Taran shakes her head and then pushes a large black suitcase forward. It’s not mine.
“What’s that?” I point to the suitcase.
“That’s mine.”
Hope springs forward.
“Wait, are you staying?”
“I don’t think I have a choice in the matter,” she says. “I was going to see how this plays out, but from the few short minutes we’ve been here, I can confidently state that I can’t trust you to take care of Aunt Cindy on your own.”
I clasp my hands together in excitement. “Great, then should I just take off?” I thumb behind me toward the door. “I mean, weird that you brought me all the way here just to tell me that you’re going to take care of everything, but you have demonstrated a flair for the dramatic every now and then.”
“You’re not leaving—we’re doing this together.” She starts carting her large black suitcase up the stairs.
“Um, care to repeat that?” I say while moving toward the stairs to watch my sister manhandle her suitcase, which is three-quarters her size, up the wooden steps.
When she reaches the top, she stares down at me. “Depending on what the hospital says about my request for time off, there might be days that I have to drive back into Denver for a day or two of work. I need you to stay here with Aunt Cindy, but I refuse to let you do this alone, given your inexperience in taking care of anything.”
“Pardon me,” I say with a stomp of my foot. “But do you not recall how I’ve raised Alexander? He’s flourishing. And because Harriot, my neighbor, is taking care of him while I’m here, he will continue to flourish.”
“Comparing our Aunt Cindy to a ficus is not even close to the same thing, Storee.”
I cross my arms over my chest in defiance. “Says the person who bought Alexander a birthday present this year.”
“You asked me to grab some fertilizer when I came out to visit you. I highly disagree with calling that a birthday gift.”
“It was his birthday, and you brought it to him. I see it differently.”
With another roll of her eyes, she pushes her suitcase toward the red room.
“Uh, what are you doing?” I ask, heading up the stairs as quickly as my frozen legs will take me.
“Being productive…unlike you,” she says.
With my pillow still tucked under my arm, I reach the top of the stairs. “You know the red room is mine.”
Taran stands in front of the doorway, her five-foot-seven frame just an inch taller than me, but from the straight set in her spine and staunch attitude, she seems almost like she’s seven feet tall, staring down at me, the oblivious peon.
“The red room is bigger.”
“Well aware, as that’s why I always stayed in it.” I thumb behind me again and add, “That nightmare of a room is yours.”
“Nope, not this time,” she says.
I take a hesitant step forward. “Taran, you know I can’t sleep in there.”
“You’re older now—you’ll be fine.”
“I won’t be,” I say in a panic. “They…they come alive.”
“Oh my God, Storee, seriously, you need to grow up.” She pushes through the door of the red room with her bag while I chase after her, heat enveloping my ears and cheeks.
“I am grown up, and I’m even more hyper aware of what that room has to offer. The nightmares…the exorcism it needs to cleanse the air.”
Taran opens her suitcase and starts unpacking, loading up the provided dresser with her clothes. The red room is a familiar comfort with its red walls, red carpet, red curtains, and red bedding. Every Christmas, Taran and I would share this room, the trundle under the bed an easy pull out for her to sleep on. Originally, the nightmare room was Taran’s, andshe was fine with it. Mom and Dad would sleep in the room next to the red room, but once Aunt Cindy turned that into her own personal gym, Taran started sleeping on the trundle in the red room with me while Mom and Dad took…the other room.
“Fine, I’ll just sleep on the trundle,” I say, finding my way around it.
