The Boat House by Jana D. Barrett

Author:Jana D. Barrett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2017-10-12T14:30:49+00:00

Chapter 31

STELLAN

I’m thumbing through a book on equine anatomy and physiology when she shows up on the front porch. She’s overdressed for an evening chat, so I can only deduct that this location was not her original destination. She stands in the shadow momentarily. She walks up several steps and then retreats, assessing whether she should or should not proceed to knock.

She hasn’t yet spied me in the corner under my little crest of evening light, pouring in from the dusty hurricane lanterns. I used to read in this very spot as a kid for hours on end, until Livi would come and drag me away into some unnecessary mischief. I could have never imagined that life would take such a toll on my sister, while offering me so much. Livi would say that fate can be cruel, but I didn’t believe in fate.

I ease into the light, gently making myself known. I don’t want to startle her. I offer her my veterinary book, then immediately feel foolish. Consolation is not familiar territory, but my blunder breaks her solitude. She laughs softly, her breath smelling faintly of black currant and cedar. She is intoxicated, but not drunk. I am well acquainted with the varied levels of sobriety.

I study the bow of her mouth lilt with barely contained anger, the way her grey eyes are filled with fear and fury. I’ve witnessed this before at the clinic in abused animals. She is guarded, but less so than usual. I’m thankful for her composure. I’m not quite certain what a person should do with a teary-eyed girl.

In the kitchen the refrigerator contents are meager. I fix her a cucumber and cheese sandwich. I make us a proper cup of Illy with the French press, which makes me feel momentarily useful and less awkward. I have a disposition that requires busy hands. She downs the ibuprofen I offer her without even identifying it. For a bit we sit in comfortable silence at the kitchen table.

Upstairs I give her a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants to sleep in. I change the junior sailor sheets on my twin bed while she changes in the bathroom. When she emerges in my clothes I feel an unfamiliar satisfaction spreading through me, a need I didn’t realize was there.

I could have given her a pair of Livi’s pajamas to sleep in. Why didn’t I? Why am I tucking this girl into my bed and not the guest room, or Livi’s room?

Suddenly I am looking through a smaller lens. I realize that I want Genevieve sleeping in my clothes, in my bed. The realization shifts something un-nameable at my core. To name a thing is to stake ownership in it. Do I dare to be so brazen?

I kiss her forehead and the gut-wrenching inexplicable feeling pounds through each of my twelve pairs of ribs like a bone mallet.

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