Chapter 1

As fucked up as my life was at Thanksgiving, I imagined my sister’s was worse.

My end? Final judgment on a divorce. Property settlement. House sold. She gets half the equity. And I worked hard so there was a LOT of equity. Same thing with the retirement accounts and savings accounts and investment accounts. I worked my butt off, being frugal and intelligent, and Linda chafed under the frugality.

I mean, ONE special vacation a year. The company I worked for gave out big bonuses, and we made a habit of spending a chunk of that on that big vacation.

Her friends, though, raved about cruise after cruise after cruise, and I wouldn’t do that. I was, therefore, boring.

The one upside to her lifestyle, whether she ever attained it or not, is that it didn’t leave room for kids, therefore when I signed the final papers to transfer funds, I walked away.

Walked away to an apartment lifestyle, at least for the time being. Nice apartment, however.

On Becky’s end, though, was one of those tragedies of horrible proportions. Cancer hit my brother-in-law. Hit him hard and fast, causing a flurry of hospitals and extended care facilities, and hopes and prayers for the miracle that didn’t come.

One of the last things that Linda and I did together was attend Keith’s funeral. Saw my sister there, trying to keep a lid on it. Thirty-six. Five and a half feet. Lively hair color, more exotic than me. Us guys do that sort of dark sand-colored thing. Becky was undeniably brunette, lively browns and gold streaks, shiny, sleek, her hairstyle a realistic, simple thing, just past chin length, the sides swept back from her face, held by a couple of simple combs.

In one of the genetic things, her complexion came out as alabaster, at least now. I remember in high school that we both fought valiantly against acne. Neither of us did particularly well, but while I ended up with a few permanent pock marks, she didn’t.

Both of us went to college. I came out with my engineering degree, and in the almost twenty years since I graduated, I’d garnered a reputation as THE guy who knew almost intuitively how to put together power systems, or more lucratively, figure out what’s wrong with the power system somebody else built. Good money. Now an office with a title on it that pays MORE money, but I am still subject to close the door behind me and get out in the real world and look at things.

Thanksgiving.

No Mom and Dad. Mom four years ago, pancreatic cancer. Dad two years later to an aneurism that had me hitting my doctors soon after. Dad was too young. So was Mom.

So now it’s Thanksgiving. And it’s me here and Becky sixty miles away.

Cellphone call. “So what are you planning for Thanksgiving?” I asked her.

“I dunno. I get the feeling that all the friends we had here were HIS friends. They don’t know what to do with me. You?”

“Hah! Every place I go, it’s someplace where SHE was the bubbly personality and I was the dull husband. I was thinking about going to a rental cabin with some good wine and some good books...”

“You’re still a reader, aren’t you?”

“Yep. Dull ol’ me...”

“At least Keith understood that part,” Becky told me. “There’s a thought ... But it’s me in the house. One, I just rattle around in the space. Two, everything’s a reminder.”

“I can understand.”

“You got a cabin?”

“I can GET a cabin. I know a guy who’s got an inside track at a state park. They always hold a couple of them back ... I’ was thinking of calling him.”

“Those things have more than one bedroom, right?”

“One little bedroom, a couple of big bunk rooms, at least the ones I’m thinking about.”

“So if we both went...”

“We’d have somebody to talk with, to share the cooking. If I didn’t want a solo walk in the woods, I’d have somebody to walk with.”

“I wouldn’t be an intrusion?”

“No, you’re my sister. You’d be just about the right amount of intrusion, actually. There’s that bit of distance between us.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Not like you have entertain a spouse...”

“Something I determined to be impossible.”

“Oh, Keith wasn’t difficult to take care of. What park?”

I named it.

“Yeah, see ... He’d grab his tackle box and a rod and reel and go off fishing. I’d curl up on the sofa with a book, some soft music...”

And I heard the vestiges of a sob.

“Let’s do it then, Beck. I’ll make arrangements. You start figuring out what we need to bring.”

“How long?”

“Thanksgiving week. Tuesday through Sunday.”

“Five days. What’s the weather?”

“It’s November in Louisiana. Warm with a chance of heavy frost. Drought mitigated by downpours, with possible snow flurries...”

“Yeah ... I’ll pack flexible.”

The phone call for the cabin went exactly as my buddy’d described. A mention of his name, a deposit, and it’s booked.

I started down the list of things I needed, writing out the list, then I started assembling the things I had, made a grocery list of things I needed – fast foods, soft drinks. Left a short list of perishables.

Tuesday morning I drove over to her house to pick her up. When I knocked, she met me at the door dressed appropriately – cool day, so she’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and a colorful cotton ballcap, making her look just a little bit like one of those athletic young softball players, oh, okay, this version has twenty years on those...

I helped her load her contributions and necessities into the back of my SUV. Next, she directed me to a well-stocked chain grocery.

On the way out from the meat counter, we pushed the cart down the wine aisle.

“Get us some,” she said. “We can share a bottle each evening...”

“Sounds genteel.”

“Is genteel. Been doing it for years...”

“I’m not much of a wine drinker,” I said.

“Good,” she laughed. “We’re not drinking much wine.”

It was good to hear her laugh again.

She started loading bottles into the basket.

“I thought you said a bottle a night ... We’re not staying three weeks.”

Another laugh. “It’s wine. It won’t spoil. What we don’t drink comes home with me.”

“Okay...”

“Keep the ticket. I’ll pay you back.”

“I’ll just deduct it from your Christmas present,” I laughed back.

We checked out, loaded the remainder of the groceries, putting the meat in an ice chest I’d brought along for the purpose.

She eyed it. “I was wondering. Shoulda known. Good ol’ capable Brad.”

“Boring ol’ Brad,” I returned.

“Not boring. Stable. Good brother. All that.”

“Well, I wanted the meat to last. That frozen turkey roast will keep the rest cool.” We’d brought one of those horrible processed little turkey roasts, part of our concession to Thanksgiving dinner.

The trip to the cabin was an hour-plus drive. It went fast because she plugged her iPhone into the sound system and pulled up some old country songs we could sing along with.

We checked in at the ranger station, got the keys.

“Here you go, Mister Bennett. Hope you an’ the missus have a great holiday.”

“Thank you,” Becky said brightly.

We walked out and got into the car.

“You didn’t correct him.”

“A. None of his business. B. Doesn’t matter. And C. For a lot of my life you and I had the same last name. Besides, think about it – it’s a lot more normal for a man and wife to rent one of these things for a week than a brother and a sister.”

“True,” I said.

Short drive through the park to the cabin. Back up close to the door. Unload, putting a few things away, leaving the rest in boxes.

After the brief flurry in the kitchen Becky turned and said, “Let’s check out the accommodations.” Three bedrooms. One had a queen bed, obviously the master bedroom. The two other bedrooms, one had a single and a double, the other had a pair of bunk beds.

She bounced on the single, then the double, and then pushed past me and bounced on the queen.

“This one’s the best of the bunch.”

“The others are bad?”

“Just not this good.”

“I’ll take the other one.”

She smiled. “We can trade. You get this one tonight, and tomorrow I get it.”

“Okay ... That’s a good idea. But seriously – take this one. I don’t mind...”

“Nope,” she popped brightly, “we’ll trade.”

We agreed on sandwiches, then decided on a walk around the park before lunch. The skies were speckled with high clouds, heavier in the northwest, presaging a change in the weather. By the time we got back, the skies were leaden, a cool damp breeze from the south shaking the canopy of leaves overhead. Lunch was pleasant. Soft drinks, sandwiches.

Worsening conditions persisted, but we did another short walk in a different direction, talking about Mom and Dad and childhood memories, about adulthood, marriage, hers being good, mine being somewhat less than stellar.

“Told you she wasn’t the right one from Day One,” she said.

“I know. Thought you were doing that ‘jealous little sister’ thing. Or just being a brat...”

“I loved my big brother. I knew that wasn’t Miss Right.”

“I didn’t know the difference between ‘Miss Right’ and ‘Miss Right Now’. I tried too hard for too many years to make it work.”

“I know you did. I kept praying that it would get better. I think it got worse.”

“It did. Last couple of years, I think she was cheating on me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Probably people at work...”

“People? Not ‘guys’?”

“People,” I said. “Of course, that girl she ran the roads with, she might have been settin’ Linda up with guys. Or not.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Let’s change the subject. Whatcha been reading lately?”

“Nothing spectacular. Actually started going back through some Pratchett.”

“I do that,” she said. “I get too excited reading the first time, so when I go back, it’s more leisurely, and I get more ... Lots of things I missed the first time.” She looked at me, familiar blue eyes soft, calm. “Let’s go back and spend the evening reading.”

“Let’s go back,” I said.

I felt like I was twelve again, helping out Mom in the kitchen, Becky being my annoying little sister, but between the two of us, we put together a meal. I can do some things with a few spices and some chicken breasts and cheese and bread crumbs and she’s mastered baking potatoes.

Actually, she’s a GOOD cook, but the ‘baking potatoes’ comment produced the same squeals that I used to generate when I picked at her when we were kids.

We popped the first bottle of wine, a nice white, with the dinner. After we cleaned up after dinner, there was little left.

She dipped into one of the cardboard boxes. “This one should be good. Open it.”

“Second bottle?”

“Feelin’ adventurous,” she said. “Pour me a glass.”

I poured each of us a glass. We each grabbed something to read. I had my iPad, she had a Kindle. I got the recliner, leaving her to stretch out on the sofa. She did that. Emphasis on the ‘stretch’, then, “You know, I think I’m gonna shower and put on my flannel pajamas so I can ease off to bed later.”