The Last Sister (Columbia River)(33)

Flames of yellow and orange hovered near the sun as it seemed to touch the water. She set her chin on her knees, willing the sun to slow.

Flames. Madison woke as her bedroom window flashed with light, and she blinked at the odd glow. Emily’s bed was empty, and patterns flickered across the bed and up their bedroom walls. Madison stood, balancing on the foot of her bed to see out the window. Fear froze her in place, her fingers gripping the windowsill. The bushes against the house were on fire. Through the smoke and flames, she spotted Emily in her nightgown, but she faced away from the house, looking toward the woods. Her sister took several steps, picked up something from the grass, and clutched it to her chest, her profile now clear to Madison. Emily stared across the yard, and Madison followed her gaze.

Her mother ran among the firs at the far edge of the yard, the light from the fire catching her long, blonde hair. Suddenly the flames flared below Madison’s window, nearly reaching the roof. Madison lost her balance and fell backward onto her mattress, losing her breath. And then Emily was inside, tugging at her arm. “Wake up! Fire! We’ve got to get out of the house!”

The sky around the sinking sun turned the deep orange of hot coals.

Madison hated fire with a passion.

Emily had shoved Madison out of the house and then gone to find their mother. Tara was at a friend’s. The three of them had clutched each other, watching the house burn.

Later she learned how her father had died, and her child’s heart broke in half, crushed by the loss and cruelty.

And a few days later, Tara left, and Madison blamed herself, convinced she had driven her away with her sisterly inquisitiveness.

Her mother might as well have vanished that fateful day. She became a brittle shell, a whisper of the woman she’d been, a shadow of herself.

Then she too was gone.

A third blow to her ten-year-old psyche.

Madison pushed away the deluge of old hidden emotions that threatened as she sat at the ocean’s edge.

She had learned she should never share her heart with another. People left. People died. It hurt. It was best not to become attached.

The aunts tried their best to fill the empty family-shaped holes around Madison, and she loved them for it. But their presence was not the same.

“Is that you, Madison?”

Madison lowered her legs and swung around to face the woman, her elbows and feet ready to strike. She’d instantly recognized the voice but couldn’t stop her reaction.

The old woman in the long, padded coat stumbled backward. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to scare you. I don’t like to scare people.” She covered her face with her hands.

Madison’s spine relaxed, and her heartbeat slowed. “It’s okay, Alice. I was just startled.”

It was another Bartonville loner.

Over her thick knit scarf, Alice Penn gave a toothy smile—more of a grimace that flashed her teeth without projecting warmth. Alice was harmless.

Alice had wandered Bartonville for as long as Madison could remember, living in a tiny house near the abandoned seafood processing plant. Rumor had it that her lover had died in a fishing boat accident, and that she’d walked the docks since then, waiting for him to return. Madison knew the story was false. She’d talked frequently with Alice, and even though Alice wasn’t mentally all there, she was fully aware he was dead.

The woman’s mind skipped and jumped around between decades. Sometimes she believed she was in high school, her parents still living. Other times she believed she was late for her cleaning job at a hotel that had closed a decade ago. Some days she knew Madison’s name; other days Alice called her a name from some shadow of her past.

Around Alice, Madison didn’t feel compelled to hide.

She could be herself.

Alice’s bent, shuffling form was a familiar sight on the streets of Bartonville and surrounding towns. Alice walked every day, no matter the weather, and often ended up on the bench that Madison loved. Sometimes Alice would talk the entire time they sat; other times she was silent.

Alice’s family was gone, but the people of Bartonville looked after her. Madison brought her leftover food from the restaurant, and Leo, the diner’s cook, made sure her house was stable and secure.

Tonight appeared to be a silent night instead of a talkative one. Alice sat quietly on the far end of the bench, with as much room as possible between herself and Madison. Alice mumbled about being late and missing the best part of the sunset, but her eyes locked on the vibrant slivers of its remains, barely blinking. Several minutes later the light was nearly gone, leaving a dark-lavender sky that steadily grew darker.

Alice sighed and pushed to her feet. “A good day. A very good day today. I hope your day was as blessed as mine, Madison.”

She had the voice of a young woman.

“It wasn’t too bad,” Madison replied.

Alice tilted her head, her eyes nearly invisible in the dimming light. “I don’t hear joy in your words, Madison. How can you watch the heavens outdo every sunset of their past and say your day wasn’t too bad?”

Because my closest friend was murdered. And I think I may have let her down before she died. Why didn’t Lindsay tell me what was going on with her?

Why didn’t I ask?

“You’re right. It was amazing.”

“Good. Good. Good. That’s better. Now. We had both best be going. I don’t want to be late for the meeting at the church.” She steadied herself with one hand on the back of the bench.