Hell. No real need to pack them, but being the responsible one in the family was tough to shake. Given the way Yasmine was chasing Colonel Cullen, a few of those square packets might be wise. The last thing she needed was a pregnant sister on her hands.
Monica slid a handful inside before crossing into the cubicle bathroom. From the counter she plucked duplicate minibottles and dropped them into the bag.
Yasmine hovered in the open bathroom doorway. "This is very nice of you."
"It's a tube of Crest and some travel shampoo. No big deal."
"I mean nice that you thought of it." Yasmine leaned on the doorframe.
Monica's hands hesitated over an extra travel toothbrush. She always brought two in case she forgot one in the packing and unpacking from various stopovers.
Of course she never forgot.
She dropped the toothbrush inside. "You can return the favor for somebody else one day."
Monica reached for an extra comb, her eyes meeting Yasmine's in the mirror, the two sister faces framed together like the annual sibling photos their mother insisted on.
But with one face painfully absent.
For three silent seconds Monica considered confronting Yasmine, demanding to know whether she had any clue about their sister's kidnapping. Or even to try a few subtle questions...
The temptation was strong to reassure herself that Yasmine was being honest. Logic was stronger. She couldn't afford to risk tipping Yasmine off about the rescue effort just because of a personal need for reassurance her baby sister wasn't a monster.
Yasmine cocked her head to the side. "Our mother always kept a school picture of yours," she said, her mind obviously traveling the same path. "Mother would place a new one in the frame each year. My father did not like that much. But she insisted. Just as with the visits every year."
And she was supposed to be grateful for this?
Monica pinched the Ziploc closed airtight on the first try, one of the many skills she'd picked up early keeping house on her own so people wouldn't talk about those poor motherless Hyatt girls and their trampy mother who'd run off with an oil sheik. "My relationship—" or lack thereof "—with my mother isn't your concern. In fact, it's a moot point now, anyway."
Her sister stared back silently without wincing, then continued as if Monica hadn't even spoken. "She especially liked that photo of you in the pageant. She showed everyone her beautiful daughter."
Monica couldn't contain the snort this time.
"What?"
"At least somebody found a use for those pictures." She shoved the bag toward her younger sister.
"You weren't proud of your accomplishment?" Yasmine took the bag, clutched it to her stomach.
When had a trip for toothpaste turned into a gory gut-spilling? Monica sidled past to find a sleep shirt for Yasmine. "I did it for the money. I needed it for college."
"But Mother sent you money, very much."
"I gave it all to the American Cancer Society." Prideful, sure, when it well could have cost her an education. But at the time it had seemed symbolic of cutting cancerous emotions from her life. She simply couldn't accept her mother's money. Not even her mother's actually, but from the man she'd married. The man who'd stolen another man's wife.
"That was really impractical."
"You're so damned young." Monica dropped an Atlanta Braves' T-shirt on the office chair beside her sister.
"So I keep hearing quite often these days," Yasmine mumbled, scooping up the overlong shirt.
"I understand what you're trying to do here with mending fences, and it's...nice." As much as she resented admitting it. "But you are not helping. I don't hate her, but she made a decision not to be an active part of my life a long time ago. Collecting pictures and taking a kid to the mall once a year does not make a person a parent. I respect that you love her. But you really need to back off on this subject if we're going to have any kind of civil discussions."
Snooty Yasmine returned in full force. "Am I free to go now?"
So much for the sister sharefest. Monica tried not to think of how she and Sydney would have sat cross-legged on either end of the cot sharing a bowl of popcorn while they talked about man troubles. >He tugged the gray helmet over his head. "The possibility of the hostages being moved is always a concern, but not so much now that we're over here since we can be in the air and there before they clear the perimeter."
Crossing to the counter with the oxygen regulator check machine, Jack worked the metal bayonet snaps into the catch until the oxygen mask fit securely around his mouth.