Her Sister's Child. Cynthia Thomason
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her face and hair. “I think I’m done,” she announced.
Julia looked up from the magazine. “Almost.” She picked up the bottle of children’s shampoo from the side of the bathtub and flipped open the lid. “Still have to wash your hair, don’t you? And I haven’t finished this article.” She reached for a plastic cup she’d brought in earlier. “Can I wet your hair with this?”
Katie nodded, but her eyes widened with the first sign of alarm. “It’s going to be all right, sweetie,” Julia said.
Katie closed her eyes tightly and threaded her hands between her knees. Bending her head forward, she said, “Hurry, okay?”
Julia leaned over the tub and poured the first cupful over Katie’s head. Water sluiced down her forehead and the sides of her face. Katie trembled but remained silent. Julia slowly emptied the contents of another cup, decided Katie’s hair was wet enough and reached for the shampoo.
Katie began to scream. Her face more than a foot above the water, she cried that she couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, that she was drowning. Each frantic word was punctuated with shrieks of sheer terror. Her panic ripped through Julia. She dropped the cup, grabbed her niece and lifted her partway from the tub. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”
Katie reached up, wrapped her arms around Julia and held on. She buried her face in the crook of Julia’s neck. With bathwater soaking her skin and clothing and her own tears mingling with her niece’s, Julia crooned words of comfort into Katie’s ear. “I’m so sorry, sweetie. You’re going to be all right. I won’t let you go.”
Moments later, the cries subsided. Katie sniffled loudly. “Do we have to wash my hair?”
Julia drew a normal breath. “No, we can wait for another time. But when we do, we’ll do it another way. If you look up at the ceiling, not at the tub, the water will run down your hair and your back, not into your face. I promise you won’t feel so scared.”
The child considered the advice for a moment and said, “Aunt Julia?”
“Yes?”
“Why didn’t my mommy look up at the sky when she went in the lake? Didn’t she know that the water wouldn’t have gotten her then?”
Julia hugged Katie close again and said, “Oh, baby, I don’t know why she didn’t look up. I know we both wish she had, though. Maybe it was just too much water all at once, not like the shallow bit in this bathtub.”
Katie arched back, looked at Julia with eyes glistening with tears. Still, a subtle hint of a smile curved her lips. “You’re all wet, Aunt Julia.”
Relief flowed through Julia. She laughed. “I guess I am.” Plucking her damp blouse from her chest, she said, “See? A little water never hurt anybody.”
Katie sat down in the tepid water, pursed her lips in a determined line and stared at the ceiling. “Okay, you can do it now,” she said.
A minute later, Katie had clean hair and Julia couldn’t stop thinking about her sister, who, in her last moment of life, with her child sleeping a few yards away, didn’t look up.
AT CLOSING TIME, six o’clock the next night, what had started out as a picture-perfect autumn day ended with dark thunderheads blanketing the mountains and lightning illuminating the valleys between the tallest hills. Julia and Cora carried rocking chairs in from the store’s front porch and removed hanging baskets from the eaves before the storm could send them tumbling down the mountain. Fighting a near gale-force wind, Julia turned tables upside down on the porch floor and advised her mother to seek shelter. “I’m almost done,” she hollered to Cora. “You and Katie make sure the windows in the store are closed. I’ll be right in.”
Cora ducked inside just as the first fat drops of rain hit the shingle roof over the veranda. By the time Julia secured the last of the outside decorations, the wind had driven the downpour sideways, pelting the wood slat floor and dampening her clothes. She ran into the store, closed and bolted the door and took the roll of paper towels Cora handed her. Wiping her arms and legs, she said, “This is what we used to call a toad strangler.”
“And how,” Cora said, her worried gaze fixed on the closest window. “It’s nights like this I really miss your father. We’ll probably lose power before this one’s over.” She lifted a lacy curtain panel and peered out at the pitch-black evening sky.
Julia placed her hand on her mother’s shoulder. “Come away from the window, Mama. You know it’s not safe to be near glass when there’s wind and lightning.”
Cora started to walk away, but stopped and went back. “My goodness, Julia,” she said. “I think I see headlights coming up the mountain. Who would be fool enough to be out on a night like this?”
Julia joined her at the window. “Someone caught on Whisper before they realized the storm was going to be this bad is my guess.”
“I’ll wait by the door to see if they pull in to ride it out.” She looked over her shoulder at Julia. “You and Katie go in the back room and get those old lanterns and oil your dad kept there. If this person passes us by, we’ll still have time to make it to the cabin before the worst of it hits.”
Julia took Katie’s hand. As they went into the storeroom, Julia noticed headlights veering into their lot. A few seconds later, the front door opened. A gust of wind sent the chimes above the entrance into a jangling frenzy, which was followed by a rumbling bellow of thunder.
And then the door was closed, reducing the wind to a steady ominous howl. The sound Julia heard next made her heart pound and her hand freeze around the glass chimney of a hurricane lantern. She wasn’t prepared for that strong baritone voice from her past.
“Hi, Mrs. Sommerville,” the man said. “Some night, isn’t it?” Silence stretched for a few seconds until he added, “I bet you don’t remember me.”
Cora gasped. “For heaven’s sake. Cameron Birch?”
He chuckled. “In the dripping flesh, and am I ever glad you’re still open.”
Julia tucked the lantern into the bend of her elbow and pressed it against her chest to keep from dropping it. Making her way to the storeroom entrance, she stood on the threshold. Her curiosity urged her to peek around the door frame, but her feet felt glued to the floor.
“Who’s out there, Aunt Julia?” Katie asked from behind her.
“I’m not sure,” she lied. “Probably someone looking to get out of the storm.” She leaned against the open door and listened.
“We were just talking about you the other day,” Cora said.
“We?”
“My daughter’s here with me.”
Cameron coughed. His voice was raspy when he said, “Tina?”
Julia held her breath, fearful that the mention of her sister might send Cora into tears. But she calmly answered, “No. My younger girl, Julia’s visiting for a while.”
“I remember Julia,” he said. “She was a student of mine when I taught at Riverton. Smart girl. Got excellent grades, as I recall.”
“She has a job in Manhattan now,” Cora said. “She’s a reporter.”
“Good for her.”
Julia heard footsteps and assumed Cameron was choosing supplies. “Is she married?” he asked after a moment.
“No,” Cora said.
Katie tugged on the end of Julia’s blouse. “Why don’t we go out?” she asked.
“We will,” Julia said. “In just a minute. But for now I need you to be very quiet.”
Katie dropped her hand. “Okay.”
Thunder rumbled over the rooftop, and Julia missed the next words spoken. When