The Sister Season Read Online Free Page B

anymore. She wondered if they knew anything about chickens.
    “And did Maya come to the birthday party?” Claire asked.
    “She lives in Chicago,” Julia said, as if they didn’t already all know this. As if they didn’t already have her flight schedule memorized. The very moment she would arrive at the house hung over them like doom. As chilly as things were between Julia and Claire, it was nothing compared to the fracture between Maya and Claire. That fracture was a canyon.
    “I just thought . . . ,” Claire said, but she sipped her wine rather than continue.
    “No, I haven’t seen her since before Will was born.”
    “That would be because she ran away before Will was born.”
    Julia shot Claire a look. “She didn’t run away. Bradley got a job.”
    “More like Bradley got a sexual harassment suit from whoever he was really boning.”
    Elise stared, her eyes moving between her two daughters. “Now, nobody knows exactly what—”
    “I know exactly what, Mom. Don’t get me started on what.” Claire’s eyes never left her sister’s face, even as she tipped the mug to her lips and sipped.
    Julia stood abruptly, her chair rustling against a potted poinsettia.
Maybe I went a little too far with the poinsettias,
Elise thought, and wondered if she could move them around during the night a little, see if she could make it seem less like she was trying too hard when the girls woke up in the morning.
    “I really don’t want to have this conversation right now,” Julia said. She scooped another ladleful of wine into her cup. “My father is dead.”
    Claire laughed, a single bark. “What a coincidence! So is mine! Or is his death all about you, Queenie? You being the Sister in Charge and all.”
    But before she could continue, the storm door opened, letting in a whoosh of stale green air, and Eli tromped in on untied high-top-sneakered feet. He tossed his mess of dyed blue-black hair (
quite festive, actually,
Elise thought), revealing one dark, brooding eye that so closely matched his mom’s, Elise felt as if she’d been transported back to the 1970s when she looked at him.
    Mom,
she could hear tiny Julia saying, those wide eyes brimming with tears,
Daddy won’t let me bring in Mr. Claws. It’s freezing out there. And he’s sick. The coyotes will get him.
    Julia,
Elise heard herself say back,
he’s an old barn cat. You can’t get too attached to those. You know that.
Though Elise had later gone into the barn and cried her eyes out, stroking the cat’s fur, covering him with an old quilt, and wishing that just once her husband had let their oldest daughter be led by her heart. Oh, how Elise hated to see those eyes, as impossibly deep as cave pools, spill over once again.
    “Eli!” Elise cried, holding out her arms in a weak invitation and taking a few steps forward, but not enough to fully close the gap between them. She hadn’t seen her oldest grandchild in what seemed like ages, hadn’t held him since he was a little boy. Perhaps it was the hug from Claire, or the emotional drain of losing Robert, or the spirit of Christmas that made her reach for him. All she knew was she wanted to fill her arms with him. Wanted to feel him, young and vibrant and so utterly alive. Wanted to smell his scalp, see if it smelled like Julia’s used to when she was his age. And she didn’t know exactly how to make that happen.
    The boy simply shifted his weight, gazing at the floor, his messenger bag strap looped over one arm, the bag resting on top of his shoe. “Hi,” he said, more to the tile than to her, and Elise felt her hands lower slowly, like a white flag of surrender.
    “It’s so good to see you, honey,” she said, and he responded with a soft grunt that might have been a word, but Elise couldn’t tell. He swayed uncomfortably, and Elise picked something imaginary off the front of her shirt. “Well . . . ,” she said, trailing off, trying to decide what to say next that might break through the