Bones of the Sea

When it storms along the shore, I watch the waves. I hear low bellows echoing off the low clouds, and I see dim shapes dark against a dark sky. I wait for Siobhan to return.

****

When I went home for my father's funeral, I found Siobhan a shadow of the woman she would become. At twelve my sister was tall and skinny, her lanky hair covering dark, haunted eyes. She stared through the visitors at the funeral home as they passed the casket and when I told her she would live with me, she didn't even blink. It took her less than an hour to pack.

The trip back to my house was silent. I drove with the radio low, Siobhan staring out the window at the steady drizzle that accompanied us from Pennsylvania into New Jersey. Despite storm warnings, the ferry still ran between the mainland and the island where I live. Because the water was choppy we sat in the car, watching the waves break against the sides of the boat. The hour ride seemed to take much longer but when we docked the sun still peeked around dark, threatening clouds. I was glad we made it home before the sky opened.

I helped Siobhan take her bags up to her room. I set them down on her bed and she went to the window, opening it wide. A cool breeze whipped back the curtains, blowing up for the storm. Leaning on the sill, she looked out at the ocean. I started to unpack her bags. "What do you see?" I asked.

She shrugged but didn't answer. She still wasn't talking to me.

I pulled her wrinkled clothes from the bags and smoothed them out on the bed as best I could. Siobhan stayed at the window. The past few days had been a blur of people and emotions -- she would want to catch her breath, get situated. "There's a storm brewing," I cautioned, leaving her door open as I left. "Be sure to close the window when it starts."

Behind me I only heard the wind outside and the sea crashing against the sand.

****