Page 23 of Just Like the Brontë Sisters

Later, Gavin and I went for a walk. A few sunny days had melted all the snow, but nighttime brought freezing temps, turning the afternoon’s puddles to patches of ice. I hit one the wrong way with the tip of my boot and went sliding. Gavin quickly grabbed my elbow and steadied me, saving me from what could have been an ugly fall.

“Thanks.” I promptly pulled my arm out of his grasp.

“Don’t be mad,” he said.

“I just don’t get why you knew about the condo and the will before I did.”

He tipped his head back and looked up at the stars. “I didn’t know about the will at all. As for the condo, I just thought you got to live there by yourself for as long as you wanted.”

“Yeah? I still say that you and my mom are too close.”

“Come on, Sky.” He looked at me with eyes like the frozen puddles I’d just skidded over. “I asked her what I should get you for your birthday and she said, ‘get her a keychain.’ Then she just spilled.” He stepped on a slippery patch over a slope in the sidewalk, and the impact of his boot made a satisfying crunching sound. “She probably thought I’d understand, since my grandpa left me his cabin and I know what it’s like to own property at such a young age.” Gavin had been super close to his grandfather; he was the one who’d taught him to cook, and Gavin’s favorite childhood memories had taken place at his grandfather’s cabin in the woods. When his grandfather died from cancer a few years ago he’d left the cabin to Gavin. I’d visited the cabin a few times and found it charming with its rickety, homemade furniture, like the family’s cottage that the monster from Frankenstein spies upon. While we were there Gavin would always cook me a gourmet meal and afterwards he’d try and make out with me. Sometimes I’d let him. “Anyway,” Gavin continued, “your mom made me promise that I wouldn’t ruin the surprise, and honestly, I don’t see what difference it makes.”

I filled my lungs with alpine air. Beyond me, the mountain was lit by tiny lights. My parent’s house was miles from the ski resort, but when we were at Jo Beth’s condo—my condo soon—we’d be closer to those lights.

I stepped in next to Gavin and slid my hand into the pocket of his wool coat. Gavin was the only guy I knew who didn’t wear a ski jacket. “Do you think I ought to stay here and ski, instead of going away to school?”

Gavin stopped walking, so I did too. Inside his pocket, his fingers closed over mine. “I can’t answer that.”

“Why not?”

“Because what I want you to do and what I think you ought to do are all confused inside my brain.” He used his free hand to trace a path among the freckles over my nose and cheeks. Then he leaned in and let his lips do the same thing. Baby kisses against my face, a hand squeezing my fingers, an arm around my waist, his chest heaving against mine. “You should just kiss me for real,” I murmured.

“You’re bossy,” he replied.

I made my lips find his and my free arm wrapped itself around his shoulders. For a moment I was just a girl who sort-of loved her sort-of boyfriend, trying to decide between leaving him for school or staying with him for skiing. But soon my anxiety crashed the party and thoughts of Jo Beth took over.

I pulled away.

“We should get back,” I said. “My parents will wonder what took us so long.”

That night, sleep would not come. My mind was too full of questions. Was Jo Beth in trouble? And if so, did it have anything to do with this new boyfriend she’d emailed me about, Mitch? After I’d been lying in bed for an hour I surrendered to insomnia, powered on my computer, and re-read Jo Beth’s most recent email, which was already weeks old.

Sky,

I’m down in Santiago for the day to do some shopping and I stopped at a cyber café so I could email you. I have so much to tell you! I guess Mitch and I are moving sort of fast, because I’m pretty much living with him now! But everyone at Portillo is like family and I can’t get enough of Mitch. I wish you could meet him. I never knew there’d be someone for me, someone I could spend my days with and not feel restless, someone I could talk to, someone who would understand me and love me for who I am.

You have to come to Portillo. I’ll pay. Maybe this summer? Graduation gift? Say yes!!

Love always,

Jo Beth

I’d already responded, saying I’d love to visit if it didn’t interfere with my college plans, whatever they turned out to be. And, of course, I’d need Mom and Dad’s approval, but otherwise, it was a solid yes.

Now I wrote back again.

Jo Beth,

Today’s my birthday and I got your generous gift. Thank you!

Then I stopped. I wanted to sound gracious but I also wanted answers. Why was she trying to control my life by forcing me into the skiing career she’d given up on? Why was she so sure she’d never come home? And why was she thinking about wills—about death—when, if I took her emails at face-value, she ought to have been thinking about love, marriage, and maybe even motherhood?

I resumed typing.

You’re too good to me. I can’t wait to see you, Jo. It’s been way too long.

My questions would have to wait. I would get no answers from an email. I needed to see my sister, face to face. After all, I had learned the same lesson from her as I had from Charlotte Brontë in Jane Eyre. It’s silly to believe people can be content with calm. Jo Beth especially needed action and drama, and she was always willing to invent her own, unless some drama came along and found her first. Had drama found Jo Beth and had it taken human form? Was its name Mitch?

Meeting him was the only way to find out.