Page 92 of Commanding Flame and Shield
She wrapped that little toad in toilet paper, like a mummy. Placed him in her favorite jeweled glass keepsake box and dug a hole in our back yard exactly where he had leapt in front of the mower. She made us all attend Jimmy’s funeral under punishment of never being forgiven if we didn’t…
…I sat in the fuzzy purple armchair, under the glow of her crystal chandelier, glaring at the window. Waiting. Heart thundering. Fourteen-year-old Freya, long and lanky, hair in a frizzy plait down her back, climbing over the window frame. She landed silent as a cat, dropped the black bag off her shoulder onto the floor with a barely audible thud, and turned on her heel. Eyes widening, she froze in her tracks. She snapped her face back into cool indifference.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she purred, straightening and pulling her slight shoulders back.
“Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”
“I’ve known you to be many things, big brother, but never a prowler. What are you doing here?”
“Catching a little liar while our parents are sleeping. What are you doing?”
“Having a little fun. Nothing you wouldn’t have done.”
“You know…I never climbed into a two-story window to avoid our parents.”
“Okay. Nothing you wouldn’t have done if you had the balls to.” A feline smile. I shook my head.
“Best be careful, Freya Porter. You’re looking for trouble you can’t get out of.”
“I can handle myself.”
In an instant, I closed the distance and had her flipped on her back, pinned against the mattress with my forearm. She narrowed her eyes at me in defiance.
“No. You bloody well can’t.”
“Fine.” She hissed through gritted teeth. “Then teach me.”
“Enable you to continue this nonsense? No, thank you.” I released my hold on her, and we sat up together. Neither of us willing to blink first.
“They’re suffocating me, August. Christ, you have to remember how they are.”
“They’re parents, Freya. Theirjobis to keep you alive. Let them do it. Please.” I ground out the last word. She narrowed those sharp eyes.
“Then talk to them, please.” Her tone turned mocking. I shook my head but couldn’t help the smile on my face. We both broke our gaze and sighed together.
“Sleepovers, at least. I don’t drink or anything. I just…I want to see my friends.”
“I’ll try to talk them into sleepovers. But I’m telling them about tonight too. So, expect some consequences.”
“You’re the worst,” she groaned, dramatically collapsing back onto the bed. But she grinned up at me knowingly.
“Oh, I know.”
I never did tell them about her sneaking out…
…The sterile smell of sanitizer filled the air, loud beeping machines going off down the hallway. Her long hair was pulled over her right shoulder, slowly defining cheekbones shimmering with salty tears.
“It’s going to be okay, Freya. It will be okay.” I meant the words, but there was a hollowness in my voice.
She looked up, those red rimmed eyes empty and solemn. Her delicate lips pressed together in a tight line. Freya blinked and then gave a slow, nearly imperceptible shake of her head. A motion that said simply, “No. It will not.”
She held our mother’s weight the entire funeral. Kept her upright as she wept over her mother’s coffin. Our dad standing in still-stunned silence by their side, fingers intertwined with his wife’s. Freya never left her side, except to fetch water or ask servers to bring Mama food…
…The jeep door slammed behind her and I raced off the camp’s road.
“Do I wanna know?”
“Took care of it.”
