This too is meaningless, a chasing after the wind.Ecclesiastes 2:26 NIVBOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, LATE SUMMER, 1916Sisters are overrated, she decided. Not all of them, of course, only the beautiful ones who never let you forget it. Faith O'Connor stood on tiptoe behind the side porch, squinting through her mother's prized lilac bush. The sound of summer locusts vibrated in her ears as she gasped, inches from where her sister, Charity, stood in the arms of-"Collin, someone might hear us," Charity whispered."Not if we don't talk," Collin said. His index finger stroked the cleft of her sister's chin.Faith's body went numb. The locusts crescendoed to a frenzy in her brain. She wanted to sink into the freshmown lawn, but her feet rooted to the ground as firmly as the bush that hid her from view.Three years had done nothing to diminish his effect on her. He was grinning, studying her sister through heavy lids, obviously relaxed as he leaned against the wall of their wraparound porch. His serge morning coat was draped casually over the railing.
