Sisters - By Patricia MacDonald Page 0,1

None of us had any money.’

Brian nodded. ‘Well, the house is all cleaned up. And the car works fine. I turned it over the other day, just to be sure. Aunt Jean got you a few supplies at the supermarket. All the utilities are still on so you won’t freeze in there, or be sitting in the dark.’

‘That’s good,’ Alex said, trying to smile.

Brian glanced at the bleak house that had once been his older sister’s home. ‘I wish you wouldn’t stay here, Alex. It’s too hard. I know you have to clean it out if you want to put it on the market, but you could come over and work on it during the day, and stay with us at night. We’re only forty minutes away.’

Alex shook her head. ‘That’s so nice of you. But I’m going to be looking for a job in the city. It just makes more sense to live here where it’s only twenty minutes away. Besides, I grew up in this house,’ she said, forcing herself to sound brave. ‘It’s filled with happy memories for me.’

‘If you’re sure,’ he said doubtfully. ‘Look, let me at least come in with you.’

‘No, really. It’s not necessary. I’m all right.’

‘Well, I’ll just wait here until you’re inside,’ he insisted.

Alex did not protest. She got out of the car without looking at her uncle, pulled her bag from the back seat and waved at the car window. He watched her as she picked her way through the patches of snow up to the doorway. She took out her old keys and unlocked the front door. It opened into the dark vestibule. It still smelled like home. She stepped inside.

Standing in that hallway, as she had so many times before, she waited. She waited for her dad, carrying a mug of tea, wearing his half-glasses and his LL Bean flannel shirt to look out from the kitchen door, smile and say gently, ‘Hey, kiddo.’ She listened for her mother’s voice to float down the stairs calling out: ‘Honey, is that you? Are you home?’

It was silent. For the rest of her life, it would always be silent. She would never hear those ordinary words, those voices again. It’s me, Mom, she thought. I’m home.

Those first few hours were the most painful. Uncle Brian had been as good as his word. Every system worked. She was able to turn on every light to banish the feeling of overwhelming darkness. But she moved among the familiar rooms like a stranger, seeing each one of them through the lens of her loss. Each one was difficult to walk into. Whether it was putting her clothes away in the closet, or opening a cabinet to get a glass, every action felt like a painful first. It wasn’t as if she had never been alone in the house before. Being an only child, she had often had the house to herself. As a kid, she had sometimes imagined painting the rooms a different color, changing the decor to suit her own teenaged tastes. Well, now it was hers to do with as she pleased. She owned this house now. She shared it with no one. She would live in it alone. Every move she made reminded her of that shattering fact. She wondered if it would have been easier to walk into these rooms with a brother or a sister by her side. Yes, she thought. Without a doubt, it would have been easier. Someone else who knew. Someone else who felt the same loss.

No point in thinking of that, she told herself. She hadn’t minded being an only child. Her father, an only child himself, never saw any problem with it. Her mother fretted aloud sometimes, especially when she was having a hard time fitting in at school, wishing they had been able to give her a sibling. Alex never paid much attention to that fretting. She had her dogs and her cats, always, and friends, neighbors. It was fine. She never could understand what her mother was worrying about.

Now, she knew. Not that she would change it. That was like one of those exercises in trying to change the past. If you could change one thing in the past, it might change every subsequent thing. You might regret the differences. There was no point in thinking about it. She told herself all these things, eating alone at the kitchen table, locking the doors and going to bed alone in her old room.