EmpressOfDarkness's blog: "Torn Part 1"

This is the first part of a new book I'm working on. 

She watched him staring out the window for what must have been the millionth time in the last month. It seemed that's all he did these days; sit at the bay window and stare. His friends would call and he'd cancel with one reason or another. They were all lies. He wasn't the brother she knew, the war took care of that, but she loved him all the same.

There was such a mixture of emotions; sometimes she was angry, wishing he would just 'snap back' and be the man she knew before all of this. Sometimes she was sad because the man he became was so distant and strange. They had been close growing up. Even into their early adult lives, they were still close. Then, he and Josh got it into their heads one day to join the Army and 'Be all they could be.'

She could understand his desire for it; the 'wanting' to help, and be a part of something bigger than oneself. She got all of that. At the same time, she couldn't picture her brother standing out in the middle of some desert or field holding a gun and pulling the trigger. The thought made her shudder.

When she and her parents picked him up from the airport, there were tears and sighs of relief. Everything she expected to feel was there. Yet, when she looked in his eyes there was something not right. Something...far away.

She watched him hug her parents and heard him tell them all the things they'd wanted to hear. “He was glad to be home, he missed them, loved them.” Yet she saw his eyes and they told another story. One she was scared to know.

The need to reach out to him was stronger with each passing day. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to do it. She wanted him to know he wasn't alone. So, instead, she watched from the doorway of her parents' home, their home.

This was the same house they grew up in. The furniture was more modern than it was when they first moved in 25 years ago, but the air about it was the same. The tree he appeared to be staring at was the one he pushed her out of when she was 9 and she was trying to get into his clubhouse. It wasn't a real clubhouse; a few boards that dad gave him and Josh to use, that was all. No ceiling, no walls, just a floor and a giant umbrella mom had picked up at a yard sale somewhere.

'Where are you?' she wondered, her heart aching for her brother. 'Are you still in there somewhere? Will you ever really come home and leave that hell behind?' She wanted to scream at him, wondering if that would pull him back from whatever far-away place he was. Deep down she knew that wasn't the case.

“Time, dear.” A gentle hand squeezed her shoulder. “He needs time.”

Turning, she saw her mother; the pain and loss in her eyes was so intense it almost knocked the wind out of her. She grabbed onto her mother and hugged tightly. “I want my brother back!”

“Sh-h now, Lisa, I know you do. We all do,” Mrs Callington soothed quietly, stroking her daughter's hair. “You can't rush things. He's here; he just may not be how he was before. We have to accept that.”

“I don't!” Lisa defied. “I don't have to accept it!” She glanced up at her mother and softened. “It's not right, mom. It's not right and it's not fair.”

“I know.” Mrs. Callington's eyes began to mist over. She turned and left her daughter standing in the doorway, unable to hold back the tears any longer.

Lisa watched her mother retreat back to her room, then turned back to her brother. 'I won't give up on you. I won't lose you. I don't know how yet but I won't give up!'

Spinning on her heels, she stalked into the kitchen. Since her brother left on tour, she had taken up many things to keep her mind busy. By far, the most favoured was baking. While it gave her time to think, she actually felt like she was accomplishing something. Plus she'd made up a few dessert dishes of her own in the process.

Pulling ingredient after ingredient off the shelves of her parents 60's style kitchen; she began to whistle as she cooked. It was something she never thought much about, but it calmed her nonetheless. Minutes later, there was flour and chocolate chips spilled across the green slate countertop and she was even singing to herself.

She wasn't sure what she was making today; she never did until it was done, then Lisa would give it some fancy name that always made her parents smile. 'Someone in this house is going to be happy again,' she vowed. 'I just don't know when, or how.'

The smells of baked goods filled the kitchen. It wouldn't be long before her mother walked in with some excuse to try to be the first to taste whatever she was creating. The routine was well worked now.

“So, what is it?” Brian's voice filled the kitchen.

“None ya business,” Lisa teased. Her eyes shone with surprise and happiness that he came to find out what she was doing. While she expected her mother to show up, she hadn’t expected this. She didn't turn around, afraid if she did he would vanish back to the window.

“It smells good.” She heard him walking further into the kitchen.

“I don't know what it is yet.”

“How can you not know what you're cooking?”

“Because, I don't follow a recipe.”

“Then how do you know it tastes good?”

“Does it smell good?”

He grunted, sitting on one of the stools at the island's bar. “A grunt isn't an answer.”

“Hello, I just was coming in for a glass of...” Mrs. Callington's voice trailed off when she saw her son sitting in the kitchen. A smile grew on her face. “So, it got to you too eh?”

“Yeah, but she won't tell me what it is,” he grumbled.

“She never does.” Lisa’s mother said, grumbling, then she couldn’t help but laugh until filled the room. It echoed back at each of them and made them laugh harder. It was contagious and none of them seemed able to stop. It was something heard so seldom these days that for just one moment it felt like years ago, before all the pain had seeped into the house.

“So? Is it done?” Mother and son asked together, when the laughter subsided.

“You're both so impatient!”   

“Yes,” was the in unison reply. Again laughter filled the room. It had an almost magical feel and Lisa didn't want it to end. She kept her back to her mother and brother, pretending to be busy at the stove while she waited for her new dessert to finish.

She would have turned around but the memory of the airport and her brother's eyes flashed before her. She wanted to know this was real, one look in his eyes would tell her. Only she couldn't bring herself to turn around.

It was the first time since he came home that something she baked pulled him away from that window. She would bake and then leave a piece for him, only to find it still there hours later, untouched. To think that maybe she had reached him, even a little, gave her hope. She clung to that.

to be continued...