Part III

He doesn't need my apology, Nicole told herself whilst applying a deep shade of red on her lips. Not many girls would chance the color, but she knew she could get away with it. She squinted so she could read its title, "Stunning." She blotted with tissue and hoped it had that affect. That morning she'd quickly set her hair in curlers after peering out the window to see the snow tumbling to the ground. Since her tires didn't have the best traction, it would take her longer to drive to work.

There was nothing intentional about what I said, her inner voice continued justifying. How was I to know that a piece of fruit would conjure up so many memories, some of them painful?

Nicole opened her purse, a WalMart knockoff from what her sister had, and began surfing for her car keys so she could dash outside and start the ignition. Julia left earlier that morning, when the sky was dark as writer's ink.

As the gold metal fell into her hands, she noticed the Lumina's emblem with a shutter and said aloud, "At least I'm not commuting by bus." There's high society in me yet.

Just as she began reminding herself of what awaited her: long-stemmed wine glasses, dueling piano bars, and Broadway shows, Nicole was convicted as she'd been reminded last night her ancestors had nothing of that nature. They might enjoy a waltz around the living room when their seven children were snug in their beds or ever so rarely enjoy a warm cup of coffee at the Ma & Pa shop down the road, but that was it.

Here you go again, she chided herself, making yourself feel guilty for something that is not your fault. She shook her head at her reflection and thought how unlike her it was to feel guilty.

Soon as she buttoned her black wool coat, wrapped a winter white scarf around her neck and stepped outdoors, she saw the falling snow had become a torrent. Setting her teeth, she quickly moved to the car and shuffled into the driver's seat. If her shift didn't start in 20 minutes, she wouldn't bother driving at all. But as she had no choice, she placed her hands at the wheel and glanced at the guardian angel charm hanging from the rear view mirror. "Help me," she said aloud before setting her foot on the gas.

1934

Even though an extra log was thrown on the fire once their father arrived home, Ed could feel his teeth click as he lay beneath the covers. Though not able to see the three brothers he shared a room with, he knew they were sleeping soundly. He could hear Peter snore to a hum, and the others were still as logs in a forgotten forest.

The perfect quiet was distilled when Ed heard the door crack and saw a shrouded figure enter his room. While unnerving to realize he wasn't the only one awake, he wasn't entirely startled because he knew which out of all his siblings would trespass in his room at night.

Missy sat at the foot of his twin-size bed and let the top comforter fall to the tops of her shoulders. She held a candle in her right hand, but attempted to shield it so the entire room wouldn't become illuminated by the flame. "Come with me," she said, more of a demand than a request.

"No," Ed said, indenting his head deeper in his pillow.

At ten years old he was already stronger than she so he wasn't threatened in the least bit when he felt her five bony fingers around his wrist. Besides, if he really wanted to, he could have raised his voice above a whisper and instantly awakened one of his brothers who would tell Missy to "get." They'd have no tolerance for her conniving antics, especially at unforeseen times of night. But there was something dire in her tone that made him throw the covers back and set his resistant feet to the floorboards.

"Shhh," she whispered, pinning the afghan around her shoulders and holding the door so its springs wouldn't protest on them.

"You better have a good reason for waking me up," Ed said, annoyed despite his curiosity.

"You weren't asleep, Eddy," Missy reminded, her voice a condescending lull. She held the candle in front of them and walked ahead so her younger brother wouldn't see how glassy her eyes were, how she was doing everything she could to prevent tears from shattering her face like glass.

"Where are we going?" Ed asked, eager to know why she'd risked waking the boys up to tell him something.

Missy held her head high, elongated as a swan, and didn't dare move it until they'd reached their destination site. "There," she said, pointing to the living room side table. "Open Mother's Bible in the drawer."

Edward felt his throat clench and almost chided his sister for being such a high-class snoop. Yet, knowing he couldn't risk fighting her without waking others in the house up, he reached for his mother's Bible.

The huge old family Bible was kept safely away from children and other hazards. If not for seeing his mother pore over the whisper-thin pages late at night, Ed would have forgotten that she had it.

"Sometimes she keeps notes inside," Missy explained, taking the volume from her brother's hands and beginning to shuffle through the pages. "I noticed her writing a lot the other night when I got up to get a drink of water and thought I'd take a look."

Angered at his sister's dabbling and fearful of what he was about to find, Ed glowered at Missy, "You had no right to look at Mom's Bible."

"It isn't hidden," she said, defending herself. Ed noticed the candle waver in her hand, though, and decided to hurry up and take a glance at whatever his sister was so troubled about. He knew it'd be impossible to fall asleep without knowing.

"Here," Missy said, handing him the thin pages of scrap paper. "Start here," she said, using her index finger to show him what she'd found.

Against the candlelight, Ed struggled to read his mother's elegant cursive for a moment, but then it all became clear. The lines leaping off the page were: Please give me resilience as my body fails and my condition only worsens/ Let me place my trust in your perfect plan as doctor's bills interfere with family needs: glasses for Mark, dentist appointments for all, Christmas gifts..."

"I can't read this anymore," Ed said, his throat strained so that it hurt to swallow. "We shouldn't have seen this at all," he folded the pages up and tucked them back in the Bible. Distrusting his older sister, he ensured he was the one to seal it in the side table drawer, and once that was finished, he took off for the hall. But lest he stumble over a waylaid baseball bat or trip over a shoe in the hallway, he had to wait for the candlelight held in his sister's hand.

"Maybe I shouldn't have looked," Missy said, feeling a tear fall on her waxen face, "but I needed to know. Didn't you? Ed," she said gripping the sleeve of his flannel pajamas. "What do you think we should do?"

"I don't know," he said aloud, but what he really meant was: I'll think of something.