Next it was a T-shirt I loved, followed by some hair bands. Those I went looking for, and I found them in the pocket of her jeans.

‘You took these,’ I said.

She shrugged. ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘But they’re in your pocket.’

‘I don’t know how.’

Like that, over and over, for the rest of the trip and the rest of her childhood.

Would she have become a little kleptomaniac if Nikki hadn’t told her to take the Etch A Sketch?

I’ve thought about this a lot over the years, wondering if you become something like that just because someone tells you to. You don’t. You don’t become a murderer because someone says ‘Kill that guy.’ That’s not how behavior works.

Nikki may have given her permission, but there was a little thief inside of Portia all along. Just like there was an asshole inside of Eddie and a wild child inside of Nikki. And a liar inside of all of us.

Nikki was one of the best. There were no pictures of Portia, certainly not any that were vile. I asked Nikki about it that very night, after everyone was asleep.

She laughed. ‘Are you kidding? Of course there aren’t any pictures.’

‘I didn’t think so. He just seemed so sure.’

‘That’s the point.’

Liars that good are hard to find.

What is something that has surprised you?

Oh, I can name more than one. Being pregnant is first. Whatever was supposed to happen in my life, it wasn’t getting pregnant at 17, I can tell you that.

Grandpa being an asshole is a close second.

Our parents allowing this trip to continue is third. Although I guess it’s somewhat understandable since they don’t know what Grandpa did. Grandma said it didn’t start until he retired – was forced out, actually – and all of a sudden he had no job and nowhere to go. I mean, part of me can’t blame her for staying. What do you do when you’re 64 years old and your husband suddenly starts hitting you?

Who the hell knows? Doesn’t matter anyway, because he’s the asshole.

One more thing. I think we’re being followed. No, I’m sure of it. That maroon Honda has been behind us for a while now.

When I look at Portia now, headphones on, listening to music, I wonder if she’s really as broke as she pretends to be. Maybe it’s all a lie. Maybe we’ve been paying her way because she’s still stealing from us.

Eddie. Where had he been during that original nine-hour ride? In the passenger’s seat, next to Nikki, doing a whole lot of sleeping. He woke up long enough to charm a truck stop waitress into giving all of us some free ice cream. As soon as we got back into the car, he went back to sleep after mumbling something about pulling a muscle while up at the ghost town.

That’s when I turned my attention to him. Throughout the trip, he was our secret weapon. The one who could talk anybody, young or old, into giving us a pass. If we were late checking out of a motel, we sent Eddie to talk to the manager.

I spent a lot of time watching him, trying to figure out how he charmed people into giving him free stuff and, usually, becoming his friend at the same time. He did have a formula.

One, make fun of yourself. It makes you nonthreatening from the start.

Two, smile. Especially when you’re asking for something. Three, mix your lies with the truth.

Four, remind them how silly/stupid/forgetful you are, this is all your fault, and won’t you be an awesome person and lend a hand?

This worked for him often enough that I tried to copy it. I practiced making fun of myself, I memorized jokes, and I practiced a half-dozen smiles so I’d have a lot to choose from.

Didn’t work. People never responded the same way. It didn’t matter how nice or sweet or cute I was, I never would’ve been able to convince that truck stop waitress to give us free ice cream.

Even at fourteen years old, Eddie was the guy everyone loved. I hated him because everyone loved him.

We were around five hours into our nine-hour journey when I kicked the back of his seat.

Nikki didn’t notice, neither did Portia. I didn’t know it yet, but she was too busy looking for shit to steal.

I was about to kick his seat harder when I realized I could kick his arm. It was wedged between the seat and the passenger’s door.

That woke him up.

He looked around like we had hit something. ‘What?’ he said.

‘What what?’ Nikki said.

‘Nothing, I guess.’ He curled back up to sleep. After about ten minutes, I kicked his arm again. And again.

The fourth time was the charm. That was when he figured out it was me.

‘What the hell?’ he said.

I shrugged.

‘Stop it.’

Obviously I did it again.

Eddie readjusted, making sure none of his limbs were reachable by my foot. I felt like I had won.

Now, as I sit behind the driver’s seat, his left arm is visible. Maybe even reachable.

More than that, I still want to kick him.

Back then, it was because I hated him. I knew that. Now I know my hate was just jealousy, and I also know I feel it toward all my siblings. Every one of them ended up with some special skill. A superpower.

Eddie and his charming ways, Portia and her ability to steal. Nikki, who got away with everything, even disappearing. What did I get, other than similar DNA? I can fade into the background. Let others have the spotlight.

Every family needs a dull bulb. Not everyone can be as bright as the sun. I’ve known for a long time that I’m not smart enough or charming enough to get all the attention. It’s always worked for me, or I’ve made it work, but that doesn’t mean I like it. Sometimes it makes me angry.

Right now, it makes me want to kick Eddie just like I did before.

I stare at his arm, at the seat, at the road in front of us. How stupid would it be to kick his arm while he’s driving? What are the odds we’ll get into an accident? And if we do, what are the odds we’ll survive?

This is what I think about during our nine-hour drive.

‘Beth.’

Felix’s voice snaps me back, making me want to kick him instead. ‘What?’

‘Did you read your e-mail today? Your work e-mail?’

‘No.’

He hands me his phone, pointing to the screen. A company-wide memo was sent out this morning about a downsizing plan to reduce our staff by 15 percent. The first cuts were made today. I read down the list, not recognizing most of the names, but then I get to Linda McCormack. My supervisor. Next I see Danielle Bertram, one of my coworkers, followed by Adam Perry, our administrative assistant.

They’re making cuts in my department.

Perfect. Felix is going to lose his job because he started smoking, and now my department is getting cut to shreds – and this is just the first round of layoffs.

It’s a good thing I have an inheritance coming.

I can’t help thinking about Eddie’s night in jail, and once again, I wonder if that will disqualify him for his share.

Of course that means someone would have to let the lawyer know about it.

Are you okay?

Felix has texted me the same question three times, and each time I answer the same way:

Yes, we’ll talk later.

Are you sure you’re okay?

Yes, we’ll talk later.