I push on the dash with my boot and death-grip the door handle as Paisley takes the turn on the icy road going about twenty miles faster than she really should. “Landry, it’s fine. I drive down this road every single day,” my little sister says. She lets out a light laugh and casually grips the steering wheel at the bottom with one hand while she twirls her hair around the other. I know she’s just stating a fact, letting me know she’s long memorized every curve and bump in this road, but it still feels like a dig about me never being around anymore. And if Paisley’s off-the-cuff remark feels like a dig, I can only imagine how bad it’s going to be when I talk to Dad. “How’d Mom and Dad take it? You know, when you told them I’d be coming home?” Paisley drops the long strand of hair she’s been playing with and places both hands on the wheel at two and ten.
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