One Year After

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Beth, the oldest sister, arrived first. She swept the cabin; put the first logs on the fire. Outside, the weather was cooling, and she could almost feel the storm readying itself up in the sky. For a while, she paced the small rooms, trying to feel something, hoping for a memory to ignite: Nothing. Instead, she looked out of the window, watching the world tighten and freeze, until, at last, another figure appeared in the distance.

John, the youngest, stepped out of the mist and the fog and reached the door. Beth embraced him and didn’t let go for a long time; it was only the sound of his embarrassed laughter on her throat that made her ease up her grip. At arm’s length she looked him over. He had grown, matured over the twelve months the way only the young can do, but there was still the sparkle in his eye, a twinkle that made him a boy.         The two of them talked, both of them wanting to know more about the other, the spectre of why they were here looming large. All these words we speak and all that we cannot say, Beth thought bleakly, even as she smiled. She made fresh coffee, and he followed her into the kitchen, as he always did, when the door opened once more.

Mary stepped in and brought the snow with her. Beth always associated her with the weather; when her younger sister smiled, it always seemed to be summer; the tears she spilled always marked the time of winter. She watched her move inside John’s arms and then over to her; her movements were fluid, like water. She had a grace that Beth had once been jealous of, but with time, she had simply come to be proud. In their embrace, Beth smelled jasmine and cinnamon and sighed; it was as if her sister were somehow made of spices and herbs rather than flesh and blood.

The three sat around the bristling fire and shared their stories; a year’s worth. Since the funeral, the four had sworn not to contact each other, even as they worked towards their goal. Beth had played her part, earning the money, the same as she knew her siblings had all worked their parts, but still the price was high for them all, she knew. Some nights Beth burned with the unanswered questions that plagued her mind; when she closed her eyes she saw the three of them, all in their beds, all wondering and cursing and unknowing, the same as her. Beth understood the anger revenge could bring and the passion, too, but not the other baggage; the impatience, the need, the fear. None of them were married; it was as if none of them could move on with their lives until their desire had been sated. Instead they lived as driven ghosts, working, scheming, planning and waiting. And now, today: One year after.

John began to speak of it, and Mary shushed him before Beth could; it was almost funny, in its own, bleak way. The pact would not be broken until the door opened for the forth time; until then, there would only be silence. Beth watched the flames and thought on it; was any a promise as strong as that made by family, by blood? Marriage, perhaps, but even that was not seen as solid, not as much as it once was. Friendships were fickle, and the church seemed to have been built on as many lies as it was truths. Beth thought of her own world, the only one she knew, and silently nodded to the flames. None as thick as blood, she mouthed to the fire and watched as the flames rose, as if agreeing.

Mary began to set the meat on the fire, as Beth readied the other food they had brought. John fussed in the background, beginning one chore and then leaving it unfinished for another. Beth followed him, even as she went about her own work and he shrugged at her, not knowing he was being a nuisance. She caught Mary’s eye, and the two of them smiled, their first true smile, unforced and natural. Some of Beth’s heart broke in that moment, aware for a second they were a family again, re-connected and whole and not just fevered, broken parts.

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