The Second Sister Read Online Free

strong leader. Always on the right side of the issues that matter, puts people ahead of party. After years of political divisiveness, Americans are ready for a new kind of leadership. He’ll bring the country together again and—”
    Joe rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I don’t need to hear you spout the latest campaign commercial. What do you see in him? Are you in love with him?”
    â€œIn love? ” I let out a short, sharp laugh.
    He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Seriously, did you sleep with him? Are you sleeping with him? You can tell me.”
    â€œJoe!” I hissed, feeling a flush of heat on my face and neck. “No! Absolutely not! How can you even ask me a thing like that?”
    â€œSorry.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t trying to insult you. I just don’t get it. Anybody else would have bailed after what they did to you post–New Hampshire.” He took the muffin, broke it in two, and put one half on my plate. “I thought maybe you had a crush on him or something.”
    â€œA crush? What am I? Twelve?” I gave him a pointed look and bit into my muffin half. “You still think of me as a green kid from Wisconsin.”
    â€œNaw.” Joe broke his muffin half into four parts and started eating them one at a time. “You’re a long way from that earnest, young legislative aide I met thirteen years ago, talking about the marvel of democracy, ordering strawberry daiquiris, and expecting people to take her seriously.” He smiled. “But in some ways, you’re still that girl. You still care. You still believe that public service is a noble calling and that it’s better to fight and lose than not to fight at all.”
    â€œWell, it is,” I said defensively. “Don’t you think it is?”
    â€œNot the way you do. Not anymore. That’s one of the things I like about you, Lucy. You remind me of my better self. You know what else you remind me of?” he asked, sliding the butter dish across the table and applying the last of it to his muffin. “One of those chicken things my sister’s kids always get at Easter. The ones nobody ever eats? And then, three weeks later, they end up in the trash?”
    â€œYou mean Peeps? I remind you of marshmallow Peeps?”
    Joe, his mouth full of muffin, raised a finger and bobbed his head.
    â€œPeeps!” he exclaimed after swallowing. “That’s it! You remind me of Peeps. Take them out of the protective packaging—the sheltered girlhood in rural Wisconsin—expose them to the air and elements—the harsh reality of partisan politics—and they develop this tough, thick skin. But when you break them open . . .”
    â€œ. . . they’re all sweet and squashy inside. I get it. That’s the dumbest analogy ever. Having ideals doesn’t mean you’re a marshmallow any more than staying on a campaign after they demote you means you’re sleeping with the candidate.”
    â€œFair enough. So you’re not in love with Tom Ryland. Who are you in love with?”
    I scowled at him. I was getting really tired of this.
    â€œI’m seeing Terry Boyle. You know that.”
    â€œThe media consultant. Uh-huh. And how’s that going?”
    I shrugged. “Oh, you know. He lives in Alexandria and travels. I live in Denver and travel. We don’t see each other much. Plus, he has terrible taste in movies—loves all that apocalyptic garbage. I don’t see it working out. After the campaign—”
    â€œYou’ll end it,” Joe interrupted. “Like you always do. Every new campaign brings a new boyfriend, also a politico, just as busy as you, who, more often than not, lives out of state. You have fun for a few months, but when the campaign ends, the relationship does too. See a pattern here, Luce?”
    I let my jaw go slack. “Oh my gosh! I do! I see it now! Thank