Chapter 3
691 Words
"Claire," he said softly, speaking to the door. "I brought you something to eat. Have a little something. Don't go hungry."
I drifted in front of him and crouched down to look at his face. His eyes were red, the lines at the corners deeper than they'd been a year ago, gray threading through his hair at the temples. He was only forty, but he looked like a man of fifty.
"Dad, I'm right here. I'm dead. Please, just open the door and look."
"Claire?" he called again.
I reached out to touch his face. My hand passed through him.
He let out a long sigh and stood up, disappointed. "That kid... still sulking." He pushed the bread roll further under the door. "You stay put and stop making a fuss. After your sister is gone, Dad will make it up to you. He promises."
He never found out.
I watched his back as he walked away. "It's okay, Dad," I said softly. "You don't have to make it up to me anymore."
You never will.
After he left, the hallway fell quiet again. Then came a soft sound from the living room. My mother came out of Stella's room, eased the door shut behind her, and stood in the hallway, staring into nothing. She looked at the storage closet door for a long moment, her lips pressed tight, something working behind her eyes. Then she came over and crouched down in the same spot my father had just left.
"Claire," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Don't be angry with me, okay?"
"Mom knows you've had it hard." She kept talking, her fingers absently picking at a splinter in the door. "But your sister only has one day left. Just let her have it. Let her go in peace. Can you do that for me?"
I drifted close and saw the wet shine at the corners of her eyes. She reached up and wiped it away quickly, as if afraid someone might see.
"When your sister is gone, Mom will make you pot roast, a big bowl, all for you. I'll buy you a new dress, one with a bow on it, the kind you've always wanted. I'll take you to the amusement park, on the carousel, on the roller coaster. Didn't you say all your classmates had been and you were the only one who hadn't?"
Her tears finally spilled over, dropping onto the old tile floor of the hallway, spreading into a small dark stain.
"I promise, sweetheart. I'll promise you anything you want. Just for today, okay? Please don't make a scene."
I reached out, wanting to wipe away her tears.
She waited. The silence behind the door held.
The grief on my mother's face slowly gave way to something harder. She stood up sharply, stumbled from the sudden movement, and caught herself. "That child," she muttered under her breath, her voice thick with tears she was trying to hold back. "So selfish. Not an ounce of consideration for her parents, after everything we've done for her."
She turned and walked away, her back rigid.
Evening came, and the light faded.
My mother came out of the kitchen carrying a small wicker basket with a piece of red cloth inside, along with some colored paper and scissors—decorations for my sister's birthday. She had barely reached the living room when the doorbell rang.
It was Grandma.
She was holding a canvas tote, full and heavy. When she saw my mother, she managed a thin smile. "Mom, what are you doing here?" my mother said, surprised, stepping aside to let her in.
"I came to see Stella."
Grandma's voice was rough. She set the bag on the table and took out a few apples and some pastries. "Tomorrow's her birthday. I wanted... I wanted to see her."
"She's resting in her room," my mother said, taking the things from her hands. "Sit down. I'll go get her."
"No, no, let her rest." Grandma settled onto the couch and let her eyes move around the room. Her brow furrowed slightly. "Where's Claire? I don't see Claire."
- Writer
