Adrienne shrugged her response without looking up from her Argentina Now! magazine. There was an article on Iguazu Falls, and Adrienne promised herself she would go. Soon. Although, she’d been in Argentina for one week already and had only left her sister’s apartment once.
Aubrey blew out a sigh. “Will you stop already?”
“What?” Adrienne stared at her sister. Despite their ten-year age difference, they were similar in appearance—tall, blond, willowy. Neither wore much make-up. The major difference was that Aubrey was usually spattered in mud.
“You’re an attorney, for pity’s sake. Arguing is what you do!”
Adrienne turned her attention back to the magazine and tried to ignore Aubrey. “You want me to argue about what we have for dinner?” she said after a beat of silence. When Aubrey didn’t answer right away, she looked up.
Aubrey, who stood in the kitchen surrounded by terra-cotta pots filled with rosemary, basil, dill, oregano, and lavender, shook her trowel at Adrienne. “I want you to do something!”
Adrienne looked back at her magazine and flipped through it until she found pictures of the most luxurious bookstore she’d ever seen. “I’m going to go to El Ateneo Grand Splendid.”
Aubrey looked at her through slit lids. “When?”
Adrienne swung her feet off the sofa and planted them on the wooden floor. “Now?”
Aubrey fixed her fists on her hips. “And what about dinner?”
“I said I didn’t care.”
“No, what you said was—” Aubrey mimicked her exaggerated shrug.
“Do you want me to go?” Adrienne asked.
“To the bookstore, yes,” Aubrey said, her voice softening. “Back to Sebastian, no.”
“Thanks for letting me stay here.” Adrienne went to find her shoes.
“Of course,” Aubrey said, sounding contrite.
Adrienne shared the guest bedroom with a shelf holding dozens of glass jars full of herbs and spices and pots filled with various trees. A warm light shone on a tray of seedlings in the corner. These plants were the love and passion of her sister’s life and Adrienne knew she was lucky that Aubrey would carve a space out for her, but still, she secretly wished for a room less junglesque. Adrienne found her shoes wedged between a potted grapefruit tree and a watering can. She slipped them on before padding back into the living room.
Aubrey stood in the entry with her coat on. She’d removed her dirty apron, but a smudge of dirt remained on her forehead.
“Are you coming with me?” Adrienne asked.
This time it was Aubrey that answered with a shrug.
“Well, then you might want to wash your face,” Adrienne said with a smile.
“Have you heard from him?” Aubrey asked once they got outside.
“No.” Adrienne turned her face to the sun. Although Buenos Aires was a much larger city than Seattle, they both sat on the water and shared similar climates. But they were polar opposites. When Seattle was gray with winter, Buenos Aires enjoyed the summer sun and vice versa.
“I don’t think she was the only one,” Adrienne said in a small voice.
“What makes you so sure?”
Adrienne’s thoughts skittered over the years and lingered on all the prolonged business trips that had filled her seven-year marriage. “Did you know some say that the seven-year itch is a real thing?”
Aubrey nodded. “Divorce rates show that on average couples tend to divorce around seven years. Statistics say there is a low risk of separation during the first months of marriage. After the ‘honeymoon’ months, divorce rates start to increase. Most married couples experience a gradual decline in the quality of their marriage—in recent years, around the fourth year of marriage. Around the seventh year, tensions rise to a point that couples either divorce or adapt to their partner.”
“So says the woman who never married.”
“And never will,” Aubrey said. “Did you know that human cells are replaced every seven years? So, it’s like you’re a brand-new person every seven years. Although the linings of your stomach and intestines are renewed much faster.”
Adrienne kicked a pebble down the sidewalk, thinking of how much her sister sounded like their father. “Have you talked to Dad recently?”
