Free Little Sister by Patricia MacDonald Page A

she reminded herself. You have a lot to do. This entire house has to be cleaned out. The thought of it was so depressing that she closed her eyes again.
    But sleep was beyond her now. She felt sluggish, as if her heart were barely beating, but she forced herself out of bed and toward the bathroom. You have to face it sooner or later, she thought. She opened the door of the bedroom and heard sounds from downstairs. She hoped, briefly, that Francie was on her way out.
    When she had dressed and gone downstairs, she was surprised to find her sister still in the kitchen. Beth looked at the clock. It was nearly noon, although she felt as exhausted as if she hadn’t slept at all.
    “Good morning,” she said.
    “Morning,” said Francie.
    “How did you sleep?”
    “All right. I was tired.”
    “It was a long day.” Beth agreed with a yawn.
    Beth went over to the refrigerator and looked inside. “God, there’s nothing to eat in this house.”
    “Sorry,” said Francie sarcastically.
    Beth ignored the sarcasm. She blinked at the meager contents, trying to assemble a meal in her imagination from what was there. “Is that little market on Main Street open today? I want to go get a few things.”
    “Not on Sunday,” Francie said incredulously, as if Beth had asked if it were a good day for the beach.
    “No, I suppose not.” Beth sighed. She reached into the refrigerator and sniffed at the carton of milk.
    “It’s good,” said Francie indignantly.
    “Look,” said Beth, “no one expects you to have kept up on the groceries at a time like this.”
    Francie made a little grunting sound, but Beth could tell she was mollified.
    “What about in Harrison? Anything open there?”
    Francie nodded. “There’s a big shopping center with a supermarket that’s open every day.”
    Beth shook her head. “Times have changed.”
    Francie got up and put her dishes in the sink as Beth shook some dry cereal into a bowl. “The Seven-Eleven is open Sundays too,” said Francie.
    “Well,” said Beth, “there’s a better choice at the supermarket. After I eat this, I’m going to take a ride over there. Do you want to go with me?”
    Francie hesitated, balancing on one foot in the doorway like a crane. “I guess so,” she said.
    “All right,” said Beth. “I’ll be finished in a few minutes.”
    Visiting the Harrison Shop-Rite in a car was a luxury to Beth, who was used to carrying home a single bag from the crowded neighborhood grocery on her corner in the city. When she was entertaining, she would sometimes have a large order delivered, but as a rule, a single bag every few days sufficed.
    “Family size everything,” Beth exclaimed, hefting a huge jar of tomato sauce in wonderment.
    Francie, who was dawdling along behind the cart, turned her head away and made a face. “Very funny,” she muttered.
    “I think it’s great,” said Beth. “I’m not making fun of it.”
    “Who cares?” said Francie.
    Beth made a clicking sound with her teeth and shoved the cart on down the aisle. The Muzak in the store cheerfully played on as they cruised the aisles, covering up their lack of conversation. Occasionally Beth consulted the girl about what she liked, but Francie was unwilling to give an opinion and kept insisting that she didn’t care.
    “Did Dad do the grocery shopping for the two of you?” Beth asked.
    “No,” said Francie shortly, “I did. While he went to the Laundromat.” Beth thought she heard the girl’s voice catch in her throat, but Francie had already walked over to the magazine section and was flipping through a rock magazine.
    When Beth pushed the cart up to her, Francie eyed the cart, which was half full of ill-assorted items. “Can we get out of here?” she asked.
    Beth nodded, realizing all at once that her sister had painful associations of her father here in this homogeneous, well-lit, unremarkable supermarket. She felt a stab of pity for the girl and a sudden urge to do something conciliatory,