The low rumble of my sister’s voice gets clearer, talking on the phone as she clears one wooden step at a time. I’d know her throaty voice anywhere. My stomach knots as the creaky stairs across the room taunt me with her impending arrival.
Gulp. You can do this.
I sit up as she turns the corner, swaggering towards me with her ski-slope-nose in the air, hands on her lithe, tiny waist. If I weren’t so afraid of her, there’s a good chance I’d be in awe of the woman she’s become. At least five-seven—thin—and exquisite. Some might even say breathtaking, with her pixie-like features, flowing mahogany hair, and spidery-long-legs. The exact same features our mother had.
I sigh, yanking the fuzzy fleece from my lap.
I just can’t get over how much older than eighteen she looks. I mean, I’m only nineteen, but she looks so much older than I do with her Victoria’s Secret Angel curves.
Deep down, I’d hoped she might be happy to see me, but that was clearly an overly-optimistic wish. Instead, she greets me with the straight-face-of-indifference. Well it’s better than rage, right?
Deep breath, Chloe. Brace yourself for the barrage of innuendo that’s sure to spout from Dhelia Bishop’s often-cruel lips.
Standing before me, Dhelia simply stares, waiting for me to speak.
Okay, I guess I should be the one to say something. We talk on the phone every few months, but it’s so much easier when I can’t see her piercing eyes look right through me. But even then, it’s still forced small talk.
Well, they say it’s less painful if you just yank the Band-Aid off. Yeah, right. Who’s the moron who came up with that one?
“Morning, Dee. I…I hope Aunt Morgan and I didn’t wake you when we got in last night?” I clear my throat, dislodging the imaginary hairball that’s getting in my way. “We tried to be quiet.”
Now refusing to look at me, her eyes jump to the blank TV screen across the room. “Nope. Slept like a baby.” She turns her head back, scanning me up and down more thoroughly than TSA security. “You’re a hot mess though. Trouble sleeping?” She snorts. “I’ve heard a guilty conscience will do that.”
And there she is, ladies and gentlemen, wasting no time sinking her claws in. That’s record time, even for her.
I shake my head in silence.
How could this brat be my only sister?
I stare at cerulean blue eyes that match my own, realizing: if it weren’t for our eyes, no one would ever know we’re related. Not that most people would notice mine anyway against my pale features. But Dhelia doesn’t have that problem. The twenty layers of black mascara and eyeliner make hers pop with conviction. I tend to go for a more subtle look, where Dhelia goes for the dramatic. Go figure. Then again, she is the drama queen in the family.
Yes, I suppose it’s safe to say I dipped in the other side of the gene pool.
Average height.
Athletic build.
And golden-blonde hair of all things.
Other than my father, I’m the only blonde in the family. Chloe Bishop—oddball extraordinaire.
Now self-conscience with Dhelia’s piercing eyes upon me, I run my fingers through my imagined bed-head. If it weren’t so long, I’m sure it would be a nasty mess.
Dhelia crosses her arms, waiting for me to say something, but my mind takes me back to the last day I saw her. A frightened and helpless little girl, unable to hide her devastated emotions. Comparing it to the impassivity I see now, I don’t know which is worse. How do I navigate this?
But I’ll be the bigger person and ignore her smart-crack. For now. “It was a long, bumpy flight. I only got an hour or two of sleep once we made it here. Not that anyone else had a problem.” I tilt my head towards Aunt Morgan who lay sound asleep across from me, her face buried in a down pillow.
“Apparently.” Dheila blurts out an abrupt laugh, turning to walk towards the kitchen. “You hungry?”
Rather than yell my answer and risk waking Aunt Morgan, I get up and follow her. “Sure, what’s for breakfast? Need any help?”
Dhelia stops, her sparkly flip-flops squeaking on the ceramic tiles. “Help?” She sneers. “You’re a little late for that one, don’t you think?”
Ouch! Straight for the jugular. Screw the claws—Dhelia’s all fangs.
Not that I don’t deserve it.
I wipe my sweaty palms against my flannel jammy pants. “I meant with breakfast, Dhelia,” is all I can mutter without feeling like an idiot.
She waives her hand in the air so the refrigerator door slams shut with a loud thud. Showoff!
I try to think of something to say, but I can’t help but notice the kitchen’s new facelift. My grandparents must have spent a pretty penny. Dark cherry cabinets rest overhead on three walls with multi-colored, earth-tone quartz counters under each. And the stainless steel appliances bring together this state-of-the-art, spotless kitchen. Gram must adore her time in here. I sure would. But I think my favorite thing is the matching island for eight in the center of the room. They must spend so much time here.
I open my mouth to comment on the decor, but sleeping beauty walks through the door and interrupts. “Good morning, Girls.” Aunt Morgan yawns. “Been up long?”
Well she must have slept well. By the look of that hair, I’d say a little too well. Talk about a rat’s nest.
“Nope. Only about five minutes or so,” I mumble, hoping my relief at her timely entrance isn’t too obvious. “So, looks like you slept okay.” I giggle, lifting my eyes to admire her mussed coif. “You passed out on me the second you laid down.”
She tries to look up at her hair, patting down the disaster with little success. She’s too cute. “Yea, sorry about that. I guess I needed it.” Stretching, she strolls through the wide-open kitchen taking in the new layout as I’d just done. “The minute we walked through the door I was overcome with exhaustion. I forgot how relaxing it is here.” She pokes her head into the sunroom off the kitchen. “Are your gram and pap up yet?” Aunt Morgan turns to search our faces, but my blank expression makes her look to Dhelia for a response.
“I’m sure they’re still in bed. They tried to wait up, but I don’t think they made it past midnight. What time did you finally get it in?” Dhelia keeps her eyes on Aunt Morgan like I’m not even here. Nice.
“Oh, it was between three-thirty and four, right Chloe?”
“Yeah, sounds about right.” I nod. “It was the latest I’ve been up in a long time...that’s for sure.”
Dhelia rolls her eyes at my response. She always makes me feel like such an ass.
We stand around the island like three strangers at a fast-food restaurant. Could this be any more uncomfortable?
I look up towards the ceiling. Save us, please!
Aunt Morgan breaks the silence, pulling out a bar stool beside Dhelia, wooden legs rumble across the ceramic tiles. “Please tell me there’s coffee?” Her eyes pleading. “There’s no way I can function without my fix.”
“Oh, yeah.” Dhelia laughs. “I knew I was forgetting something.” She grabs a bag of Dunkin Donut’s coffee from the fridge and fills the pot with water.
Aunt Morgan’s lips part as though she wants to say something. She’s wearing that stressed-out look I’ve grown to know so well, arms awkwardly crossed, eyes squinting. Clearing her throat, she looks to Dhelia. “Will he be okay, Dhelia? I....” She pauses. “I know your gram said we should be hopeful, but I need someone to give it to me straight. I need to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
Dhelia turns my way. “You’d better sit down too.”
I obey, dropping onto the stool with a thud.
“Okay. Here’s what we know.” She exhales. “Pap has a grade IV Glioblastoma Multiforme brain tumor. But because of its location, his doctor isn’t sure if they’ll be able to remove it or not. They keep feeding us this hoopla about new treatments and procedures, which is why Gram’s so hopeful.” Dhelia’s eyes tear, forcing her to look down. “I just hope she’s not kidding herself
.”
Oh my god! I had no idea it was this bad. My mouth falls open in shock as my heart drag-races through my chest, shifting gears to speed up, threatening to crash at any second.
Dhelia looks back and forth between us. “We’ve done tons of research and gotten second, third, and fourth opinions. Honestly, we should prepare ourselves. I’m not trying to be a pessimist, it’s just…. I just want us to be realistic. If the worst should happen, I don’t want us to be taken by surprise.”
Silence.
As Aunt Morgan and I digest the information, Dhelia winces, hanging her head again. Great. Now I feel even guiltier than I already had. The only reason Aunt Morgan and I are even here is because of Pap. I’m the worst sister in the world.
“So what’s the plan tomorrow?” I rub my frigid hands together, looking to Dhelia. “Is there anything Aunt Morgan and I should know ahead of time?” Please tell me there isn’t something else. Please!
Fidgeting with the edges of a bamboo placemat, Dhelia looks up. “Nothing I haven’t already told you. The plan is to remove the tumor. At this point, they don’t know how far it may have spread. Even if they do remove it, he may still need radiation or chemo. Beyond that, we have to wait and see how tomorrow goes.”
“How’s he feeling?” I lift my eyebrows, unsure if I can handle the answer.
She glances down at the table again. “Well, he has good days and bad…and has probably aged about fifteen years since this all started. Plus, he sleeps a lot and has been super weak lately. Had it not been for the terrible headaches he’d been getting, we wouldn’t have even known he was sick.” Dhelia shakes her head. “But about the time he got the test results, everything hit him full-force. It’s just not fair.”
“Well, I’m here to help in any way I can. I know it’s not what you want to hear right now, but I’m not going back to San Diego. I’m staying.” Where did that come from? Staying here was never part of the plan. What the…!
Her posture stiffens, the corners of her lips curling in that condescending way that makes you feel like an insect, just before it gets squashed. “Is that so? Better late than never I guess.”
I push out an exasperated exhale. “Please don’t be like that, Dhelia.”
She releases the mat, laying her hands flat against the gold-flecked quartz. “Oh, my bad. That’s soooooo kind of you, Chloe. I wasn’t aware you’d gotten so considerate in your years away.” Dhelia’s smug nose lifts in the air.
Why doesn’t she understand why I had to leave? She acts like I left to intentionally hurt her.
“Girls, this really isn’t the time. I know you have issues to work out, but it’s gonna have to wait.” Aunt Morgan’s disappointed eyes narrow on us both.
Great. The last thing I want is to upset her. She has enough to worry about. “You’re right. We can talk about it later.” I lift my head, glaring at Dhelia across the table. She rolls her eyes with such animation she doesn’t notice anyway.
My sister gets up from the stool to throw bacon in a frying pan. Instead of offering my help again, I go to the cabinet for more pans and spatulas. Luckily, everything is right where I remember it. I’d hate to have to ask Dhelia where something is. She’d bite my head off for sure.
I notice Aunt Morgan watching our display with a grin. “Kids,” she says, chuckling under her breath. She meanders to the coffee pot to erase her morning sluggishness.
As I reach up for plates, the front door slams shut. “Honey, I’m home! Mmm mmm mmm…sure smells good in there. What’s for breakfast?”
“Dru!” I squeal.
I bolt across the kitchen floor, jumping into my baby brother’s welcoming arms. “It’s so good to see you. And when did you lose the pimples and get so handsome?”
Six-two with shaggy brown hair and a chin dimple, he’s even better looking than his pictures. He has heartbreaker written all over him with his dreamy, boy-band looks. I’ve never been more proud.
“Well, thank you.” He puffs his chest out. “You’re not looking too bad yerself there, Blondie.” He pushes me back at arm’s length, looking me up and down. “Looks like San Diego’s been good for you.” He hugs me again, swinging me around in dizzying circles.
My little brother no longer smells of fresh-cut grass and bubblegum—he now smells like a man with his sporty, powder-fresh cologne. My heart that had been aching only moments ago, swells with so much joy to be with my brother again. Not a day went by where I didn’t miss his sweet smile and disarming attitude. Dru’s the kind of brother all girls dream of having. He’s funny, understanding, protective, in touch with his feelings, and has the biggest heart I’ve ever seen. It still baffles me he’s Dhelia’s twin. Can you say “polar opposites”?
While pride for my brother makes me giddy, it occurs to me he’s just now coming through the door. “Just getting home, are we?” I give Dru a sideways grin, wondering if he’s been up to no good. I take a big whiff of his shirt to see if I missed a hint of beer—or pot.
Both Dhelia and Aunt Morgan turn from the stove to look at his face.
Dru squirms, tugging at the collar of his powder blue button-down. “Ah...I guess I’m just getting home. I stayed at Peyton’s.” A tiny blush spreads across his round cheeks.
“Peyton?” Huh? Sounds like someone’s got some ‘splaining to do.
Even though we haven’t seen each other in years, we stay in constant contact with e-mails, calls, texts, Facebook, and tons of pictures. Yet this is the first time I’m hearing Peyton’s name.
“She’s the girl I told you about.” He tilts his head to the side, grabbing my arm. “You know...the one I’ve gone out with a few times over the years. I haven’t said much because I’m not sure where it’s going. She goes to Florida State, so I don’t know about the whole long distance thing. But summer just started, so we’ll see.” He smiles. “You’ll like her, Chloe. She’s pretty great. Sorta reminds me of my big sister.”
Awe, how sweet is he? “Oh really? Then she must be the coolest chick ever.” We both laugh at my less than modest comparison.
Dhelia sticks her finger in her mouth pretending to gag, but I ignore her. “So when do I meet the lucky girl?”
“Soon. Let’s see how things go with Pap tomorrow. Maybe we can make a plan for later in the week? Unless....” He pauses. “Unless you plan to leave before the weekend?” His cheeks droop like a moping Bassett Hound.
I reach up, pushing his frown into a smile with my fingertips. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.” I gently punch him in the arm. “I’m back for good.”
His face lights up like a tanning bed. “Seriously? That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. Awesome!” Dru hugs me so tight he just might sever me at the ribcage.
He lowers me to the ground, sniffing the air again. “So is breakfast ready or what?”
“Sure is.” I look to Dhelia and Aunt Morgan. “Should we eat now...or wait for Gram and Pap?”
“You’d better not start without us!” Pap shouts from the other room. “Heads will roll if I have to eat cold bacon.” He tries to sound tough, but we know better.
We laugh as he and Gram walk in. He still has his wits about him, which has to be a good sign.
As I assault my grandparents with hugs, I can’t help realizing how much Gram hasn’t changed, but how much Pap has. It tickles me to see him, but my heart breaks to feel his frail shoulders beneath my hands. This once strong man now seems more breakable than bone china.
He has to be okay—he has to!
“Now this is the way it’s supposed to be. Well, almost.” Gram purses her lips, eyes shooting daggers at Aunt Morgan. “So how are the boys, dear?”
“Ash and Aidan are just fine, Mother. Anyway…” Aunt Morgan changes the subject, “who wants scrambled eggs and bacon?” Everyone raises a hand. “Well what are you waiting for? Dig in!”
We eat breakfast, reminiscing over childhood stories and making plans for the future. Tension drains from my body the longer we talk. I never im
agined it would feel so natural to be with my family again—as if we’d never skipped a beat.
But sitting here listening to the contented chatter brings everything to the forefront. The proverbial elephant in the room; the very reason I left home in the first place.
Witchcraft.
They’re all Witches. Other than Pap, every single one of them was born with a magical ability, just as I was. Though, I’m the only one who would do anything to give it back.
But watching the faces of my loved ones, I can admit there is one thing I do like about being a Witch: our funky, brilliant-blue eyes with a dark ring around the iris. When we use magic, they glow such a bright, radiant blue, one might think there’s an electric current running through them. Even I can’t deny how spectacular they are.
Which reminds me of a question I was always either too stubborn—or too afraid to ask. “Gram, there’s something I’ve always wondered about. Did our entire family have the same eyes as us?” For some reason, I need to know.
The room grows silent, her eyes scrunch up as she watches me.
“What?” I shrug.
“Well, dear, you know very well that subject has always been off limits with you.” She looks around the table at the rest of the family. “You can’t blame us for being skeptical of your sudden interest.”
She’s right of course. “Yeah, I know. I’m just curious.” I look down at the greasy bacon on my plate.
“You’re allowed to be, dear. It’s okay. I’d love to answer questions about the family.” She lays her fork on the side of her plate then crosses her hands in front of her. “You probably never paid attention when you were little, but we’re very different from the rest of the Moon family. Yes, they were all born with supernatural abilities, but I was the first one born with our magical eyes.” She clears her throat. “I’ve always said we were special, and that just proves it.”
“Humph,” Pap huffs. “What makes this family so special is the superior, genetic boost that I gave it. Where else do you think the damn twins came from, woman? Me! I’m the twin, not you.” He shakes his head at Gram, but then everyone laughs at their banter.
Tethered (A BirthRight Novel) Page 2