The Night Sister

I can speak the language of crows, Rose thought, excited.

“Poor Rose,” the Sylvie crow cawed. “Always looking for ways to be special. But you’re just an ordinary girl. A plain, ordinary girl. No talents at all.”

When Rose opened her eyes, she instantly remembered where she had seen the red-haired woman, the one who had kissed Daddy’s cheek. She’d been here once, at the house. Rose remembered coming home from school one day in the spring when Sylvie had to stay late for band practice. The woman was coming out of the house with Daddy.

“This is your mama’s friend Vivienne,” Daddy told her, and Rose got the sense that he was mad at her for being there—that they were in a hurry and Rose was holding them up.

“Pleased to meet you,” Rose said, and the woman smiled and took Rose’s hand. She wore a lovely hat with bits of lace worked in, and a green sweater set that matched it perfectly. Her cheeks were powdered, and her eyes were rimmed with smudged, coal-black liner. She was beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Mama.

“I hear you’re quite a talented girl,” Vivienne said.

“No, ma’am,” Rose answered. “You’re thinking of my sister, Sylvie. I don’t have any talents.”

“We’ve all got talents, dear,” the woman said, smiling. “Some are more hidden than others. The trick, you see, is finding them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rose said.

Daddy seemed flustered. He whispered something to Vivienne, then took her arm and guided her down the steps.

“Nice meeting you,” Rose called after her.

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” Vivienne said. “Maybe then you can tell me what talents you’ve discovered.”

Rose went inside, calling for her mother. But her mother wasn’t home. There was a note on the table saying she’d gone to the market and would be back soon. “Help yourself to a slice of pie,” it said.

“I met your friend,” Rose said when Mama came through the door half an hour later, balancing two paper sacks of groceries from the A&P.

“Who?”

“Vivienne. When I came home, she was just leaving with Daddy.”

“Ah,” Mama said, eyes narrowing. “Vivienne.” Then she turned and starting putting the groceries away, shutting the cupboard doors a little too hard.

“Sylvie?” Rose called out in the darkness. “Are you awake?”

Her sister did not answer. The radio was still on, but the station had gone off the air, leaving nothing but static, humming like an insect in the middle of the room.

Rose crept past it to Sylvie’s bed, planning to shake her sister awake.

“Wake up,” she said. “I remember! I remember where I know the lady from.”

But her sister’s bed was empty; Rose’s hands grasped only the covers, still warm.

“Sylvie?” she called again, though it was clear she was alone in the room.

Rose padded out of the bedroom and down the hall to the bathroom. She pushed gently on the door, but when it swung open, she saw the bathroom was empty, the sink and toilet so bright white they almost glowed. Toothbrushes stood like little soldiers at attention in their holder. The sink faucet was dripping, each drop of water hitting the white porcelain bowl with an impossibly loud splash. Rose backed out of the bathroom and went down the stairs and into the kitchen, to see if maybe Sylvie was getting a drink of water or milk. She eased her way down the carpeted steps, her hand on the smooth wooden rail.