Page 13 of Persephone's Curse
She was sitting on her bed with her back against the wall, between the two windows. There was a strong breeze and her hair blew around her face. She sighed deeply and I watched her chest expand and contract.
“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I know I’ve been cranky.”
“Are you really this mad at me about the hair thing?”
“I’m not mad at you at all,” she said.
“Well? What’s going on then?”
I sat down on the bed and leaned against the headboard, snuggling my feet under her feet. She always had warm feet.
“It’s hard to explain,” she said.
“Something to do with Bernadette?”
She looked at me sharply. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, it started last night. Are you upset that she’s home?”
She blinked, blinked, blinked, the rapid-fire blinking that usually meant someone was trying not to cry.
“No,” she said finally. “Of course not. I mean… It’s not like that.”
“What’s it like, then?”
“It’s just. Seeing her… Ifshecan’t do it…”
“Do what, Evie?”
“College. School. Life.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“She’s the strongest one of us, and she came home.”
“Right, but it’s not… It’s not going to be, like, permanent. She went back before, remember?”
Halfway through her freshman year, Bernadette had come back for Christmas break and then flatly refused to return to school. She’d missed the first two weeks of her second semester. She’d thrown a full glass of water at Clara’s head when Clara asked her to pass the salt at Christmas dinner. Like, not just the water. The glass, too. Dad had stood up from his chair, very calmly, walked over to Bernadette, pulled her up by her arm, and gently led her upstairs. Clara had cried. Mom had comforted her. Evelyn and I had stayed very still, very quiet, listening to Bernadette’s echoing sobs as Dad brought her to her room. We didn’t see her again until New Year’s Day. She came downstairs wearing a crushed green velvet dress. Clara kept one eye on Bernadette’s water glass throughout that dinner, and afterward, when Mom brought out dessert, Bernadette had apologized to everyone, but mostly to Clara, even though she insisted, and she just wanted to make this clear, that she hadn’t actually meant or tried to hit her.
“This feels different,” Evelyn said.
“Different because she hasn’t attempted to murder one of us yet?”
“Don’t be mean,” she said, but smiled.
“I still don’t understand.”
“Next year. Graduating high school. Moving on, moving out. I’m notready,” she said.
“Take a gap year,” I said, mimicking the wide-eyed innocence Clara managed to have every single time she gave one of us that suggestion.
But Evie didn’t smile. She just closed her eyes and took a long, thin sip of air. When she opened her eyes again, they were wet.
“I don’t want to leave,” she said in a very small voice.
“You don’t have to leave, Evie,” I said.
“No, I mean.Ever.”
