Page 83 of The Seekers of Deer Creek

“At my age, I’ve come to see that not knowing is a gift too. Sometimes, it’s the most merciful one we can give to ourselves and others.”

He was right: Vivi might never know whetherTâmever revealed herself to Huy or whetherNg?cresented her sister’s return, after her years of disappearance. WouldNg?chave recognized her sister immediately? And did she hold blame towardTâmfor leaving Huy in her care? Or did they simply pretend not to know each other, to start fresh with an illusion of ignorance?

Who was Vivi to disturb the past? What did any of them owe her; what did she owe them? An abandoned house might never reveal a single answer. A lost painting might never shed light on a broken heart. All you could do was hold the questions for as long as you could bear, before dropping them in the river of time.

Calla and Linh returned, relievingKi`êufrom bedside duties, even as Vivi insisted she didn’t need nursing. No one listened to her. They brought bowls of broth and rearranged her blankets as if she were a dumpling to be molded for the steamer.

As Calla draped a washcloth over Vivi’s forehead, she hummed the tune of a Velvet Underground song they’d both loved when they were teenagers. Vivi glimpsed Calla as she once was, bent over a sketchbook intheir childhood room, her back curved like a fishhook, Stygian shadows brushing against her forearms.

After a moment, Vivi added her voice to Calla’s humming, resurfacing the lyrics from their past with a catch in her throat. Pure worlds, strange mirrors, and lingering eyes, images as haunting now as they were then. Calla paused, then began to sing too, layering her clear soprano atop Vivi’s wavering alto in such precise harmony that it became difficult to distinguish whose voice was whose.

Linh listened from the doorway, smiling when they halted, swallowing all the things they couldn’t say. “Pretty singers. Pretty sisters.”

That night, Calla slept on a floor mat by Vivi’s feet. To give her space, she said. The truth was, neither of them could bear the lie of physical closeness at that moment. Not after what they’d said to each other. It felt as if a weary old bridge had finally crumbled, leaving an unfilled gap that neither could cross.

Rain pattered on the roof and pushed a cool wind onto Vivi’s skin, soothing the last of the flush from her fever. She watched her sister breathing in and out, a small furrow in her brow, and had the sensation of missing Calla deeply, desperately. She’d spent so long grieving their lost intimacy. Without honesty between them—an honesty that’d been tainted long ago, perhaps even before they were born—they would always stand apart. Reaching for each other maybe, but ultimately divided. Now, at the end of the seeking, Vivi found she could no longer countenance that distance.

“Bee?” Calla’s voice came from the bottom of the bed. “Are you crying?”

“No.”

Calla crept up onto the bed and used a corner of the bedsheet to wipe her sister’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what all this was for.”

“Searching for the offering?”

“Waiting for Mom to come back.” It surprised her, this truth. “I’ve been ready to stop playing protector for years now. In some part of mymind, I thought if she would return to us, then I could hand it back to her, that role that was thrust on me. But she’s dead and so it’s just me and no one is coming to relieve me and I’m afraid I’ll never get what I want.”

“What do you want?”

“Besides a pair of functional, living parents?”

“Might as well ask for the moon.”

“I want to move in with Samuel. I want to let myself love Phoebe.” She answered without hesitation. “To continue my work and make mistakes without them costing me everything. Mostly I want to stop worrying about whether you’ll start taking pills again or run through your savings or get stranded in some Latvian forest.”

“I’ve never thought about Latvia in my life.” Calla wrinkled her nose, then grinned. “But I’m intrigued.”

“You know what I mean. I want to be your sister, not your surrogate mother.”

“So just be my sister.”

“It’s that easy?”

“It can be.” Calla’s answer was meant to be reassuring, but instead, it sounded sad and final, like the closing strains of a song you might never hear again.

Chapter 29

Vivi stood, still weak from her fever, and shrugged into fresh clothes. The usual olive-oil spill of sunshine outside the window had dulled into the color of bleached driftwood, casting the morning with a crepuscular sheen. Turning the day on its head. The air was spongy, soaked in moisture. Only a few days remained before Samuel’s opening. She checked her email incessantly, but he had sent no response to her letter. The letter Calla had sent. He was busy with preparations, he’d said he wouldn’t write again. She shouldn’t have expected anything more.

A crack of lightning sounded in the distance.

“A storm,” said Linh from the doorway. “Feel how thick it is out there. We’re due for it.”

“Has it been a rainy season?” she asked.

“No. That’s the trouble. The sky has been threatening all month. It’s been holding back for a day like this.”