I folded my arms across my chest, frowning down at my sandaled feet. “You promised,” I muttered.
She sighed softly. “Christine, I am sorry. But I promised my parents that while they were on vacation, I would visit our neighbors. You know that my mother checks on the Howell’s almost every day, and that she is expecting me to help them out while she and my father are away.”
“Can’t you check on them later? I mean, it’s not like they can’t go one day without your help.”
She always puts everything before me.
“Christine, I will go visit with them for a few minutes, see if they need anything, and then we can go.” She came behind me, waiting for me to turn to her.
Instead, I scuffed my sandal in the slightly dry grass and frowned. “By then it’ll be too late. I have to go home soon.”
“You still have two hours before your mother comes to pick you up.” She paused. “Christine, you are being childish.”
“What do you know?” I snapped, stomping my foot on the browning lawn. “You’re the one who’s always crying!” I stopped, covering my mouth with both hands.
Why did I say that?
She did not answer or even make a sound; but I felt her take a step back and turn away from me. Without looking, I knew that I had hurt her deeply by admitting that I had seen her cry.
“Sis—I’m sorry.” I finally turned to look at her, all my temper fading as I saw her slumped shoulders. “I—I didn’t mean it.”
“No?” she whispered. “I know that I have not been there for you lately.”
I shook my head, my blonde hair brushing my cheeks. “That’s not it!” I paused.
Then, why am I so angry? Why do I keep saying things that hurt her?
“It is all right, Christine. I understand.”
Taking a step forward, I wrapped my arms around her waist and buried my face against her back. “No! No, you don’t! I don’t even understand! I’m the only one who knows what happened and...” I began to cry. “I’m the one who keeps hurting you.”
After a moment, she covered my hands with her own and chuckled. “Christine...” She turned and knelt, taking me in her arms and stroking my hair. “My silly, little sister. I am not upset with you. I told you my story because I knew you would understand.”
“But I know it hurts you when I talk about it and I keep mentioning it to you and—”
She pulled away and looked at me seriously. “Christine, you are fourteen years old. I told you about my dream because I knew that you were mature enough to understand. Was I wrong?”
“N-no.”
For the first time in a long time, I saw her smile. But it was not the smile that I remembered. It was kinder, softer, more mature. Yet, her eyes were haunted with grief and pain.
Her smile doesn’t meet her eyes.
“Then, there is no need for you to cry,” she whispered, brushing the tears away from my face. “Come now, dry those fog-blue eyes.”
I hiccupped and laughed, rubbing my eyes with the backs of my hands. “Thanks, Sis.”
Her smile still did not quite reach her eyes. “Go on. I promise I will join you in a minute.”
“All right.” Summoning a grin, I hugged her, then quickly ran into the woods behind her house, trying to keep the smile on my face.
It’s not fair! Why am I the last person she thinks about? Why does she always put others before me?
Pausing to get my bearings, I found the well-beaten trail and headed further into the woods, my sandaled feet rustling in the dry grass.
Dear God, I know I should try to see this like she does, but...why can’t I understand? I know I told her that I did, but I’m only fourteen! How can I understand things like she does? How can I understand her pain if I don’t even know what love is?
I broke into a run and began to cry. I cried for being so cruel to her. I cried for the pain that I knew she felt. And I cried because I knew that I was being a selfish girl.
I slowed as branches slapped my face. Coming to a stop, I bent over and drew in heaving breaths, tears still falling to the forest floor. When my tears finally stopped, I took the hem of my shirt and wiped at my streaked cheeks. I heard a sound behind me, and I turned around. “Sis?” I called.
But no one answered.
Sniffling, I frowned when I noticed that I was no longer on the path.
Just what I need. Good thing I can’t get lost out here.
Something crashed in the brush behind me and I whirled around, my hair falling over my eyes. “Who’s there?” My voice came out small and weak.
Again, no one answered.
“I should head back,” I murmured, brushing the hair from my eyes and I began searching for the trail. The faint smell of long-forgotten garbage drifted past me and I scowled. “Where is that coming from?”
This time I almost expected the sound, and I turned in time to see someone dashing through a small grove of trees to my left. Without thinking, I gave chase. I hopped over a fallen log and clambered through the tall brush, ignoring the pain from the sharp brambles hidden within.
“Wait up!” I cried, thinking it was—
Something struck my back with enough force to push me down, and I gasped as my knee met a tree root and I skinned my elbow.
“Ouch.” I felt tears well up in my eyes as I looked at my bloody knee.
I looked around, but I did not see or hear anything. After a moment, I slowly got to my feet. My knee throbbed as I put weight on it. Glancing down, I groaned as I saw blood on my pale green shorts. “Mom is going to kill me,” I whispered, bending to fold up the shorts and stem the flow of blood.
I did not even hear someone walk up behind me until it was too late.