Free The Last Days of Summer by Vanessa Ronan Page A

hushed.
    ‘Katie …’ Sleep thick in her voice.
    The brush stops. Katie turns. Blonde strands lifting from her shoulder with the sudden movement. ‘Shit! Sorry, Lady, I didn’t mean to wake you.’
    ‘It’s OK.’ A yawn she can’t control.
    Katie turns back to the mirror. Brush back to hair, steady once again. She watches her younger sister’s reflection. ‘Go back to sleep. I’ll only be another minute.’
    Joanne rolls onto her side, facing her sister. Fluffs the pillow up more under her head. Kicks one leg free from the tangled sheets. Shadows from the lamp cross and overlap each other on the wooden floor. Joanne can make out what some shadows are – Katie’s perfume bottle, a teddy bear, the roses hung up and dried that Josh had given Katie when he first asked her out – but other shadows are lost in darkness, and all shape is lost to Joanne’s sleep-filled eyes. ‘It’s OK. I’m not tired.’
    Katie laughs. ‘Yeah, right, kiddo.
OK
.’ And she winks at her sister in the mirror. Playful. Teasing.
    Joanne smiles. Tries to hide another yawn. Fails.
    ‘Seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy-three …’ The brushstrokes almost hypnotic on the gently glowing golden hair. It’s like Katie’s hair lights up the room. Joanne wants to touch it. Wants to comb through it with her fingers, wants to hold that light, but she knows Katie won’t let her. She never lets her play with her hair.
    ‘Katie?’
    ‘Ummmmm?’
    ‘Why do you think Mom was so cross?’
    ‘When?’
    ‘At dinner.’
    ‘Was she?’
    ‘You didn’t notice?’
    The brush pauses. Resumes. ‘Yeah, OK, I guess I did.’
    ‘Do you think she’ll take me swimming next week? I don’t understand why askin’ made her so angry.’
    ‘It wasn’t you, hon. Mom’s just going through a lot.’
    Silence stretches through the room, broken only by the distant ticking of a clock. Joanne bites a hangnail. Pulls the skin loose with her teeth and swallows it. She tastes blood from where the skin broke and sucks her finger to stop the blood spreading around the base of the nail. She likes the rubbery feel of the skin in her mouth. Works it between her teeth. A bad habit. One she’s only half trying to break.
    ‘That’s gross.’ Katie’s seen her in the mirror. Nose wrinkled in distaste. ‘That is
so
disgusting.’
    Joanne giggles, embarrassed. ‘No, it’s not!’ Still giggling, she pulls the sheets up higher to her chin. Kicks her other foot free.
    Nose still wrinkled, Katie shakes her head. ‘Ewww.’ Brush glides smoothly.
    Joanne watches, silent. Downstairs, the grandfather clock strikes the hour and its chime echoes softly through the sleeping house.
    ‘The Saunders’ new truck drove by earlier.’
    Katie’s hand freezes mid-air, brush suspended. Cautiously, she lowers it back to her hair. Resumes. Voice forced passive, steady. ‘What happened?’
    ‘Nothing. It just drove by.’
    ‘You’re sure it was that truck?’
    Joanne tosses onto her back. Suspends a leg up long into the air and looks at her foot. Indian brown with dirt
under the nails. She wonders if maybe she should start painting her nails. Like Katie does. Wonders if maybe Katie might let her borrow her polish. ‘I think so.’
    ‘You have to be sure, Joanne. This is important.’ Strain in the hoarseness of the whisper.
    Surprised, Joanne looks back to Katie. She’s turned around on her stool and is facing Joanne, leaning forward slightly, a line of worry etched into her brow. Same line Mom has, but not as deep. Joanne lowers her leg, feels the coolness of the sheet meet the arch of her foot. Likes the feeling. Curls her toes around it.
    ‘Why don’t we talk to the Saunders, Katie?’
    Her sister looks at her long and hard. A sizing-up look, and Joanne knows it. Can feel it. She wonders what it is that Katie is trying to see in her. Prays to God she finds it. Whispers, softly, ‘Please tell me.’
    Katie turns slowly back to the mirror. Picks up the brush, discarded