Emma That is Dead (FREE!)

Chapter Fourteen

I strip off my clothes and stand beneath the shower head, letting the warm water wash over my clammy skin. Steam rises from the tile and swirls around the ceiling as I shampoo and rinse my hair.

It's been almost two weeks since I've seen Dad, which means it's also been two weeks since I've seen Rowan, and that's a long time for us to go without hanging out together. We may be ten years apart and only half related, but we get along as well as any sisters would. Maybe even better, if you consider Mey and Bo.

Some kids I know have been weirded out when their parents remarried and they end up with younger siblings they never imagined they'd have, but I've never once felt threatened or uncomfortable about Rowan. She's a blessing, and if I could see her every day I would.

From the moment she was born, there's been this magnetic force about her that sucks me right in. And it has nothing to do with the fact that she's blind. Although that's certainly one reason I feel extra protective of her. Sometimes, when we're at a restaurant or out shopping at the mall, kids will point and stare when they catch her rooting around with her white cane. I've even seen adults hold their gaze longer than they should. And I get it—they're curious. But the mere idea of anyone treating my sister unfairly is enough to grind my teeth.

Rowan was born two months early, weighing in at a whopping three and a half pounds. The doctors tried to stop the contractions, but once she was on her way, there was no holding her back. Since she came so early, the blood vessels in her retinas hadn't finished developing, and though she looks like an average child, she's never been able to see. Not even a little. The most she can make out are shadows and occasional changes in light.

But the deficit has never slowed her down. Rowan's just as mischievous as the next kid, with an infectious silly streak and razor-sharp wit to match.

The shrill sound of the doorbell invades my thoughts. I finish toweling off before throwing on comfy gray joggers and a soccer sweatshirt. Dad's voice carries up the stairs. I run a brush through my damp hair and fly down to greet them.

"There she is—our future college athlete," he says, as soon as I walk into the family room.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hey, kiddo. Missed you."

He swallows me in an embrace. He has that dad smell about him; a heady mixture of Old Spice and freshly mowed lawn, even though he usually pays a landscape company to take care of it for him. Not that he wouldn't love to do it himself. He's an outdoorsy kind of guy. Camping, kayaking, bird-watching. You name it, and he's done it a thousand times. But with his work schedule these days, he's lucky to make it home before Rowan climbs into bed.

I hug Meredith next and we exchange a few pleasantries, but I can't keep my eyes from roaming around the room. "Where's Rowan?"

"Over here," a silvery voice squeals from behind. As soon as I turn, pink silly string sprays at me in one continuous strand before falling to a sticky heap on the floor. Rowan's holding her cane in one hand and an aerosol can in the other. "Did I get you?" she asks, her tremulous laughter filling the room.

"You got me. Come here, you little brat." I pull her to me and crush her in a hug. "What did I do to deserve such a greeting?"

She's still laughing. "Daddy said you're going to play soccer for your favorite team, and I'm helping you celebrate."

I cock my head and shoot Dad a glare. "We don't know if I'm going to play for them yet. They just said they're interested."

"Of course, they are." Dad grins. "With your grades and outstanding Cruyff Turn, they'd be fools not to want you."