“Sybil,” she says flatly.
My sister’s hands are trembling as she unfolds her paper. She glances at me, defiance gleaming in her eyes.
No, Billy.I’mthe one who burns The Witch…not you.
But it’s too late.
“A Time for Thanksgiving,” Sybil begins, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
Evelyn’s head snaps toward her.
“I am grateful for the moon,” Sybil reads, “because it signals that the day is over. I am grateful for every night’s sleep because it is the only escape I have. I am grateful for hunger, because it reminds me I am still alive, even when I wish I was dead.”
“Sybil—” Evelyn rasps.
But my sister keeps reading.
“I am grateful for my thirteenth birthday, because it means I was strong enough to survive into my teens. I am gratefulfor books, because they show me that happiness still exists somewhere in the world.”
“That’s enough.”
“I am grateful for my brother, because he is the only person who has ever?—”
“I said,enough!”
Evelyn slams her glass down so hard it shatters. Wine and blood splatter on the white tablecloth, but our mother doesn’t seem to notice.
“You want to know whatI’mgrateful for?” She’s on her feet now, swaying slightly, her voice rising to a shriek. “Nothing! I have two ungrateful, hateful children who have ruined my life! After everything I’ve sacrificed? My career, my freedom, my happiness! This is the thanks I get?”
She sweeps her arm across the table, sending dishes crashing to the floor.
“I could have been someone!” she shrieks. “I could have had a life! But instead, I’m trapped here in this house with a pair of parasites!”
Sybil is crying now, silent tears streaming down her face, but she doesn’t back down.
“I haven’t finished,” she says quietly.
Evelyn freezes. “What did you say?”
“I’m not finished.” Sybil’s murmur somehow fills the room.
For a moment, I think Evelyn is going to kill her right there.
I grab a knife from the table and hold it at my side where our mother can’t see.
“Don’t you dare,” Evelyn hisses.
Sybil looks down at her paper. Her hands are shaking so badly the words must be swimming.
“I am grateful,” she whimpers through a fresh set of tears, “that I b-believe in God. Because God promises us that allsuffering will end. And G-God promises that there is something better waiting for those who endure it.”
She looks up, meeting Evelyn’s eyes.
I’ve never had more respect for my sister than at this moment. The courage it must take her to stare down our evil matriarch is awe-inspiring.
“But most of all, I’m grateful—“ her throat moves like she’s fighting back a sob “—that this life is temporary.”
The Witchcackles.
