The Sometime Sister Katherine Nichols (reading in the dark txt) 📖

“We have time to grab some coffee; I hate that crap they serve on the plane.” McElroy spoke in the friendly way you would to someone you were vacationing with rather than the way you’d talk to the person you were going with on what promised to be the worst trip of a lifetime.

“I’m good, thank you.” I walked past him and took a seat near the gate. While waiting, I answered a few business emails and checked a text message from Lesroy.

“I hear Mike sent a Marine hunk to protect you. Bet you love that. LOL. Not a bad idea, though. Miss Scarlet hasn’t ripped out my throat yet, but I plan to sleep with one eye open. Love you.”

I included a few hearts and smiley faces as a reply.

“Boyfriend?” McElroy eased into the seat beside me.

I shook my head. “Cousin.” If I knew my mother, she would have alerted my companion I didn’t have a boyfriend. But if murder was her priority, stressing my availability might have slipped her mind.

He held out a Starbuck’s cup. “I wasn’t sure what you like, but the barista assured me everybody loves a latte macchiato, whatever the hell that is.”

Seeing no reason to let the sugary beverage go to waste, I took it and thanked him. He smiled, sipped his coffee, and picked up a newspaper.

I finished my drink the same time first class began boarding. Despite the jolt from my latte, I was feeling the results of a sleepless night and planned on napping during the rest of the flight. I had just settled into a comfortable position when McElroy handed me a package.

“Your mother wanted you to have these. My instructions were to give them to you before we landed. They’re from your sister.”

Inside were three stacks bound with rubber bands, all three tied together with twine. On top, there was one envelope labeled “Read this first” scrawled in my mother’s familiar handwriting. I hesitated before opening it.

Grace, before you get mad, I understand why you don’t want to talk to your sister. What she did was terrible, maybe unforgivable. But she is your sister, and family is everything. Stella wanted to explain herself, but she knew you wouldn’t want to hear it. So, she sent these to me. She made me promise not to read them, to hold on to them until I thought you were ready. It was hard, but I kept my promise, Grace. But now, ready or not, you can’t wait any longer. Love you.

Mom grouped and labeled the letters chronologically. Three stacks, one for each year I refused to talk to Stella.

Beside me, McElroy appeared engrossed in his paper. My hands were shaking as I opened letter number one.

Dear Grace,

I feel funny writing a letter most likely no one will ever read. I mean, I hope you read it someday, but I understand if you don’t. So, I’ll pretend “Dear Grace” is “Dear Diary.” That way I can tell you secrets I would never tell an actual person. Remember when you said that to me, Grace? When you gave me my first diary? I bet you don’t, but I do.

It was my eighth birthday. Mom gave me a Madame Alexander doll with red hair and freckles. I loved that doll, but the diary was my favorite gift. It was light blue covered in tiny hummingbirds and had a little lock and key. You said I should use it to record my private thoughts and should keep it hidden from Mom. And that’s what I did.

I wrote about how I wanted to grow up to be just like you, Grace. Smart, beautiful, funny, and kind. And every time I fell short of being like you, I confessed it in my diary. Like the time I took ten dollars from Gran’s wallet and spent it on cheap perfume I could never stand to wear. Or the time I stole the poem you wrote about the ocean and used it to win first prize in the fifth-grade writing contest. I couldn’t tell anybody I’d won. I pretended I was sick the day they gave out the writing awards. When my teacher gave me the certificate later, I buried it in the backyard.

Even if you’d found out about the poem, though, you would have thought it was some kind of mistake. Because to you, I was the perfect little sister, the one Mom and Gran told me you prayed for over and over. When I looked at you, Grace, it was like you were this magic mirror. No matter how ugly or flawed I was, in your eyes I was Stella Star. Until you met Ben. Then I disappeared.

It sounds like I’m blaming you for what happened, but I’m not. You kept on being you—smart, beautiful, funny and kind. And it wasn’t about jealousy, me wanting what you had. It’s just you looked at Ben the way you used to look at me. It was as if his face blocked my image from that magic mirror, and I had to see the real me. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t exhilarating to give up trying to be the Stella you thought I was. I did whatever made me feel good, took whatever I wanted. But like that cheap perfume, once I got what I wanted, the smell of it sickened me.

I wish I could take it all back and be the girl in the magic mirror.

Stella

I folded letter number one and put it in its envelope. I couldn’t tell if it was Stella being Stella or if my sister had changed. Either way, it wasn’t just my hands that were shaking now. My entire body convulsed with the weight of my sorrow. I hadn’t cried when she and Ben eloped because I still had her. And, despite my denials, I held onto the hope that someday she would come home, that we’d be sisters again.

McElroy