Kindred Read Online Free PDF Page A

twin’s soul. But honestly, that might only make things worse. I tell myself maybe the rules are different for someone like Mo. Mo’s real name is Moses. Yes, my parents actually named us Miriam and Moses. They liked that they’re siblings in the Bible, and better them than Tamar and Amnon, since Amnon rapes his half sister Tamar and then is killed by his half brother Absalom, who is then killed by his father’s soldiers to avenge Amnon’s death. They figured any of those three might be a bit over the top. You think? Still, Miriam and Moses? It’s just wrong. When we entered elementary school, Moses somehow turned into Moand the nickname stuck. It was a better fit, although pretty much any name would be. I tried to go by Miri, Mir, and M., but none of those nicknames ever caught on. Everyone kept calling me Miriam, and sometime around tenth grade I gave up.
    Our parents divorced when Mo and I were eleven. At first there was talk of separating us, keeping me with Mom and Mo with Dad. Maybe alternating summers with us together with each parent. Mo put an end to that. He’d been listening in on the other phone as Mom’s lawyer first suggested the possibility of a split. Mo didn’t even tell me. He attacked. Vandalism, trouble at school—he pulled out every weapon in his eleven-year-old arsenal. Within a month we were all seeing a therapist, who emphatically recommended keeping us together.
    “Twins,” he reminded my parents, “are closer than traditional siblings. Modern science is still learning about the emotional and perhaps even mental bond between them. The trauma of separating them at this age could be”—he paused—“incalculable.”
    Mo looked over at me and gave me a thumbs-up.
    My parents figured out a way to share custody that didn’t mean splitting us. Instead of moving back to England, Mom kept her job in the theology department at the university and moved out of the city, to an old, rambling cottage in the country. Dad, also a professor of theology, bought a large apartment downtown. They saw each other at staff meetings and occasionally in the hallways of the department, but off duty,they pretty much ensured they wouldn’t see each other at the grocery, bank or any other public setting.
    Mo and I, attending the same school, switched months living with our mom and our dad until we left for college.
    I rub my knees, half noticing that they feel achy and hot. I briefly wonder at this weird constellation of problems that has suddenly erupted. My stomach, my joints, my energy level. I’m irritated and a little scared. I’ve never had anything worse than a cold. I never get sick. I was so annoyed and jealous when Mo got mono and I didn’t. He missed a week of ninth grade.
    I shouldn’t be surprised Mo is enamored with the devil. He always had a different way of seeing things. Apart from that week of mono, which he managed to parlay into getting out of a final project in our European history class, he was also our high school mascot at football games for our last two years of school—which meant he traveled with the football team to away games. He was the founder of the school’s poker and investment clubs, organizing the school’s first poker tournament, with the prize money, a thousand-dollar scholarship, put up by local businesses. Naturally he won, even though he didn’t need the money.
    No one else had his extensive social network, his connections. He was always ready for a laugh, saying anything that popped into his mind. And Mo noticed things most people missed.
    The summer of our senior year, Mo and I spent a lot of time at the local pool.
    “Check it out,” Mo said, pointing at the sunbather near us. “It’s the third time she’s sprayed crap on herself.”
    The woman was gorgeous, with a tiny sky-blue bikini highlighting curves even I had to admit were eye-catching.
    “I’m going to investigate,” he said, winking at me before ambling over to her. He should have looked