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Thinking about my parents squeezes my heart, as it always does, and I close my eyes tightly for a few seconds to calm myself down. This is no time to cry.
“You didn’t take your car?” I finally ask Emma after two minutes of waiting on the sidewalk.
She sighs defeatedly.
“That piece of junk is in the garage. We’ll take an Uber,” says my aunt.
Sitting next to me, Agnes has stars in her eyes. “The Uber drivers always have candy for us,” she exclaims with a scoundrel’s look.
Incorrigible, that one.
My aunt pouts next to me. “We’ll eat when we get home. Don’t stuff yourself with all kinds of candy, Agnes.”
My little sister turns to me in the hope that I will intervene to plead her case. Unfortunately for her, I agree with our aunt this time.
The trip to my aunt’s house is a pleasant one. Agnes never stops telling me about her adventures at school. She is a real chatterbox. My God, I missed this!
When the driver pulls up to the small gravel driveway a half-hour later, I immediately notice the pink bike with pompoms on the handles lying in the middle of the lawn. A small smile comes to my face as I imagine my little sister on it, threatening to crush everyone in her path.
I don’t really know this house, even though I’ve been there many times before…before my parents died. Our old family home, the one my parents rented, was on the north side of town. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to drive by it again without breaking out in a cold sweat. Just thinking about the different rooms brings back bad memories. I remember the blood, my parents’ blood, on the living room floor. I swallow several times and get out of the car, welcoming the cool Portland breeze that pulls me out of my dark thoughts.
I quickly visit the house with my aunt, exploring the rooms as if it were my first time here.
“I had the whole living room redone,” she explains, “I wanted something more…refined.”
I look around the living room, almost wincing. Everything is white and gray. I laugh softly when I discover a doodle made with a marker at the bottom of the white wall.
“Your sister couldn’t think of anything better to do than write on it last week.”
I put on a stern face and turn to Agnes. “So you’re going to use your two little hands and paint the wall yourself, young lady.”
I don’t sound very credible with this authoritarian voice, but I have to. My aunt has a lot of faults, but she is the one who keeps my sister in school and allows her to continue her piano lessons. Despite her desire to live with me, I know that my sister wouldn’t want to leave this town for anything, so she has to put in the work too. She needs stability, something I can’t offer her at the moment.
Agnes puts an angelic look on her face. “But I can’t paint.”
I cross my arms over my chest.
“If you can write on a wall, believe me, you can paint on it. And correctly,” I say, emphasizing the word.
She mumbles something unintelligible and goes to sit at the table that is already set. My aunt is watching me, looking pensive. I raise an eyebrow in her direction.
“I…you sounded like your father…I, sorry,” she sighs before moving to the table.
I pause at the mention of my father. Every time someone tells me that my behavior matches my father’s or my mother’s, it warms my heart. I miss them so damn much.
I wish they were standing in front of me so I could tell them one last time that I love them, that Agnes is safe, that I saved her despite everything. I would like to tell them that they can rest in peace.
I walk over to the table in front of me and sit down on the chair.
“What time is your flight this afternoon?” my aunt asks as she opens a bottle of water.
I glance at the wall clock before answering, “In about in four hours.”
“Perfect, Agnes’ suitcase is already packed. I’ll be waiting for you at the airport when you bring her back next week. How long is your vacation?”
“Ten days,” I answer quickly. “But I work in the meantime.”
“In a bar, you said?” my aunt asks. She says the word as if it repulses her.
