Page 44 of Butterfly Sisters
Leigh opened her mouth to protest but stopped, instead hanging back in the doorway to watch. Leigh’s initial outrage that her sister would dare disturb Nan’s paints gave way to curiosity the more Meredith painted.
Her sister had a unique method, consisting of three paint strokes, stepping back to look, and then three more. Her movements were almost mathematical, yet in a way, it was also like a dance between her and her art. It was similar to how Nan painted, but Meredith had taught herself her own moves. Her feet shifted effortlessly, as if she were weightless, her brush taking over the canvas, the strokes beginning to take shape into a wide wing. Then Leigh noticed the butterfly book, open on the floor beside the easel.
“That’s stunning,” Leigh said over the music, walking all the way into the room.
“Thanks,” her sister replied, her gaze fluttering over to Leigh tentatively. She continued with her process, the brush moving—swipe, swipe, swipe, then look. She scratched her head in concentration with the back of her paintbrush, nearly swiping a couple of curls with the blue paint, as she peered down at Nan’s butterfly drawings. “Nan gave me this book with my letter, and I’m trying to figure out why.”
Leigh went over to the radio and turned it down just enough that they could have a conversation. “It is interesting that she gave it to you, isn’t it?” A pang in Leigh’s chest swelled as she looked over at the book that she would’ve loved to have.
Meredith set the brush in the tray of the easel and dipped a fresh one in gray paint, adding shadows to the wing. “I keep thinking how butterflies symbolize change, metamorphosis,” her sister said. “And in my letter, Nan talked about struggle and how the butterfly has to struggle to find its wings.”
“Mm,” Leigh said, still trying to make sense of it.
“I get it that my childhood was a struggle, but I feel like I’ve already found my wings, you know?”
“But Nan wasn’t aware of that,” Leigh countered.
Meredith leaned into the canvas, painting in the tiniest detail on the edge of the wing. “It’s like a mystery, though, what she wanted for me. She wanted change and she wanted me to find my way, but she also somehow thought the cabin was part of that plan. I thought maybe if I paint here, the answer would come to me.”
“Maybe she just wanted you to have a safe place to live in case you ever needed it.”
“That doesn’t sound like Nan, though. Her ideas were always grander than that.”
“True.” Her sister did have a point. “It could be that she wanted you to put down roots somewhere.”
“Could be, but she said she’d be watching me fly from the big paradise upstairs, and she knew how I don’t like to be tied down. The movement itself is what inspires me, and she completely understood that.” She picked up another brush, dipping it in a vibrant yellow.
While Meredith continued to bring her butterfly to life, Leigh pretended to ponder the situation, but she had her own mystery to solve. Why had Nan left all Leigh’s favorite things to Meredith and nothing at all to Leigh? While she didn’t feel entitled, the gesture rocked her self-confidence and tore at what tiny shred of family closeness she’d had. Nan had been her rock, the one person who had seemed like she could do no wrong. And while Leigh knew that Nan had her reasons, she couldn’t help but feel abandoned by her.
“Well, let me know if you figure it out,” she said, forcing a smile that Meredith never saw, her sister’s focus remaining on the painting.
That evening, she saw her mother through the window, still in her work clothes from the bank, sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs by the blazing fire pit, facing the lake. She’d rushed in to work to fill in for someone, the instinct to keep herself busy to avoid her thoughts kicking in again. Leigh let herself out through the back door and went over to see her.
“How are you?” Leigh asked, noticing the red rings under her mother’s eyes.
Mama’s lips wobbled as she shook her head, indicating that she wasn’t okay.
Leigh sat down in the chair next to Mama, the two of them facing the water in front of them. The boat bobbed next to the old dock, pulling against the ties that bound it as if reminding them that it was being neglected.
“How was work?” she asked, trying to stick to an easy subject.
Mama shrugged.
“Busy?”
Mama shook her head, wiping a tear from her cheek.
The evening air was getting cooler, but Leigh didn’t suggest they go inside. It was clear by the fact that Mama’s purse was next to her and her car keys were on the armrest of the chair where she sat that, if she’d wanted to go inside, she would’ve.
“How could I have gotten it so wrong?” Mama finally said.
“What? Meredith?”
“Everything,” she said, her eyes glistening. “Your dad and I didn’t understand our own daughter, and she’s right: we didn’t celebrate you two as people. We only praised your accomplishments—and even still, only the accomplishments that met our narrow criteria of success.” She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them, wiping a tear that had escaped down her cheek. “She’s a lot like your nan, the most amazing person in our lives,” Mama said. “And I never saw it. Not like I should have. I pushed her into a path that wasn’t hers to take.”
“You could only do what you thought was right,” Leigh said, trying to set her mother’s mind at ease.
“I should’ve been able to see it,” Mama said as she shook her head, that distant look that Leigh had seen in her mother’s eyes after their father had died returning. She was turning in on herself, clearly submerged by her pain and overbearing thoughts.
