A tear slides down my sister’s cheek, and I have to blink back my own. “She killed her own sister?”
Nodding, I turn Omen’s hand over, bringing her other to join it and capturing them between my palms. “Yes, she did. Withoutremorse, too. But Omen, there’s more, something important that you need to know-”
“It was me, wasn’t it? The baby that was born in that cabin. That’s why Mother always hated me. Because I was never hers, I was a reminder that her husband would always love her sister more.”
The first of my tears falls from my lashes, trailing slowly down my cheek as I jerk my head. “You are the biological daughter of Grace Belmont, whom she conceived with our father.”
She cries silently, staring out over the lake as she absorbs everything I’ve revealed. Her hands remain in mine, which brings me a small piece of comfort, as selfish as the thought is. “You said you unlocked the memory, so you were there? The night I was born?” Closing my eyes, I nod sharply in response. “Thank you.”
My eyes pop open at her words, expecting anger or hatred, not gratitude. “W-what?”
Omen smiles. It’s sad, but there is no animosity in her expression. “Hannah, you were forced to witness so many acts of cruelty growing up. This is another of them. Yet you stepped in when Mother refused to raise me. Hell, you’re more of a mother to me than she ever was. Did you think I would blame you?”
“Youshould! I was there! Witnessed it all, and I never said anything!”
She uses my grip on her hands to pull me across the chair and into a hug, her arms wrapping tight around my back. “You were what, seven at the time? Living with physically and emotionally abusive parents, and left to fend for a newborn baby when you were still a kid yourself. The only person to blame is Mother. She was the adult making decisions that day. You were just forced to live with the guilt of witnessing them.”
“But…”
“You are too quick to take responsibility for others’ actions. Stop being so hard on yourself. You’re an amazing person. The best sister-mother-cousin a person could ask for.” She gives me a cheeky grin, and my fear fades away. Laughter fills the air, the deep-bellied kind that carries away your stress and leaves you breathless.
After several long minutes, I realize we’re both shivering and jump to my feet to usher her inside. She pauses at the doorway and looks back at me. “You know, it could be worse.”
“Worse than finding out the woman you thought was your mother killed your actual mother out of jealousy?” I ask dryly.
“Yeah,” she grins, “the FCDA could have walked into that cabin to find her and Colin fucking.” Horror drops my jaw as she throws open the door and walks inside, cackling like a maniac. I think I need bleach to get that image out of my brain.So gross.
“Come on, Han, I’m cold and hungry. Feed me.”
Rolling my eyes, I follow her inside. Foster is already at the kitchen island, cutting up a banana for Kaitlin. He winks when he sees me watching his forearms flex with each slice of his knife. Biting back a smile, I work my way around the counter and plaster myself to his back. He yelps when I inch my hands beneath his t-shirt and press my frigid fingers against his skin. “Fates, you’re part popsicle now!”
“I wants a popsicle! Please, please, please!”
Omen sits down beside her and places her hand on Kait’s neck. “Here’s your popsicle!” We devolve into laughter, and the somber mood from earlier dissipates. I’m sure there will be other bumps that arise from the revelations unveiled at the cabin, and we will face them together.
After Omen had left yesterday, we spent the night watching episodes of a singing competition show that Omen and Bea talked Foster into starting. I admit, it grew on me. The concept of guessing who is behind the mask made it a lot of fun.
Throughout the several episodes we binged, my thoughts kept drifting to the boxes of decor in the garage. Like all holidays, Whitlan strictly celebrated Christmas for religious purposes. There were no trees to decorate or gifts from Santa. Our house never had lights or wreaths. We got to prepare a large dinner to share with the congregation on Christmas Eve, and were forced to sit through a lengthy, hate-filled sermon on Christmas Day.
I’m excited to rewrite those memories and replace them with something fun. Not just for me, but for Kaitlin, too. Manny didn’t know this would be our first non-traumatic Christmas when he bought the tree and decorations, which makes the thought he put into them even more appealing.
Sneaking down the stairs, I double-check that Everett is still sleeping soundly, and then I head into the garage. It takes several trips to carry everything inside. The tree was heavy and difficult to manage, but I did it. Everything is here, ready to be sorted. But first, I need to wake Kaitlin.
Leaning onto her mattress, I run my fingers through her hair and whisper, “Little Bug, it’s time to wake up.” She opens her eyes, gives me a bleary look, and falls right back to sleep. Huffing a laugh, I dance my fingers over her back and sides. “Come on, sleepy. I have a surprise for you.” That gets her attention, andshe sits up to rub her face. Standing up, I offer her my arms, knowing she’ll want to be carried to the kitchen.
“What’s my ‘prise?” She asks, leaning her head against my shoulder.
“Open your eyes and look, silly goose.”
Sitting her on a stool at the island, I point to all the Christmas stuff sitting a few feet away. “What do you say we eat breakfast, and then you can help me put up all the decorations Papa Manny brought for us? We can surprise him and Papa Shepherd when they come home later.”
“Papa Manny gets to come home?” Her excitement echoes my own, minus the dancing in my seat. “Okay, Mommy! Let’s do it! I wants yogurt with lots of sprinkles.”
We eat quickly and dive into the pile, sorting everything out by type. A mess surrounds us when Foster wakes an hour later. “Well, you two look like you’re having fun!” He stops to press a kiss to both our heads on his way to the coffeepot. “Shep called. They started the discharge paperwork, so they should be home in a few hours.”
“I guess we’d better hurry then, Little Bug,” I tell Kaitlin.
Foster joins us as we assemble the tree. It’s taller than either of us, so we find a step stool in the garage to reach the top. “Whoa, it’s huge!” Kait exclaims when the pieces are all put together. “What’s next?”
