The Bad Sister. Kevin O'Brien

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      Maybe that explained why Eden had disappeared. Maybe she’d decided to run away, and hopped off the train at the first stop back in Chicago.

      Hannah felt so utterly pathetic and alone. Tears filled her eyes.

      The man was still smiling at her. It felt like they’d been standing there forever at the bottom of the steps to the train’s upper deck, waiting for her stop. She cleared her throat. “I—I really appreciate this . . .”

      “First time away from home?” he asked.

      She just nodded. She was afraid if she tried to talk, she’d start crying.

      “My daughter’s going off to college next year,” the man said.

      Just then, the car doors whooshed open, and Eden almost barreled into the guy. He must have thought she was slightly demented—what with her spacey, baffled expression and those hideous yellow overall shorts.

      “Where the hell have you been?” Hannah barked. She wiped away her tears. “I thought you were dead or something. This is so goddamn typical!”

      “God, bite my head off,” Eden replied. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep in another car.”

      With her foot, Hannah shoved aside Eden’s canvas suitcase to make room in the aisle. “Well, thanks a lot. Could you possibly be more inconsiderate? You left me with all the bags—”

      “Bitch, bitch, bitch,” Eden muttered. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

      Hannah rolled her eyes. “Yeah, praise Jesus.”

      The train screeched to a halt, and Hannah grabbed a handle by the doorway to keep from falling over. She gave her Good Samaritan a strained smile. “Thank you very much,” she said. “You’ve been really nice . . .”

      “Good luck,” he said. He handed her the third bag and quickly backed away.

      With a loud hiss, the train doors opened. Eden stepped outside with her bags, and Hannah followed her. Weighed down with the suitcases, she staggered off the train onto the station platform—smack into a wall of wilting heat and humidity. Hannah managed to hobble a few more paces before pausing to plop the heavy, bulky suitcases on the walkway. “Wait up!” she called to Eden.

      Her half-sister was shuffling along the platform with her two bags—toward Delmar’s quaint, Tudor-style station house. She stopped and then turned to scowl back at her.

      Hannah grabbed her bags again and caught up with her half-sister. Already, she was perspiring. She set down the suitcases once more.

      “Y’know, the way you were acting,” Eden said, talking loudly over the sound of the train as it pulled out of the station, “that guy helping with the suitcases probably thought you were a total raving psycho. Just saying . . .”

      “Well, maybe if you hadn’t wandered off and waited until the very last fucking minute to show up again, I wouldn’t have been acting so nuts.” Hannah stopped yelling as soon as she realized she didn’t hear the train anymore. But the sound had been replaced by an almost continuous shrill buzzing. “What the hell is that?” she asked, fanning herself. “Do you hear it? It sounds like—like jungle noises in the Amazon.”

      Eden rolled her eyes. “It’s not the Amazon. It’s Lake Michigan, and I’m pretty sure they’re cicadas.”

      But Hannah wasn’t listening. With the train gone, she had her first look at downtown Delmar. Among the storefronts, the one that stood out was the Sunnyside Up Café, which looked like a cheap greasy spoon. Its name was on an old, battered 7UP sign on a pole at the edge of the parking lot out front. Corn dogs were probably their specialty. Next door was a locksmith, and beside that, Verna’s Hair Salon. It looked like just the place to go for a poodle cut and a blue rinse. Who, under the age of eighty, was named Verna?

      For the past hour, Hannah had been looking out the train window as they stopped in each north suburban town: Wilmette, Winnetka, Hubbard Woods, Glencoe, and so on. The towns seemed affluent and charming—full of quaint shops and classy-looking restaurants. Even the cars parked by the stations appeared expensive. But this Delmar place was a dump.

      Hannah’s phone buzzed. She dug it from her purse, and on the screen, she saw Riley’s handsome photo again. She opened up his text:

      Had to take a call from my mother. Sorry today got screwed up. If all goes well, let’s count on seeing each other a week from Saturday. OK? It’ll B a crazy week ahead 4 me, but I’ll try to be in touch. Talk to you soon. OK?

      Squinting at her phone screen, Hannah shook her head. It seemed like a total brush-off. If all goes well, they’d get together? He’d try to be in touch? Nothing definite, no promises, no commitments. He didn’t even say what this big family emergency was. Maybe he’d met someone else already.

      I don’t understand, she started to type. But then, she erased it and just typed K.

      She sent the text and then clicked off the line. She worked her thumbs over the phone again. “I wonder if they even have Uber in this shithole,” she said, her voice strained and shaky. “Do you suppose the college is far from here?”

      “About a mile, I think,” Eden answered. She dug her sunglasses out of a front pocket of her overall shorts and put them on. “Who was that on the phone?”

      “Nobody,” she murmured. In a weak moment, Hannah had told Eden about Riley, and couldn’t help bragging that she had a date with him that weekend. She wasn’t exactly dying to tell her that the big date was off. She didn’t want to give Eden anything to gloat about.

      She ordered the Uber. “I’m roasting, aren’t you?” she asked her half-sister. “If our dorm bungalow—or whatever they call it—isn’t air-conditioned, I swear, I’ll slit my throat . . .”

      “Bitch and moan, bitch and moan,” Eden muttered.

      Hannah didn’t look up from her phone. She swiped back to Riley’s photo and studied it. She had a feeling he was lying to her, and maybe he’d been lying all along.

      Right now, she was pretty certain she would never meet him at all.

      If her stupid half-sister weren’t here, she would’ve burst into tears. She was so disappointed and miserable, she wanted to die.

      * * *

      From behind the wheel of an old minivan parked across the street from the train station, he watched them, the phone still in his hand.

      He’d been waiting and sweating inside the hot vehicle for over an hour now. Hannah hadn’t been on the last two trains.

      Actually, he’d been impatiently waiting for her for at least eight months. That was how long he’d been following every move Hannah O’Rourke made. She was all over the Internet—from the old news stories about what had happened to her family two years ago, to her own frequent posts on social media. He’d become utterly fascinated with her.

      After all their texts, the phone conversations, and the FaceTimes he’d carefully arranged, he felt he knew her better than anyone else.

      And now, at last, she was coming to him.

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