“He’s okay.”
Juliana turned away from the night as Margaret stepped out onto the porch. Her sister walked to her and threw her arms around her.
“I know it’s tough when you see him like that for the first time. I remember I couldn’t sleep for days. I had this knot wound up in my stomach.” Margaret released her and looked into her eyes. Juliana saw the roadmap of worry there, outlined in red. Her sister looked so much older than thirty-two. “You’ll get used to it.”
“So he’s not …?”
“Dead? Not yet,” Margaret said. “I keep praying it won’t be long now. Either God has to cure him or take him home, but this can’t go on. It breaks my heart to see him like this.” Her bottom lip wobbled and Margaret burst into tears.
She was five years older than Juliana and had always been the caring big sister. It had always been her crying on Margaret’s shoulder and very rarely the other way around. Juliana hugged her sister and tried not to cry, too. That would have been far too much to bear.
Suddenly the front door opened and their mother peered out.
“Oh, there you two are,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Margaret said, pulling away from Juliana and wiping her eyes.
Their mother smiled at them and wrapped her arms around them both. “It’s great to have the family together again.”
Like a mother hen, she steered her daughters back inside to the light and warmth. “Come on. Let’s get some dinner,” their mother said. “Peter set the table all by himself.”
Margaret smiled. “He’s really great, you know. He just looks …”
“Dim?” Juliana offered and pulled a funny face.
Margaret stuck her tongue out at her.
Their mother smiled.
Dinner was stew. It was good, though the chef in Juliana wished it had just a tad more to it. There should be a crunch to the texture and a zing in the flavor. She would have added a little chili, if it was hers, and not cooked the carrots to mush. Still, it was a meal made by someone else, and that was a blessing right now. She hadn’t realized how tired and hungry she was until she sat down, so she was only dimly aware of conversation happening around her.
“Jules?”
She looked up to find three sets of eyes watching her. “What?”
“Ma asked you a question,” Margaret said.
“Sorry, I was miles away,” Juliana said. “What was the question?”
“I just wanted to know how long you were planning to stay for?” their mother said, holding a spoonful of stew halfway to her mouth. “You certainly brought a big enough bag.”
“My contract ended at the resort in Alaska. It’s really only a winter job,” Juliana said. “So, I was heading back to warmer climes anyway. Um … I guess I don’t really have a plan right now. If you don’t have room, I’m sure I can find one at the Goose, or the Hotel.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” her mother said, still holding her spoon. Some stew dripped back into her bowl. “I was just wondering. I moved my art stuff out of the den, so you can have a room. That’s all.”
“What about Margie’s old room?” Juliana asked, wondering if her mother was ever going to get her spoon all the way to her mouth.
“Well, that’s the study now. There are so many files and papers in there … I suppose I can move it all out again, though I wouldn’t know where to start or to put all of that,” her mother said. “I’m just not sure where to put my latest statue. It’s not finished yet and is quite large.”
“Where is it now?” Margaret asked.
“Peter helped me move it into the sitting room. Of course, it can’t stay there,” she said, and finally put the spoon in her mouth.
“You can stay with us,” Margaret said, turning to Juliana. “I’ll put the boys in Ryan’s room and you can have Bryce’s. There’s a decent bed in there. That’s okay, right, Peter?”
He nodded. “It’s fine. I’m sure the boys won’t mind.”
“No!” their mother protested, after hastily swallowing.
“Why not?” Margaret asked, huffing.
“Because I won’t let it be said I kicked one of my children out,” their mother said. She shook her head and smiled. “You know you’re always welcome here, dear.”
Juliana sighed and rolled her eyes. “No, actually, I don’t. I haven’t been welcome here since I was nineteen!” She stood up, pushing her chair back and letting it scrape the wooden floor.
“Julie!” Margaret moaned. “Come on. She didn’t mean it like that.”
“Oh, yes, she did!” their mother said hotly. “You ran away! You left, just like that! And you never even called to see how we were!”
“You don’t know anything about me or what I’ve done! You don’t get to judge me!” Juliana screamed, and stormed out of the room.
As she stood in the hall, not sure where to go, she heard Margaret say, “Oh, well done, Ma. She did call. She called me every week, and Dad. It’s just you she didn’t speak to, and you wonder why. Come on, Peter. We’re going home.”
A moment later, Margaret and Peter emerged from the dining room. They grabbed their coats and Peter took Juliana’s bag out to their car parked in front of the house.
“You can’t stay here,” Margaret said, before Juliana could say anything. “Come home with us. At least then I won’t have World War III to clean up.”