The Sisters Montclair by Cathy Holton

life, I’ve wanted to be someone else,” Laura said.
    “We should probably head home,” Alice said, closing the compact. “Mother will be worried.”
    “Wait,” Laura said, shyly touching Alice’s arm. “Let’s go one other place first. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
    Alice felt a slight tremor of dismay. There was no use stopping now; she had come this far and she might as well see it through to the end. She carefully slid the compact back into her beaded bag.
    “All right,” she said.
    They drove past the Smithson School through the Missionary Ridge Tunnel to Brainerd. Above them, the lights of the houses on Missionary Ridge twinkled merrily. Evening was coming on quickly. Alice followed Laura’s instructions and pulled up in front of a small, steep-roofed garage with a couple of gas pumps outside. The bell rang as they pulled up and the door opened and a man in a gray jumpsuit stepped out into the gathering gloom. He was smoking a cigarette, its tip glowing feebly, and he took it out of his mouth and crushed it under his toe, walking toward them with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, his shoulders rounded against the cold.
    Laura rolled down her window. “Hello,” she said, and he stopped for a moment and stared, and then came on slowly, his cap pulled low on his forehead.
    “Hello,” he said. He came around to Alice’s window. “Fill her up?” he said, and she said through the glass, “Yes.”
    “Roll it down,” Laura said. Her face was pale under her cloche hat. “The window. Roll it down.”
    “It’s cold,” Alice said, but she did as her sister asked. He stuck the nozzle in the tank and then came around to clean the windshield. She could see his face now in the slanting light from the garage window. His expression was fierce, intolerant, challenging. Briefly, through the glass, their eyes met.
    Laura leaned over and said, “Brendan. This is my sister. Alice.”
    He took a rag out of his pocket and wiped his hand and held it out to her. Alice, after a slight hesitation, took it.
    “Brendan Burke,” he said.
    He seemed to be laughing at her; she sensed it in his tone.
    “How do you do,” she said coldly.
    “We’ve been Christmas shopping,” Laura said.
    “Have you?” His eyes were an unusual shade of green, pale and luminous like sun-lit water.
    “We thought we might see a picture show tonight,” Laura said, laughing. “Do you want to come?”
    Alice, shocked, looked at her sister and then said with some confusion, “Mother will be expecting us home tonight. It’s nearly Christmas.”
    The station door opened and a young man came hurrying out, pulling on his cap. “Sorry, Mr. Burke,” he called, putting his hand on the nozzle. “I didn’t hear the bell.”
    “That’s all right, Billy.”
    “Please say you’ll come,” Laura said, leaning across Alice’s lap and smiling up at him.
    “Laura!” Alice said.
    He looked at Alice. “I can’t,” he said.
    Laura pushed herself back into the corner, pouting.
    “What do I owe you?” Alice said, lifting her purse. She could feel her face burning in humiliation at her sister’s behavior. She wanted to meet his gaze but she felt herself to be at a distinct disadvantage.
    “You can pay Billy,” he said, and without another word, he thrust his hands deep into his pockets and walked off toward the station, whistling.
    “Really, Laura, how could you?” They drove swiftly through the dimly-lit streets. Alice was rigid with anger, remembering his expression through the windshield glass, the careless way he had walked off. “You practically threw yourself at him.”
    “I did throw myself at him.”
    “And you’re proud of that?” Alice turned her head and looked at her sister who sat with her forehead resting against the window glass.
    “I love him.”
    “Oh, Laura.”
    “I don’t care what Mother says, or Father. Or you.”
    “He’s not – suitable.”
    She turned her head and stared at Alice, her eyes