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When my laughter fades, I look my sister straight in the eye. “Why would he want me?”
And she gets it. Mabel knows exactly what I’m asking.
“He doesn’t want our family, Hettie,” she says in a surprisingly gentle voice. “He wantsyou. That much is obvious, if he’s got his head on straight.”
“Do you think I should stay?” That’s the reason I wanted to talk to her. Not to fill her in on Tema or find out the latest on our family; I want to know what my big sister thinks I should do.
I always have.
“Of course I want you to stay. I want my sister back. But I’m not about to tell you what to do.”
“Why not?” I demand. “You always did when we were younger.”
“That’s because you were my baby sister. You still are, but you’ve grown up, Hettie. You’ve grown up into a woman who makes her own choices and knows her own mind. You know what you should do, you’re just too scared to do it.”
I shrug. “Tema does like it here. She’s excited to have all this family now.”
Mabel sighs. “I should probably tell you before you bump into him on the street,” she says with reluctance.
“Oh no,” I breathe.
“If Tema’s so excited to have family, she’s got another one if she wants it,” Mabel says. “Reggie is back in town.”
30
Bo
IFaceTimeLyra assoon as I get back to my room.
Since Mom died, I’ve felt that I was moving in a fog, with little that broke through. Thoughts of Hettie made it worse, so I pushed everything aside and tried to get through one day at a time.
I fell into the lumberjack competitions; I didn’t really enjoy it, but I was good at it, and cutting through a two-foot log in record time did help with the anger.
I never realized just how angry I have been.
Angry. Invisible. Grieving—for Mom and Hettie both.
I might have a new appreciation for talking about feelings now.
Maybe. Just a little bit.
I sit back against my head board, iPad propped against my knees, and listen to the musical interlude of the call connecting to my sister. I think she’s in Chicago; I’m not really sure.
That’s bad.
I should have told her about Hettie and Tema when I told the others, but I’ve never felt as connected with Lyra. She’s my little sister and I love her, but there hasn’t been a lot of one-on-one time for us since Mom died.
Before that? Lyra used to follow me around, more than the others. She and Gunnar are the closest in age and shared friends and experiences, but it was me Lyra came to when she was upset. I’d take her into the forest and show her a squirrel’s nest or we would look for the snowy owl that lived there.
She held my hand when we played in the dark tunnels under the castle.
I may not understand her life or have much in common with her these days, but at one point in our lives, Lyra liked being with me.
I never realized how me being responsible for Mom’s accident, the accident Lyra was in, has pulled us apart.
Lyra’s face appears on the screen, her hair more red than blonde and pulled up onto the top of her head. “Whatis going on?” she demands in lieu of a greeting.
“Hello, to you too.”