Between Sisters

The house was a sprawling log-built A-frame that was set amid a perfectly landscaped yard. A mossy split-rail fence outlined the property. Flowers bloomed everywhere, bright and vibrant, and glossy green boxwoods had been shaped into a rounded hedge that paralleled the fencing. His father had built this house by hand, log by log. One of the last things Dad had said to them, as he lay in his hospital bed dying of a broken heart, was: Take care of the house. Your mother loved it so . . .

Joe felt a sudden tightening in his throat, a sadness almost too sweet to bear. His sister had done as she’d been asked. She’d kept the house looking exactly as it always had. Mom and Dad would be pleased.

Something caught his eye. He looked up, caught a fluttering, incorporeal glimpse of a young woman on the porch, dressed in flowing white as she giggled and ran away. The image was shadowy and indistinct and heartbreaking.

Diana.

It was a memory; only that.

Halloween. Nineteen ninety-seven. They’d come here to take his niece trick-or-treating for the first time. In her Galadriel costume, Diana had looked about twenty-five years old.

Someday soon, she’d whispered that night, clinging to his hand, we’ll take our own child trick-or-treating. Only a few months later, they found out why they’d been unable to conceive. . . .

He stumbled, came to a stop at the bottom of the porch steps, and glanced back down the road, thinking, Maybe I should turn around.

The memories here would ruin what little peace he’d been able to find. . . .

No.

He’d found no peace out there.

He climbed the steps, hearing the familiar creaking of the boards underfoot. After a long pause in which he found himself listening to the rapid hammering of his heart, he knocked on the door.

For a moment, there was no sound within; then the clattering of heavy-soled shoes and the called-out “Coming!”

The door swung open. Gina stood there, dressed in baggy black sweats and green rubber clogs, breathing hard. Her cheeks were bright pink, her chestnut brown hair a bird’s nest of disarray. She took one look at him, mouthed Oh, then burst into tears. “Joey—”

She pulled him into her arms. For a moment, he was dazed, too confused to respond. He hadn’t been touched in so long, it felt wrong somehow.

“Joey,” she said again, putting her face in the crook of his neck. He felt her warm tears on his skin and something inside of him gave way. He brought his arms around her and held on. The whole of his childhood came back to him then, drifted on the baking-bread smell of the house and the sweet citrusy scent of her shampoo. He remembered building her a stick fort by the fish pond long after he’d outgrown it himself, and baby-sitting her on Saturday mornings and walking her home from school. Though they were seven years apart in age, they’d always been a pair.

She drew back, sniffling, wiping her red-rimmed eyes. “I didn’t think you’d really come back. ” She patted her hair and made a face. “Oh, shit, I look like the undead. I was planting flowers in the backyard. ”

“You look beautiful,” he said, meaning it.

“Pretend that Grandma Hester’s ass hasn’t moved onto my body. ” She reached out for him, took hold of his hand, and dragged him into the sunlit living room.

“I should take a shower before I sit—”

“Forget it. ” Gina sat down on a beautiful butter-yellow sofa and pulled him down beside her.

He felt uncomfortable suddenly, out of place. He could smell his own scent, feel the clammy dampness of his skin.

“You look sick. ”

“I am. My head is pounding. ”

Gina popped up and hurried from the room. All the while she was gone, she talked to him from another room. No doubt she was afraid he’d vanish again.

“—some water,” she called out, “and aspirin. ”

He started to say something—he had no idea what—when he saw the photo on the mantel.

He got slowly to his feet and walked toward it.

The photograph was of five women crowded together; four of them wore matching pink dresses. They were all smiling broadly and holding up wineglasses, most of which, he noticed, were empty. Gina was front and center, the only woman in white. Diana was beside her, laughing.

“Hey, Di,” he whispered. “I’m home. ”