The Grave Winner

The Grave Winner - Chapter 2

2

I imagined the whole thing.

That's what I told myself the next morning after a night without sleep. I didn't see dead Sarah at the funeral. It was just the wind outside my window last night. I repeated this to myself like a ticker tape running across the bottom of my TV screen.

The rest of yesterday was real. The heaviness pinching my lungs proved it.

Just to make some kind of noise in the eerie stillness, I bounced out of bed to hear the box springs protest in short, loud squeaks. Then I made my bed, which was something I never did. Darby and I would have to help Dad pick his jaw up off the floor when he saw my completed masterpiece.

On my way to the refrigerator, I found Darby sitting at the kitchen table. She just sat there with her elbows on a placemat, hands tucked under her chin, staring into space.

Trying to ignore her, I reached over all the casserole dishes and chocolate desserts we might never eat, grabbed a can of breakfast, and popped the top. Carbonated greatness fizzed down my throat and helped revive me.

I burped and turned to Darby. "What are you doing?"

"Were you jumping on your bed?"

"No." I took another drink. "What are you doing?"

"Today's Saturday."

"So?"

Darby looked down at the table. "Mom makes pancakes on Saturdays."

"Well, Mom's..." I took another sip to swallow my sharp tone. "Pancakes can't be that hard, right?"

"I don't think so. I sometimes watched her make them," Darby said, a tiny smile turning up the corners of her mouth. Her smile was contagious. I'd missed it these last few days.

Our second bunch of pancakes turned a pretty golden brown, though they didn't look as perfect as Mom's. They didn't smell perfect either since our burnt first batch still clouded the kitchen.

"Breakfast is ready!" Darby called.

Dad came into the kitchen, his eyes blood-shot and weary, and we sat at the table. I drenched mine with syrup, but my first forkful left me disappointed. They tasted heavy like they had a depressed weight hanging inside them.

Dad nodded while he chewed. "Professional pancake preparers."

"You like them?" Darby asked through a mouthful.

Dad grinned and tugged Darby's ponytail. It was an actual grin with teeth, and I wanted him to keep it there forever.

"I did something that no other fifteen-year-old has ever done in this house. We should mark today on the calendar and celebrate every year with a parade and cake," I said.

His grin faded into nothingness as his gaze slid to Mom's empty chair and back again. "What did you do?" He chased a piece of pancake around with his fork through the pools of syrup on his plate, but didn't take another bite.

I made my voice all low for dramatic effect. "I made my bed."

"It sounded like she was jumping on it," Darby said.

I looked down my nose at her. She was ruining my moment. "What are you? A gravity enforcer?"

Darby frowned and continued to chew.