The sound of my sister sweeping downstairs begins to nudge me out of sleep. There is no sign of daylight thanks to the thick curtain I have hung over the only window in my room. Curtain is a loose description for the thick scraps of velvet material I found at goodwill and hand stitched into a makeshift shield between my bedroom and the drab town of Bedmont.

Whsssh whsssh whsssh… the hard fibers of the broom slide across the wood floors below. I can picture Katie in the kitchen laser focused on her task, eyes darting across the floor looking for any sign of a dust bunny that might have escaped her.

I slowly make my way from my cave of a bedroom and down the narrow staircase. The broom has been tucked neatly away and I find Katie placing two bowls of oatmeal on our table. She motions for me to sit.

She’s dressed like an old stuffy librarian. Her ivory blouse has buttons running from top to bottom and goes up so high on her neck I feel like I’m suffocating just looking at her. She’s wearing a thick tweed skirt that matches her drab gray shoes spot on with black tights. When she catches me staring at her clothes I scrunch my face up like my oatmeal is made of soured apples, point toward my room, then raise my eyebrows in suggestion. I know she’d never in a million year wear anything from my closet but teasing her never gets old. She smacks me in the arm lovingly and takes her untouched bowl to the sink to scrub it to death before she heads to work. She is in fact the local librarian. On her way out she leans down and kisses me on the forehead. In my mind I can hear her voice clear as day… “Love you Lily bug!” I feel tears coming but I don’t let them out. I squeeze her hands and gesture to the calendar on the wall. Tuesday. I volunteer at the women’s shelter Tuesdays which means she’s on her own for dinner. She nods and heads out the door. It’s been 7 years since I’ve heard my sister speak and one day short of that since I’ve spoken myself.