make me her guardian. My father Clark was useless, as thin and translucent as wax paper in my life. He had money, but it was all Genevieve’s—an allowance from his mommy. When Hope’s diagnosis was made and her mother abandoned her, Genevieve took guardianship and paid her superexpensive bills. I doubted very much my father would suddenly decide he wanted to take care of his daughter.

Since Clark dumped me at Genevieve’s a month after my mother committed suicide, I would only see him at Christmas, when some financial exchange always took place between him and Gigi. In those first few heartbroken years, I’d asked over and over to come live with him again. His answer was that I was better off with Genevieve, and if I wanted a pony, she would probably buy me one. Of course I felt unloved and abandoned. I still did, although now that I could recognize he had his own problems, I could even concede it was probably the kindest thing he could’ve done for me. To the best of my knowledge, he never visited Hope. I asked the staff about her visitors; it seemed like it was just Genevieve and me.

Hope was born a year after Riley. I hadn’t learned of her till she was three years old, hadn’t been informed that I even had a sister until then. I’d called my father, still hoping that he’d fall in love with the idea of having a granddaughter. After all, I myself was in love with Riley and couldn’t understand how anyone couldn’t feel the same. It was then I learned I was a big sister.

She’d been born with tuberous sclerosis, a rare condition that caused noncancerous growths to occur. For some people, TS meant having a slight skin condition. Sometimes, people with TS would have seizures because of benign tumors in their brain. Autism wasn’t uncommon. If TS was caught early, there were some good treatments out there. But Hope’s case was extreme; she had tumors in her brain, heart, kidneys. She had severe seizures, some motor difficulties and cognitive difficulties. Sometimes she’d have terrible rages and could trash a room in seconds or hurt herself by banging her head. By the time I learned about her, she was already living at Rose Hill.

I flew out to meet her, this sister of mine, younger than my daughter. She was beautiful, small for her age, not talking yet, and walked with a listing gait. “Hi,” I said, bending down to look in her eyes. Brown, like mine. “I’m Emma. I’m your sister.”

It was love at first sight. If I could have afforded it, if my father or Genevieve would have let me, I would’ve adopted her or had her come live with us. But Rose Hill was a beautiful place, and the staff was all so kind, well educated and lovely. From then on, Pop gave me a plane ticket back east for Christmas so I could visit Hope. Most years, I managed to make it again in the summer, too.

She never did learn to talk, but I liked to think Hope recognized me. She cuddled right up against me and let me brush her hair and sing to her. When Riley was ten, I started taking her with me. Her aunt, a year younger than she was.

I never saw Genevieve on those trips. Sometimes, Jason would drive up for dinner; Rose Hill was about a half hour from Stoningham. He never managed to bring his sons up to meet us, though.

If I did go to Connecticut this summer—not that I would, but if I did—I could make sure I’d be appointed Hope’s guardian. Her mother was a party girl I’d never met, but I knew she had signed away parental rights upon Hope’s diagnosis. And Clark was way out of his league with Hope. Genevieve wasn’t a monster; she’d realize I was the only one who could be Hope’s guardian. Whether or not I had to go to Connecticut to make it happen was another issue.

“Hey, Emma,” someone called, and I jumped, so lost in my thoughts was I. It was Marjorie Pierce, one of our neighbors, just getting out of her car. Marjorie was a sweet, middle-aged lady who’d brought casseroles the first year of Riley’s life.

“Hey, Marjorie!”

“How’s that beautiful Riley doing?”

“She’s great!” I smiled.

“Thinking about colleges yet?”