“Thanks.”
When I got to my sister’s room the door was open. From where I stood I could see homemade cards sitting on a small table by the window, and just a couple feet away Mary was lying on the bed, her eyes closed.
She looked older, but still beautiful. Her blonde hair fell over her chest in a long braid. I smiled, thinking how she and I were the only ones who’d gotten our mother’s hair and blue eyes.
She was so pale, and her lips were pursed like she was hurting. I could see her chest moving slowly up and down as shetook deep breaths. Her body held tightly, bracing it for pain. I knocked softly on the door and she opened her eyes, turning her head toward me.
When she saw me, a huge smile blossomed on her face.
“Jude, you’re here.” She raised her hand, beckoning me to her. “It’s been so long, little brother.”
I lifted my hand and walked in, trying to smile.
“Hi, Mary.” I sat in a chair next to her bed, the container of cookies still in my hands. I raised them, so she could see. “I made you cookies, your favorite.” As I handed them to her I realized she may not be up for eating them.
She opened the lid and inhaled. The smell of chocolate and butter filling the space between us.
“You were always the only one who could replicate mom’s recipe to a T.” I shook my head at that.
“You’re the best baker in the family.” She smiled again but didn’t speak, just looked at me, an awkward silence settling between us.
She sighed and closed her eyes again. “I’m dying, Jude. The doctors said radiation won’t help very much, so I told them I won’t put Jesse and the kids through that. I want to at least be present and enjoy the time I have with them.” Her voice broke and she shook her head. “Just like Mama. She was two years younger than me when she died.”
I jerked my head, emotion clogging up my throat. “I know. I’m so sorry, Mary.”
“Well.” She laughed. “You’re not alone in that. How I’ve missed you.” She reached out and took my hand, when I closed mine around hers I almost flinched. Her skin felt so cold and papery, and I remembered how scared I’d been when she’d been sick the last time. How I’d driven from college to see her every weekend.
“You and the twins were our first kids, you know? Everyone would ask why Jesse and I waited so long to start a family. I would laugh and tell them we started raising one the day we brought you all to our house.” She sighed heavily and squeezed my hand again. “We pray for you, every day. We pray you’re all right, and that you find your way back to us.”
As much as my heart ached from missing my sister, the thought of that, of having to go back to denying who I was, made me feel sick. Since talking to Jesse on Sunday, I feared seeing Mary would make me yearn to be in the fold of my family again. But being here with her now, I knew I could never go back.
It hurt to know she’d never see me the same way again, even though I was the same Jude she’d held and sang to every night for months after Mom died. The same one she asked to be the godfather to her child.
It struck me how sad it was that this one thing about me could be more important than everything else. I wondered if there would ever be a way for me to explain to her or any of my family how wretched and small it made us all.
Mary’s voice brought me out of all my sad thoughts.
“Are you still out in Ithaca? Esther said you were working at the county library there. Always book crazy like me.” A wistful smile formed on her lips.
I nodded, grateful for the change of topic. “Yes, still in the book business. It’s a good place to work. I really like Ithaca, too. It’s a nice community.” I’m not sure why I felt compelled to say that, but it seemed important to make it clear I was happy where I was. “How are the kids and the rest of the folks up there?”
“They’re good. Faith is starting seventh grade this fall. She’s a book nut too, loves to write.” A tear fell down her face, and I could tell she was working very hard not to start sobbing.
I took her hand again. “Oh, Mary.”
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. When she opened them again the stoic mask the Fuller family wore so well was firmly set on her face.
“Micah is starting fifth grade, he’s obsessed with soccer and says he wants to be a preacher. Imagine that.” The thought of little Micah being indoctrinated into the ways of our church made a shudder course through me.
“That’s great,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say. “Everyone else is the same, working, living, kids getting bigger. Our lives don’t change much year to year. Amos’ youngest just got married.”
“Wow, married.” That was the youngest of our cousins. He had to be barely twenty. I sighed, thinking about all the events I’d missed in the past few years. “I’ve missed the kids.”
“They missed their Uncle Jude, too. Faithy made her herself sick from crying after?—”
She stopped mid-sentence, grief marring her face.
I waited, knowing she was thinking of a way to talk about what happened, to explain why she had cut all contact with me. I wondered if it would still hurt. If the skin on my face would still burn with shame when she talked about “my choices.”
