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Susannah stared at her clock, trying to figure out how it could be 4:43 with the sun shining through her window.
She rubbed her eyes then jerked herself fully awake. What was going on? Had something happened to Kitty?
She grabbed her phone. 4:43. It didn’t make sense.
Unless it was the afternoon. Had she fallen asleep while her sister napped?
“Kitty?” she called out, straining her ears for sounds of snoring. “You ok?”
No response.
She jumped out of bed, ignoring the dizzy spinning in her head and the groggy heaviness in her body. She plodded down the hall to Kitty’s room. “You in here?”
Kitty was on her side, her back facing the door. How long had Susannah been sleeping? Nearly two hours? How could she have gotten that exhausted in the first place?
“Kitty?” she whispered, trying not to startle her sister. “Kitty?”
She touched her on the shoulder. No response.
Hurrying to the other side of the bed, she peered into her sister’s face. “You awake?”
A single, silent tear shined in the pre-dusk sunlight streaming in from the window. Susannah wiped it away instinctively. Fighting down waves of self-loathing for sleeping that long, she knelt by the bedside. “What’s wrong? You feeling sad today? Did you think I’d gone out? I’m sorry. I just needed a quick rest. I wasn’t trying to leave you all alone. Here, do you want me to switch the tape over for you? Are you ready for more Odyssey?”
Kitty stared at the wall, and Susannah turned to look, half expecting to find something there. “What is it?” she asked. “Does your tummy hurt?”
A pout. No.
“Are you wet? Do we need to get you changed?”
A scowl.
“Were you worried that I was gone for too long?”
No.
“What’s wrong then?” She tried to follow her sister’s eyes, which were now focused on the nightstand. Susannah picked up the picture of her mom at least ten years younger and twenty pounds lighter than she’d been when she died.
“Is that it?” she asked. “Do you miss Mom?”
Blink.
Susannah reached out and stroked Kitty’s cheek. Her skin was clammy.
“I miss her too.” Most days, Susannah would force cheer into her voice and say something like, But at least we can thank Jesus that one day we’ll all be together again, or I’m glad that we have each other still, aren’t you?
But today, all she had the energy to do was stroke her sister’s tear-streaked face and repeat, “I miss her too.”