The Night Sister

At last, she knew what she had to do.

She rose from bed, went to Sylvie’s desk, and sat down in front of the typewriter. She carefully loaded in a sheet of clean, white motel stationery and began to type.

I know what you are and what you do. You have to stop. If you don’t, I will find a way to stop you.



Rose left the note there in Sylvie’s typewriter. Then she got herself washed and dressed and asked her mother if she could please drive her to school.





Rose


Rose avoided both Sylvie and Fenton when she got home from school that afternoon, sticking close to Mama, offering to do one chore after another: folding laundry, starching Daddy’s shirts, dusting the living room.

During dinner, Daddy asked Fenton to fix the lights in the motel sign down by the road. “One whole side is burned out. Can’t see the sign when you’re heading into town.”

“Not that it matters,” Mama mumbled in a voice so low Rose wondered if her father even heard it.

“We’ve got lightbulbs in the garage,” Fenton said. “I’ll fix it after dinner.”

After dinner, Daddy went into town and Mama headed up to her sewing room. Sylvie offered to help Fenton fix the lights on the sign. Rose slipped up to their room and tried to concentrate on the book she was reading for school: Little Women. She was so tired, though—her eyelids grew heavy, the words blurred on the page. She finally fell asleep, still dressed, the bedside lamp burning.

She was awakened when Sylvie came in. Rose glanced at the clock: it was nearly midnight. Sylvie’s eyes were red, and her hair was a mess.

“Where’ve you been?” Rose whispered, squinting up at her sister.

“Out walking.”

“With Fenton?”

Sylvie didn’t answer. She snapped off the light, changed into her nightgown in the dark, and crawled under her covers. Rose fell back asleep to the sound of her sister softly crying, face buried in her pillow.

—

“You haven’t seen Fenton, have you, dear?” Mama asked when Rose got in after school the next day. Sylvie was at Woolworth’s. Mama was in the kitchen, washing dishes.

Rose shook her head. “Not since dinner last night,” she said, helping herself to a shiny red apple from the bowl on the counter.

Mama turned off the water, went to the cabinets, and pulled out a glass casserole dish.

“It’s the strangest thing,” she said. “He didn’t show up for work at the garage today. His truck is there in front of the trailer. Your father had a list of things for him to do this afternoon, but it seems he’s gone and vanished.”

“Vanished,” Rose repeated.

“I know he’s been talking about leaving for ages. He even told your father he was saving for a bus ticket out west. But I can’t believe he’d just leave all of us without even saying goodbye. The truth is, I’m worried. What do you think, Rose? Did he say anything to you? Or did Sylvie mention anything?”

Rose shook her head. “I don’t think so. Maybe. Yesterday morning, when I had cocoa with him, he said he’d been thinking about leaving.”

Disappearing.

You’ve gotta wonder if we all wouldn’t be better off someplace else.

And he’d also wanted to talk to her about what she’d seen. About Sylvie.

Rose thought about Sylvie coming into their room last night, how disheveled she’d been. As if she’d been in some sort of struggle.

A terrible thought began to rise.

“Tuna casserole for supper,” Mama announced. “Your favorite.”

But it wasn’t her favorite at all. It was Sylvie’s.

Rose got up and left the kitchen.

“Where are you off to?” Mama called.

“Chores,” she said.