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Lara

My sister’s phone rings and rings like it has for the past two days whenever I call. I silently pray this will be the time she answers, but just as every other time, I hear her soft voice say, “Leave me a message, and I promise to get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!”

I pull the phone away from my ear and jam my finger into the red button that says END. Frustrated, I toss it onto the couch and lean back against the cushion, sighing in frustration. Where could she be? It’s entirely unlike Rina to not call me when she sees I’ve left a message. It’s almost Pavlovian the way she has to answer, even if it’s with only a text to let me know she’s crazy busy but she’ll call when she can.

The past few weeks flash through my mind while I attempt to find some answer as to where she is. That idiot boyfriend of hers sent her confidence crashing to the floor three months ago. Correction: ex-boyfriend, the jackass who threatened to kill her when she told him she planned to go away to college in the fall. I never liked him, but she was crazy about him, and I’d never seen her so terrified as when he said he couldn’t live without her so he was going to kill both of them.

I didn’t think much of Jamie, but I wouldn’t have guessed he’d ever say he’d kill her because she wants to get a good education. Not that long distance relationships usually work, but he could have at least tried.

Then again, maybe he knew the Rina train was leaving the station and had no place for him on it. One semester of college and she would have been way out of his league.

Truthfully, he probably did her a huge favor by showing his true colors. She’ll see that someday. Now, though, I know she’s hurting.

That’s probably all that’s going on. She’s laying low, hanging out with some rom-coms on Netflix and enough butterscotch brickle ice cream to last a month. Typical Rina behavior to treat a broken heart.

I think I’ll stop over and check up on her. She could use a visit from her big sister. I just have to swear I won’t start bashing that asshole ex-boyfriend of hers.

After knocking on her apartment door for nearly five minutes, I turn to my last resort. My sister and I have a longstanding rule of never calling our parents unless it’s something serious. We love our mother and father, but once they get a whiff of anything to worry about with either of us, they become the world’s worst helicopter parents. No twenty-year-old needs that kind of concern constantly hovering over every phone call and visit, and I know Rina would be furious with me for taking this drastic step.

My mother’s cell phone rings twice before she answers nearly out of breath. “Hello?”

“Why do you sound like you were running? You don’t run. You barely move, unless you have to,” I say, knowing my mother would prefer to have a hot poker stuck up her behind than actually exercise.

“I do move around, Lara. I’m not completely sedentary. You know, you could take a page out of my book. My doctor says that I get just enough exercise to keep me young. All that yoga and nonsense you do to your body is only going to make you old before your time.”

Rolling my eyes, I sigh, already unhappy with how this call is going. “Mom, yoga is one of the best ways to keep your body limber and young,” I explain, feeling the need to educate her once again on why my chosen form of exercise is, in fact, good for a person.

Something she knows already since we’ve talked about this very topic dozens of times.

“Then why does every woman over forty who does yoga look like their faces are covered in weathered leather?” my mother asks with a chuckle.

She’s met a total of one yoga instructor in her entire life, and that’s what she bases her beliefs on. I could explain to her for the umpteenth time how that one particular practitioner liked the sun too much and that isn’t a common theme with most yoga instructors, but I quickly decide that’s not a windmill I want to tilt at today.

Changing the subject, I say, “Mom, I’m over at Rina’s. She’s not here. Do you know where she is?”

I make sure to keep my voice calm and my attitude as casual as possible to avoid her overreacting. I know my mother. The woman jumps to conclusions like Superman leaps over tall buildings. It’s like second nature for her.

“Hmmm…let me see. What did she tell me the other day? She mentioned something about that girl she met in town who loved daisies. God, I have no idea why. Daises are the poorest of the flower kingdom. I’ve never understood why anyone would carry daisies, of all things, in a wedding bouquet, but nowadays, anything goes, I guess.”

She’d talk about how bad this particular flower is for the rest of the day, so when she takes a breath, I quickly ask, “Do you remember her name? I don’t think she told me anything about her. Is she from that group Rina was telling me about a few weeks ago? What is it called? Golden something?”

All I can think of is golden arches or golden showers, neither of which is right.

“The Golden Light,” my mother answers with a huff. “I bet they do yoga.”

The smugness in her voice is hard to ignore. I swear in a past life my mother must have died doing something involving stretching. Maybe she was stretched on the rack in medieval times. I can see her mouthing off to some church official and ending up being tortured back in those days.

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later, Mom.”

“Is that all you called me about? To ask me about your sister? You two talk far more than she and I do. Is something wrong, Lara?”

Quickly, I answer, “Oh, no. Nothing’s wrong. I just loaned her a sweater a few months ago, and I need it.”

That lie doesn’t really make much sense considering the time of year, but she caught me off guard with that question.

“A sweater? Lara, all the weatherman could talk about is how much hotter this July is than any other July in history, and you want to bother your sister about a sweater?”

She isn’t buying my fib. She’s probably a minute or two away from starting up that helicopter of hers, so I need to calm her down in a hurry.

“You know how I hate air conditioning, Mom. Not everyone is like you and loves the fake cold.”

That’s always the best policy with her. The off me and on you trick. It never fails to make her focus on herself and not on me.

“I’ll have you know that air conditioning is sometimes the only thing that keeps me sane since these damn hot flashes became a part of my life. You’ll see. Give it thirty years and you’ll be a fan of air conditioning. I hope I’m still around to see it so I can say, ‘See? Air conditioning isn’t a bad thing.’ Trust me, Lara. It’s a godsend.”

And with just a simple mention of my dislike of air conditioning, my mother is off to the races and not even thinking about my sister. Good. Now to escape this conversation and find out what’s going on with Rina.

“Mom, I need to go. I’ve got another call coming in. I’ll talk to you later,” I lie before pressing END on my phone’s screen.

Calling my mother was actually the second to last resort. The true last resort is using the key to my sister’s apartment that I promised I’d only use in cases of dire emergency. I’m not actually sure this situation is dire, but I’m worried enough to go into her apartment uninvited. If she’s in there safe and sound, then I’ll apologize and happily go on my way.

I turn the doorknob and open the door before slipping the key back into the special pocket in my purse. Listening for any sounds, especially the TV, I hear nothing but silence. It’s deafening and makes a chill race down my spine. My sister always keeps her TV on when she’s home. She says it’s like background noise and makes her feel like she isn’t alone.

As I slowly walk through her apartment, I look around the living room and see nothing out of the ordinary. A half-full glass of soda sits on the coffee table in front of that green couch she got from Goodwill. Thank God my mother isn’t here with me because I’d have to endure another round of her complaining about how furniture should never be secondhand.

Everything looks the same as it always does in this room, and when I take another glance at the glass I see no mold growing on top of the cola, thankfully. That means it hasn’t been sitting out for days and days.

I take a sip and nearly gag. It’s flat and warm. Does that mean she was here recently? Since her apartment is always a comfortable seventy-two degrees year round, not necessarily. All it means is sometime recently she was home and had a glass of soda.

As I turn to walk toward her kitchen, a terrible thought fills my mind. What if she’s here and I’m about to find her lying on the floor hurt? Or dead?

Oh, God. I don’t think I could handle that. Rina and I are best friends in addition to being sisters. For all but two years of my life, she’s been at my side as we grew up with parents who instilled in us that no matter who we meet in this world, each of us has a best friend for life because we’re sisters.

No, I can’t think of her being hurt or worse. Rina’s okay. I know she is.

I gingerly step into her kitchen and look around. There’s no sign she’s been here for much time recently, but that’s not surprising. My sister hates cooking, and she ends up eating more meals out than here in her place. Her kitchen basically serves as the spot for her refrigerator since it holds the soda she drinks constantly.

Opening up her refrigerator, I see the evidence of that. Four bottles of Coke, one bottle of ginger ale that’s been in there since that New Year’s Eve party she had, and an unopened bottle of water take up the top shelf, and below on the lower shelf a block of yellow cheese sits alone.

So far, nothing is out of the ordinary here in her apartment. Well, other than the fact that Rina is nowhere to be found.

But I haven’t checked her bedroom yet.

Dread fills me again as I take the first few steps toward her room. Please don’t let her be hurt or dead. I don’t know what I’ll do if she’s not okay.

I stop just outside her bedroom and take a deep breath. Everything’s okay. I should be worrying about waking her and getting an earful about breaking our rule about not intruding on one another’s private space.

Reaching in through the doorway, I flick on the light switch. Relief washes over me when I see her bed made. I walk around to look on both sides and see nothing but light brown carpet. Thank God.

As I check her closet, I find nothing odd. Except she’s not here. That wouldn’t be strange normally, but since she hasn’t answered my calls for two days, I know there’s something off. I don’t know if anything’s wrong, but something isn’t right.

I sit down on her couch and exhale a breath of frustration. Where could she be?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see something yellow and gold on the end table. I turn to look at what it is and notice a sheet of paper with a picture of the sun with rays of light shooting out. Leaning over, I grab it.

Scanning the words under the sun, I find out it’s something from that Golden Light group. As I read, I understand this group is one of those New Age types that focus on positivity and self-actualization. It’s all incredibly touchy-feely, and I have a hard time imagining my sister buying into any of it.

At the bottom of the page I see an address that’s right in town. Maybe she’s there. I doubt it, but at least it’s something for me to go on for now.