they’d disappeared.
At least in decor, the house looked nothing now like it hadwhen her grandparents owned it. Francine had favored a style appropriate to the era when the house was built, lots of spindly-legged tables and chests with carved crowns and animal feet. “Let’s get rid of this junk,” Eloise had said, nearly as soon as her mother headed south. They’d sold most of it, and used the proceeds to fund purchases of midcentury modern. Theo had never argued with Eloise’s passion for disposal, but even these many years later she still regretted the elaborate vanity that had once been in her grandmother’s room and the four-poster bed that had belonged to her mother. She would have liked to spend her girlhood beneath the canopy of that four-poster, imagining the girls who might have slept in her room before her, wearing long white nightgowns and their hair in a braid. She had ended up a historian, after all.
Instead she’d always slept in one of two sleek metal twin beds, and ever since she’d moved out of a crib, Claire had slept in the other. Claire had had her own room, but she’d always wanted to be with Theo. She’d wanted Theo to sing to her until she closed her eyes. She’d wanted Theo to comfort her after bad dreams in the middle of the night. Many mornings Theo woke to find Claire curled against her, her small, warm back pressed firmly against Theo’s. Even when she was a teenager and Claire a child of six, seven, eight, Claire had clung to these rituals. Or Theo had. Sometimes, looking back, she wasn’t sure which.
Theo missed her sister. She’d been having trouble working. She knew what she was feeling—aimless, depressed, adrift—but she failed to connect these feelings to Claire’s absence. Like a lot of reliable people, Theo didn’t realize how much she’d come to depend on being depended on. Growing up, she’d had Claireand Josh, of course, and though she’d often resented the expectations that she’d drive Josh to music lessons and Claire to the ballet, that she’d help them with their homework, that she’d be their therapist, those expectations had given purpose to her life. In college she’d been the still, calm center of a group of people experimenting with various versions of craziness—she was the designated driver, the one who gave tough-love advice, who heard late-night confessions of frightening drunkenness and weird sexual encounters with inappropriately older men. By the time she got to grad school, she’d lost some of her taste for crazy, exhausting friends, but still she had her professors and her classmates and her students, all of whom needed her energy and her attention and her best, most sincere effort, which she tried at all times to give. Now Claire was gone, Josh might as well be, and she had no one else’s needs to give shape to her days.
She sat up, yawning, and resolved for the thousandth time to accomplish something with the remaining hours of the day. If she couldn’t make progress on the dissertation, she could finally update her CV. She could send out emails asking for letters of recommendation. She could start writing a cover letter and a teaching philosophy. Sure, all that could be done. But first, she needed to make some coffee, and maybe rummage through the pantry after something sweet.
She walked into the kitchen, yawning hugely again, and heard Josh saying to Eloise, “I have a date tonight, but I’m not leaving for a while.” They were leaning on the counter near the coffeepot, but it didn’t look like anyone had made coffee, or had any intention of doing so.
“You have a date tonight?” Theo said. “With who?”
“Adelaide,” Josh said stiffly, looking away.
“That’s nice,” Theo said, stung by his tone.
“What about you?” Eloise asked. “Do you have a few minutes right now?”
Theo hesitated, not because she didn’t have a few minutes but because she didn’t like the serious note in her aunt’s voice. “I’m
At least in decor, the house looked nothing now like it hadwhen her grandparents owned it. Francine had favored a style appropriate to the era when the house was built, lots of spindly-legged tables and chests with carved crowns and animal feet. “Let’s get rid of this junk,” Eloise had said, nearly as soon as her mother headed south. They’d sold most of it, and used the proceeds to fund purchases of midcentury modern. Theo had never argued with Eloise’s passion for disposal, but even these many years later she still regretted the elaborate vanity that had once been in her grandmother’s room and the four-poster bed that had belonged to her mother. She would have liked to spend her girlhood beneath the canopy of that four-poster, imagining the girls who might have slept in her room before her, wearing long white nightgowns and their hair in a braid. She had ended up a historian, after all.
Instead she’d always slept in one of two sleek metal twin beds, and ever since she’d moved out of a crib, Claire had slept in the other. Claire had had her own room, but she’d always wanted to be with Theo. She’d wanted Theo to sing to her until she closed her eyes. She’d wanted Theo to comfort her after bad dreams in the middle of the night. Many mornings Theo woke to find Claire curled against her, her small, warm back pressed firmly against Theo’s. Even when she was a teenager and Claire a child of six, seven, eight, Claire had clung to these rituals. Or Theo had. Sometimes, looking back, she wasn’t sure which.
Theo missed her sister. She’d been having trouble working. She knew what she was feeling—aimless, depressed, adrift—but she failed to connect these feelings to Claire’s absence. Like a lot of reliable people, Theo didn’t realize how much she’d come to depend on being depended on. Growing up, she’d had Claireand Josh, of course, and though she’d often resented the expectations that she’d drive Josh to music lessons and Claire to the ballet, that she’d help them with their homework, that she’d be their therapist, those expectations had given purpose to her life. In college she’d been the still, calm center of a group of people experimenting with various versions of craziness—she was the designated driver, the one who gave tough-love advice, who heard late-night confessions of frightening drunkenness and weird sexual encounters with inappropriately older men. By the time she got to grad school, she’d lost some of her taste for crazy, exhausting friends, but still she had her professors and her classmates and her students, all of whom needed her energy and her attention and her best, most sincere effort, which she tried at all times to give. Now Claire was gone, Josh might as well be, and she had no one else’s needs to give shape to her days.
She sat up, yawning, and resolved for the thousandth time to accomplish something with the remaining hours of the day. If she couldn’t make progress on the dissertation, she could finally update her CV. She could send out emails asking for letters of recommendation. She could start writing a cover letter and a teaching philosophy. Sure, all that could be done. But first, she needed to make some coffee, and maybe rummage through the pantry after something sweet.
She walked into the kitchen, yawning hugely again, and heard Josh saying to Eloise, “I have a date tonight, but I’m not leaving for a while.” They were leaning on the counter near the coffeepot, but it didn’t look like anyone had made coffee, or had any intention of doing so.
“You have a date tonight?” Theo said. “With who?”
“Adelaide,” Josh said stiffly, looking away.
“That’s nice,” Theo said, stung by his tone.
“What about you?” Eloise asked. “Do you have a few minutes right now?”
Theo hesitated, not because she didn’t have a few minutes but because she didn’t like the serious note in her aunt’s voice. “I’m
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