Promises and Pomegranates by Sav R. Miller

her to the ends of the fucking earth and beg for her to return, if that’s what it
takes.
Until then, I wait.
Rounding the corner of my house, I immediately tense up, the hairs on the
back of my neck rising at the feeling of not being alone; there’s a certain
thickness in the air, a blockage in the wind that wouldn’t exist without
another warm body to absorb the weather.
A flash of dark hair first grabs my attention, then, as my eyes sweep the
yard, I notice the black clothes draped over the slender body.
Disappointment flushes my chest, and I sag forward, trying not to buckle
beneath the weight of hope.
I approach her quietly, like a predator sneaking up on its prey, although
she’s hardly even that to me, at this point.
“Violet.” I stop several feet away, getting a whiff of lavender and vanilla
as the wind kicks up, rustling her braided hair. “What... how did you find me
here?”
My sister turns in a circle, sizing me up fully before responding. “I know
people.”
I frown. “Sounds shady.”
“Maybe we’re a lot more alike than I care to admit.” She lifts one
shoulder in a half shrug, her big brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “I got a
call from the bank the other day, saying they were putting a freeze on my
account while they tried to figure out who kept attempting to make deposits
on my behalf. Did you know that’s a pretty popular phishing scam?”
“I did.”
She blinks, almost as if she wasn’t expecting that answer. “Okay. Well...
are you aware that they now want to close my account due to suspicious
activity because of how many times you tried to deposit money?”
“You could’ve just accepted the deposits, and not only would you have
money, but you’d have free rein over your bank account.” I cock my head to
the side. “Not that it matters either way now. There won’t be any more
deposits.”
Turning away, I walk over to the patio, taking a seat in one of the metal
chairs. Violet stands in place for several beats, seeming to have some sort of
internal battle, then finally gives up and joins me, sitting across the table,
crossing one leg over the other.
“Bankruptcy?” she asks in a flat voice, as if already convinced of the