She rarely talked about it. Instead, she poured herself into Bev.
When Bev was three, I started working late every Friday, and Stephanie volunteered to babysit.
Friday became theirs: pancakes, blanket forts, painted nails, and animated movies Bev knew word for word.
Instead, she poured herself into Bev.
She had a key to my house, and when Bev had pneumonia at six, Stephanie stayed with us for three nights because I couldn’t afford to miss more work.
I’d joked about it for years.
“She’s basically yours on Fridays.”
“Good thing Bev has a backup mom.”
I thought I was thanking my sister.
She had a key to my house.
I never considered that she might be hearing something else.
***
Shortly after Beverly turned ten, I noticed the first change.
We were eating breakfast when she asked, “Do you really have to work Fridays?”
“You know I do, sweetie.”
“Can’t you switch?”
“Why?”
“Do you really have to work Fridays?”
She pushed cereal around her bowl.
“I don’t like Fridays anymore.”
That got my attention.
“Did something happen with Aunt Stephanie?”
Bev shook her head.
“I just don’t want her putting me to bed anymore.”
“I don’t like Fridays anymore.”
I frowned.
