Painting Wolves

Chapter 1

     The last time I saw her, I thought she looked like an angel. I guess that's a perk of being blond. When  she was backlit, she look like she had just jumped down from the nearest cloud and you could see wings behind her shoulders if you only tried hard enough.

          The last time I saw her, she was waving goodbye, saying she'd see me soon even if she had to come to the city to get me herself. 

     The last time I saw her... she was alive.

      I stared numbly at the countertop in front of me as a man chattered at me in an attempt to cheer me up. She was dead. Genny was dead. The dark wood grain didn't give me a reason for what had happened, and I closed my eyes to try and calm the overwhelming surges of emotion threatening to break over me. To break me.

     "I'm sorry Mr.- what did you say your name was again," I asked as I realized I hadn't heard a word he'd said.

     "Donald, Anne. My name is Donald. I hope you don't mind if I call you Anne. Your sister talked about you so much that I feel like I know you almost as well as I knew Genevieve," he said in a gruff tone. He sounded like an older man, around fifty or sixty. I pushed back the urge to start crying. It was just like Genevieve to go to the older folks first when she was looking for friends.

     "That'll be fine Mr. Donald. Now, how does this work if you don't mind my asking? I don't know what to do I'm afraid. Do I come get the- the body?" I stuttered over the fact that Genevieve was no longer there. Now it was just an empty shell. I felt the waves of panic and emotion rise again.

      "That's just Donald, honey," he said gently. "And don't you worry about it. Genevieve left instructions that she be buried in the old graveyard on her property. Said it was a family gravesite. Now I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of having her cleaned up a bit. I don't think she would have wanted you to see her like she was when she died."

      I struggled between anger at the fact that strangers had taken over what was left of my sister and relief that I didn't have to see her as she was when she died. Relief won, but anger lurked in the background.

     "Thanks Donald."

      An awkward silence spread between us, and I found myself at a loss for words. What should I do? Should I spout some platitude here about the beauty of a life cut short or something? Genny would have laughed at my saying something like that. What sort of person was this Donald? How did he get this number? Oh god, she was dead. Genny was dead...

      I stared at the rotary dial on my old fashioned phone numbly. 

     "When do you think you'll be able to come down?" Donald asked after letting the silence stretch an unknown amount of time. I started back to reality. Right. Funerals. Burials. Had to get Genny's stuff into order. Did she have people mourning her up there? She must have. Genny was the bright, social one and always made friends at an astonishing rate.

     "Hello," Donald said. "Still there?"

     "Day after tomorrow. I'll try to get there as soon as possible," I said. There was a lot to be arranged first.

     "Alrighty then. I'll send someone to meet you at the airport in Knoxville. If you have any more questions, just ask." Donald rattled off his phone number and I dutifully wrote it down.

      Silence fell again. I could almost hear Genny's voice in my head- chastising me for not thanking him.

     "Thank you," I said, a breath too late.

      It didn't seem to bother Donald. "You're welcome honey. I'll email you with more details."

      I nodded. "Thanks," I repeated. Then hung up.

      I sat down in the slightly uncomfortable rocking chair by my phone, feeling like my world had raised anchor without my command and I was lost at sea. I ran my fingers absentmindedly over the rough grain of the rocking chair's arms, following its whorls and twists. What was I going to do? I didn't know how to handle this. Genny had handled everything when our Dad died. Mam had been as panicked as I had been. She'd be no help with this. I didn't know how to arrange a funeral, or anything related to putting someone you love into the ground.

     Panic started to swell up in me, pressing on my lungs and throat until I could barely breathe. I breathed short, quick breaths, grabbing onto the handles of the chair like they were a lifeline. The grain dug into my hands uncomfortably, bringing me back to the present. I couldn't have an attack now. Genny wasn't here anymore to talk me out of one. I had to grow up, I realized uncomfortably. That was something I had never wanted to do...

      First things first; I had to go break the news to Mam. She'd be heartbroken, I knew. Genny had been more like our Mam in temperament and looks, but she'd been closer to our father than I had. After all, I'd only been six when he died. She'd been thirteen, and very much a Daddy's girl from the way our Mam tells it. Mam had seen Genny as a sort of lifeline to Da after he died. She'd been as involved in Genny's life after Da's death as he had been prior to it.

      I knocked on the door to Mam's studio softly, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. I felt like there were innumerable eyes, watching me- boring into my back. I felt the panic rising again, but shoved it down as Mam opened the door with a fake smile. 

     "Anne, come in."

      I nodded, and hurried inside. I breathed easier once the eyes could no longer see me. "Mam," I started, uncertain how to approach the subject.

     "I know. It's alright. I got a call as well. They said they'd call you. I assume you got the call? You do know, right?" 

      Mam tended to chatter when she was nervous or uncomfortable or unhappy... anytime she wasn't happy really. I had inherited that from her, but it was more of an internal dialogue when I did it.

     "Genny is dead. I know." My voice plunked into her chattering like a lump of lead onto spun sugar, crushing her flat and leaving her looking at a loss. She looked young. Fragile even. I stepped forward, feeling awkward, but knowing what Genny would've done.

     I pushed back my dislike of contact, and hugged her gently. Her head came to the bottom of my chin. Genny had had her height. I was more like my father. In more ways than one. 

      Mam sniffed, her shoulders trying to stay stiff and strong. I petted her head gently and rocked a bit, murmuring reassurances. Her shoulders crumpled, and a sob racked them. As if that had opened the floodgates, and inhuman wail ripped itself from her ribs.

     She fell to her knees, screaming and tearing at her carpet angrily. "Why?" she screamed, tearing at her clothes as if they couldn't contain her grief.

     I wrapped my arms around her again, afraid she would hurt herself. I rocked her gently back and forth, feeling my own grief rising up out from where I'd shoved it. I pushed it back again and locked it away. I couldn't give into grief now. Mam needed me. 

     We rocked until her hacking sobs and screams shrunk to moans and sniffles. Her crying didn't stop for what seemed like hours. I just sat there, rubbing her back and murmuring condolences and looking blankly into the painting of Genny that I'd done and Mam had hung on her wall.

     She was gone. Genny was gone, and with her had gone the only person who could bring sunlight to my solitary life. Genny had been a source of happiness for everyone in our family.

     With her gone, we were adrift in darkness. Mam's crying filled it, but there was no light to be seen.