The Night Sister

The luna moth was not moving. It lay on its side, lifeless.

Rose began to scream.

“What is it?” her mother asked, hurrying into the room, still in her nightgown.

“Sylvie!” Rose said, holding up the jar wrapped in wire. “It’s Sylvie! I’ve killed her.”

“Rose,” Mama said, voice shaky as she took a step back, looking stunned.

“This is Sylvie! Here in the jar! Look!”

Mama’s confused eyes locked on the jar in Rose’s hand. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said at last.

Rose sobbed. “She was a mare. I wanted to show you. To prove it. I didn’t mean to kill her.”

Mama shook her head. “You listen to me, Rose. That moth is not your sister.”

Mama’s eyes moved from the jar to Sylvie’s empty bed and the open closet door, where many of the hangers hung empty.

Rose blinked, trying to understand what she was seeing, where Sylvie’s things could have gone. She remembered last night, how Sylvie said she was going away. Had she packed everything up to leave before she headed out to the tower? Was she really planning to run away, worried she’d be caught for killing Fenton?

Mama then moved to the desk, where a piece of paper was loaded into the Royal typewriter.

Mama pulled the paper out, read it out loud:

I can’t stay here any longer.

I’m sorry. I love you all and know you’ll understand.

I’ll write once I’ve settled.

All my love,

Sylvie



“What’s all the commotion?” Daddy called from the doorway, where he stood, shoulders slumped, wearing his old rumpled pajamas.

“It’s Sylvie,” Mama said, voice shaking, as she stepped forward to hand him the typed note. “She’s run away.”

A door closed in Rose’s chest. She knew Mama was wrong.

She’d killed Sylvie.

Yes, Sylvie may have been a monster, but Rose hadn’t meant to hurt her. She just wanted to catch her. To prove to the world what Sylvie really was. Now no one would ever believe. They’d all think that Sylvie had run away, gone off to some bright new future. And Rose alone would bear the burden of the truth.

She clung desperately to the glass jar, looked at the beautiful broken creature inside, and began to sob.





2013





Piper


“It’s for you,” Margot said, holding the phone out to Piper. They were sitting together, having a luxurious breakfast in bed. Piper had made crêpes with apple butter, turkey bacon, sliced melon, and fresh-squeezed orange juice.

Jason had gone to work early without so much as a glance at Piper. Piper had heard him and Margot talking late into the night, Jason’s voice desperate and at times angry. At one point, she heard him snarl, “You and Piper and Amy.” Apparently, they hadn’t resolved things: when Piper got up to use the bathroom in the night, she saw Jason snoring on the couch, four empty beer cans on the coffee table, and the sports channel playing on the muted TV.

Margot hadn’t said a word about Jason so far this morning, choosing instead to talk about everything Piper should accomplish today. Not only was there a crib that needed to be assembled, there were curtains with little elephants to hang, and bags of tiny onesies and footie pajamas to put in drawers. Up until this point, Margot and Jason had left everything unpacked or stored away. If the worst happened (It couldn’t possibly, could it? Life couldn’t be that unfair…), the last thing they wanted was an adorable elephant mobile hanging over an empty crib, or drawers full of tiny clothes that would never be worn. But now the baby’s arrival seemed imminent, and Margot was feeling completely unprepared. She also seemed to desperately need something to keep her busy, something to focus on that wasn’t Jason or Amy. She showed Piper checklists from books and Web sites, and made frantic lists of things they didn’t have and would need to get: diaper-rash cream, a rectal thermometer, tiny nail clippers.