Rachel Hawkins - Grim

Julia is coming.

I move closer to Mom, imagining a pulse of affection spreading from my heart, through my arm, and flowing through my fingers to enter her body. She straightens a little, as though bolstered by the infusion.

I concentrate on Julia, and it feels like Mom is doing the same. Together maybe we can create a beam of yearning to pull her into the room.

When Julia appears at the doorway, she is slumped and pale as usual. An amputated soul. My heart contracts. If only I could absorb her into my body and reunite our cells—somehow reweave the strands of our DNA—I would carry her with me always, our feuding spirits finally in harmony.

I shake my head and concentrate.

This time I don’t limit my thoughts to Julia. I think of Mom, too, and the happy times the three of us shared together. Curiously...there are more than I would have guessed. If I concentrate hard enough I can feel the sun on my face as we drive to the lake with the windows down, Julia’s voice cracking as we belt out Beach Boys lyrics along with Mom’s creaking tape deck. There’s Christmas morning when our giggles crowd behind our teeth as Grandma preaches a sermon. Mom rolls her eyes, and if I even dare glance at Julia, the laughter will explode from both our mouths. And there’s spring afternoons when I can taste the warm glop of chocolate hardening against ice cream as we eat tuxedo sundaes—two full scoops each—after Julia wins a tennis match.

I play these scenes on a loop in my mind—moments from simpler times before boyfriends and sports and college applications complicated everything. Before jealousy and arguments shadowed our hearts. Next to me, Mom sighs contentedly.

Like before, Julia pauses.

And she turns.

She sees Mom, and I want to believe her furrowed brow has more to do with confusion than anger.

Come closer, Julia.

Mom’s spine stiffens as Julia crosses the threshold into our room, and pauses, just out of arm’s reach. Mom doesn’t stand, and I stay near even though my heart practically leaps toward Julia.

A strange noise erupts from Mom, something between a moan and a growl.

Julia stares at her. “Why are you in here?”

Mom swallows hard before speaking. “I’m here because I feel her.”

My sister blinks.

“Don’t you?” asks Mom. “That’s why you sleep in the living room, isn’t it?”

Julia’s face falls. “Mom...you have to move on.”

“How can I? You haven’t. And you blame me.”

A curtain of silence falls, and I remember to concentrate again on love and good memories. I stretch my left hand toward Julia—she’s just out of my reach, but I know she somehow senses me, for she straightens and seems to gather herself.

“Mom,” she says softly. “I remember what came out of my mouth that night. I said you ran them off...that you pushed them too far....” She pauses, her eyes shining with tears. “But I wasn’t thinking right. I don’t blame you. Ben was driving the car. You know what the police said. It was an accident—a deer or something on the road.”

Mom shakes her head. “I started the argument. That’s why they left in such a rush.”

“But you didn’t turn the wheel,” I say.

Mom wipes her nose and says nothing.

“I’ve tried so many times to talk to you,” Julia says. “I’ve tried to think of ways to explain, but it’s like you’re not there. You shut yourself away. Even when we’re in the same room together, you’re...absent.”

“Don’t you miss her, Julia? You never cry. It’s like you’ve pushed Claire out of your mind.”

“I think of her every second.” The bedsprings squeak as Julia sits next to Mom. “During the day, when I hear or see things she’d like, I remind myself to tell her. That’s when it hits me all over again. At night my mind echoes with every mean thing I ever said, every criticism and complaint.” Her chin drops. “And when I do finally sleep, I dream it’s all a misunderstanding, and she’s fine. I hate waking up from that dream.”

Mom nods. “I have it, too. Nearly every night.”

“Then why won’t you talk to me?”

“I don’t know. Talking makes it...permanent.”

Keeping hold of mom’s bony knee, I crouch before both of them and place my other hand on my sister.

Julia sighs and slips her arm around Mom’s waist.

“Do you feel her here?” whispers Mom. “Or am I insane?”

I concentrate so hard on them both, on our bodies—no, our souls—as a closed circuit. A circuit that vibrates with a current of love. For the first time, the Beyond pulls at me, and I have to resist it.

“I do feel her,” whispers Julia.

“It’s okay,” I say. “You’ll both be okay.”

A tear trails down Mom’s cheek. “If I could just see her...one more time.”

“You can’t bring her back, Mom. You—” Julia breaks off, to sniffle wetly. “We have to let go.”

“But I don’t know how to make a life that doesn’t include her.” She turns to wrap her arms around Julia, sobbing into her shoulder. My hands slide toward my lap and the circuit is broken.

“Our lives will always include her.” Julia lays her cheek against Mom’s head. “Just...in a different way.”

I stand.

The pull is even stronger now that the living have eased their grip.

I leave them to their embrace, moving through the door to the hallway, past Mom’s room, the bathroom, past the living room and the couch with Julia’s pallet of quilts and pillows. She will go back to sleeping in our room now, and I wonder if they’ll replace the saggy twin beds with a double.

Ben waits for me, his mouth curved in a half smile. “You did it?”

“They understand now.”

“So...we can leave?”

I pause to look back—the two-bedroom house droops a little, as though ashamed of its dusty brick and cracked concrete steps. It always was too small for our lanky bodies, our books and clothes and sports gear. Certainly too small for three fractious personalities. Is it now too large for two? I wonder if Julia has truly come to ground, or if she will continue to float away from Mom.

“Claire, if you’re not ready...you know I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’ll wait forever.”

I turn back to him. “You don’t have to.”

He opens his arms, and every particle of my being longs to rush into him. Mom and Julia will find a way to mend and thrive, and someday we may meet again. I don’t know how this works, but I’ve done everything I know to do. For now Ben is all the warmth and light and love that I need.

I am ready.

* * * * *

I feel real.

I have fingers that move, eyes that have never seen sunset, ears that love a violin. I bleed and breathe and cry when I hurt. I tremble at night when I am alone and afraid; I laugh when I am happy. I have never known love, but I have lips that ache to kiss. To linger on the sweet lips of him.

I feel real, though they tell me I am not.

Levi Saxon sits alone in the cafeteria, slowly spooning the mush that passes for lunch into his mouth with spindly arms that look barely strong enough to lift even that small metal utensil. He is surrounded by them but still alone. I recognize the way they look at him—I have lived with their hatred my entire life.

“Pip!” Levi smiles at me and waves me over. I carry my tray to his table. The air is chillier here by the bulkheads—the only thing separating us from the relentless nightmare of space—but I keep my concerns to myself. The cold does not affect me, and Levi doesn’t like to be reminded of his frailty.