Two Sisters

by Jeffrey Anderson

he could stay over.”

  Leah waited for her sister to face her before shaking her head in a tight-lipped No.

  “Why not, Leah? I’m in love with him!”

  Leah paused to absorb that. In all the years and all the boys, she’d never heard her sister use that preposition with that noun in reference to a specific individual. Clearly, in Brooke’s mind the statement made a difference in her request, perhaps also in her life. Nonetheless, Leah knew her answer. It is Greta’s house. She shaped her fingers into a pitched roof that might have been a temple as well as a house.

  “It’s my room, my bed.” This last was maybe more graphic than she intended—then again, maybe not.

  I am Greta’s guest.

  “But not my chaperone!”

  I am Greta’s guest. Neither her eyes nor their fire had left Brooke’s face.

  Brooke turned back toward the water. “I’ve already got a mother, Leah.”

  And a sister, Leah signed, circling her upper body with the half-eaten sandwich in her hand. She made the gesture big, hoping Brooke would see it out of the corner of her eye.

  Brooke finished her sandwich with several quick bites then jumped up and ran to the water, into the water, dove under the waves soon as it was deep enough.

  Leah watched from where she sat, wanted to warn You shouldn’t swim right after eating but knew it was no use. She exhaled a long sigh when Brooke’s brown hair looking almost black like a seal’s fur appeared above the water out beyond the cresting waves, the only anomaly in that taut blue sheet stretching to the horizon.

  Onion was nice enough, though more than a little diffident after a glancing down handshake and some mumbled words she had no chance of understanding. Not this again Leah thought though her smile and bright gaze lasted through the introduction—not that Onion could see, staring at the floor. But Brooke certainly did, watching like a hawk off to one side.

  Onion said little as they sat around Greta’s breakfast table drinking beer—Leah sipped judiciously on hers, not because she was afraid of getting drunk but because she didn’t like the taste, while Brooke and Onion quickly finished their cans then moved on to seconds and, for Onion, thirds—and nibbling from the big bowl of popcorn Brooke had made just before Onion arrived. Brooke and Leah “chattered” away about home and family friends and acquaintances and familiar places—that is, Brooke talked and sometimes signed and Leah signed or sometimes let her facial expression and gestures suffice in response. Every so often Brooke would translate a particularly elaborate statement of Leah’s for Onion, but otherwise she ignored him. Leah couldn’t tell if this was their normal mode of interaction or if it were due to her presence. She wished Brooke would pay more attention to her beau, or he to her, so that she might better gauge the nature and depth of their relationship and, more importantly, try to determine what Brooke saw in this shy and, so far, unremarkable islander. After a while she began to feel sorry for him and attempted to include him in their exchange. But each time she’d face him, always with a grin or smile, he’d look away—to his beer can sweating on the table or out the dark window behind her head, leaving her half-finished gestures to fall away unseen, let alone understood.

  As the sisters’ conversation turned to college—Leah’s imminent departure, Brooke’s planned return—Onion looked up and said, “I’m going out for a smoke,” bringing two fingers to his lips in what might have been an unconscious gesture or a nod to Leah’s presence, though this time she didn’t need that help as he’d actually looked up when he spoke.

  As he slid back from the table, she noticed Brooke’s free arm fall to her side then rise to the table. Leah couldn’t believe she’d failed to note her sister’s missing hand this whole time. Brooke smiled sheepishly at being discovered then set her jaw—why should she worry about such things with Leah, her lifelong soul-mate? After a few minutes of distracted comments and frequent glances toward the door, Brooke said, “Let me go check on Onion.”

  Leah nodded, glad to terminate the uncomfortable moment. She sat at the table for a while, staring at the can of warm beer she slowly spun in her cupped hands and sniffing the strong odor of marijuana smoke drifting in through the open window. After maybe ten minutes, she stood and emptied her can in the sink, tossed it in the trash, and headed to bed after peeing and brushing her teeth. Against all expectation, she fell into a sound sleep, wouldn’t have heard the two in the next room even if Brooke had dared try.

  “I think you and Paul should check out Windsor’s Cove on Saturday.”

  Leah stared at her sister across the rack of home-made tie-dyed t-shirts. They were in one of the numerous summer-season shops run by residents out of their homes. This one belonged to Majestic Harper, a Yankee who’d moved here some years back and fancied herself a folk artist in the emerging new-age genre. Brooke had introduced Leah to Majestic who’d greeted her not with a handshake or a slap on the back but with a bringing together of her hands in a prayerful gesture followed by a deep bow that revealed purple streaks in her dark brown hair. Leah wasn’t sure how to respond so had returned a broad grin and polite nod to Majestic’s large round eyes when her face came back up. The shop owner was now seated just a few feet away in the cramped space, stringing beads onto what would become a bracelet or necklace to add to her display of “Island Made Healing Jewelry.”

  “Mitchell said he could run you out there for free,” Brooke continued.

  Leah could tell by the accentuated movement in Brooke’s lips and tongue that she was mouthing the words, not speaking them.

  “I told you about Windsor’s Cove,” Brooke said, growing impatient at Leah’s lack of response.

  Leah nodded.

  “Well, since I’m working a double shift Saturday and you and Paul won’t have anything to do, I thought it would be a fun outing for you. You’d have the island all to yourselves—king and queen of your own domain.” She grinned at the pretty image she’d conjured.

  Leah stared at her sister.

  Brooke held up a t-shirt dyed with bold reds and dripping black. She laughed as if to say “Can you believe this? I just have to get it!”

  Leah held on her sister’s eyes through the diversion.

  “Why that look? It’s a nice subtle shirt!” She hung it back on the rack. “You just have no sense of flair! Anyway, I figured you two lovebirds could take some food and drink in a cooler. There’s an outhouse there in case—you know. And Mitchell says you can get in the house through the crawlspace if the weather turns bad. But it’s supposed to be nice.”

  Leah knew Brooke wasn’t done.

  “But there’s a small problem,” Brooke added. “Mitchell has to work the morning shift, so he can’t take you out there till mid-afternoon. And you wouldn’t want to go all the way out there just to run around for a few minutes then come back.” Brooke paused and actually looked at Leah’s eyes.

  Leah stared back.

  Brooke looked away with her eyes but kept her mouth facing Leah as she said the rest in a rush. “So I figured you could take Greta’s tent and a couple sleeping bags and sleep out there under the stars. Mitchell says kids do it all the time. It will be so sweet and romantic for you and Paul before your college separation.”

  Leah exhaled slowly. She wondered if she actually shook her head in disbelief or simply imagined the gesture.

  Brooke managed to look up and hold her eyes. “Mitchell would pick you up in the morning and get you back in time for lunch and a little quality time with old Sis before catching the three o’clock ferry.” She smiled before pulling out another t-shirt—lime green and pink. “What’s this? A pistachio and raspberry sundae?” She laughed, returned the hanger, moved on to the next rack of t-shirts, these with a mix of black symbols—a peace sign, a ying-yang—on pastel backgrounds.

  Leah watched Brooke move away and for the first time in her life wondered who this person was. She wasn’t angry or frightened; she was just mystified. Was this a person that had emerged since Brooke had left the mainland a cou
ple months ago? Or had this person been inside Brooke all along and she’d simply missed her or intentionally ignored her?

  She walked to the shop’s narrow front porch with two white rockers looking out on a sun-blasted early afternoon. Everything beyond the porch’s line of shade was a glaring white—the sky, the sand parking lot and road, the cars, the adjacent houses, even the gnarled oaks and entwined bushes rimming the clearing. This was a different world, an adult world, a harsh and brutal one she was ill-prepared for. She sat heavily on the nearest rocker, felt its first backward lurch as a tumble into oblivion. She closed her eyes against the multi-pronged assault.

  You needn’t fear, white dolphin said.

  What? Leah said, incredulous.

  This. You’ve prospered in far worse.

  Leah noted his contractions. That was new. Not like this.

  Yes.

  Without Brooke?

  White dolphin smiled and this made Leah laugh. She could never quite get used to a dolphin smiling. Brooke will always be there.

  No.

  Yes. You’re simply not leaning on her now; but then, you never were.

  Oh, but I was. I still am!

  White Dolphin shook his head. You only thought you were.

  Something tickled Leah’s wrist. White dolphin disappeared. Leah didn’t immediately open her eyes. She rolled her wrist on the rocker’s arm. Something trailed across her open palm and