Little Sister by Patricia MacDonald Read Free Book Online Page A

to Francie’s room was closed, and Beth passed right by it. She went into her old room and put her suitcase down on the bare floor. Then she sat down on the edge of the sagging bed and pulled off her black leather boots. She rubbed her feet and looked around her old room. It made a dreary contrast with her cozy bedroom at home. She thought wistfully of the cheery chintzes that covered her stuffed chairs, the soft light of the reading lamp by her bed, and, most of all, Mike, coming through the doorway, toweling his hair after a shower. She wished she could talk to him, although she knew he was at the hospital tonight.
    Beth remembered that she had not taken much with her when she left this house, but as she glanced around, it seemed to her that no one had even set foot in her room since that day she had walked out and slammed the door behind her. Her books had gathered dust in the bookcase, and the eyelet skirt on her preteen-size dressing table was gray and dingy. The glossy photos of TV stars she had thumb-tacked to her walls were curled up at the bottom so that you couldn’t see their faces below their noses. A picture of her mother in a silver frame smiled out at her from the night table by her bed. Next to it was a blue china vase with a silk rose in it, which she had won in a raffle at the church fair.
    Across the room the window, hung with limp voile curtains, still had in it the same diagonal crack that had been there when she’d left.
    “Home sweet home,” Beth murmured aloud. Then she shrugged and unzipped her bag. She slipped into a pair of running shoes and tied them up. They didn’t look right with her good slacks, but she thought ruefully, Who’s going to see me here? Besides, it did not take long to fall back into the local mentality, which was comfort over style every time.
    She opened the closet door and saw that there were a few wire hangers, along with an assortment of clothes from when she’d been a teenager. Despite her weariness, she decided to unpack right away. She hadn’t brought that much anyway. She quickly placed her folded things into the musty-smelling drawers of the dresser, and then she lifted out the black dress she had brought for the funeral, shook it out, and looked at it critically. It had gotten pretty wrinkled from the trip. The last thing she felt like doing at that moment was ironing, but she knew that there would not be much time in the morning. I’d better do it, she thought. If they even have an iron.
    The black dress folded over her arm, Beth walked down the hall and knocked on the door to Francie’s room. There was no answer.
    “Francie,” said Beth impatiently.
    “It’s open,” came a voice from inside.
    Beth opened the door and leaned in, holding the doorknob. Francie was lying on her bed, her arms folded across her chest, staring at the opposite wall. Her blondish hair was all bunched up and matted on the pillow behind her head, and her glasses had slipped down off the bridge of her nose. She did not glance at Beth or make any move to get up when Beth came in.
    “Sorry to bother you,” said Beth. “I’ve got this dress to wear to the funeral tomorrow, and I need to iron it. Do you know where the iron is?”
    “Under the sink,” said Francie. “I don’t know if it still works.”
    Beth glanced around the girl’s room. Clothes were heaped on the chair and in the comer by the closet. “Have you got something to wear tomorrow?” she said.
    “What do you mean?” Francie asked defensively, giving her sister a sidelong glance.
    “Nothing,” said Beth. “I thought since we’re going to have the iron out, you might want to press whatever it is you’re wearing. That’s all.”
    Francie sat up on the bed, grasping the edge for a minute as if she were dizzy. Then she got up and went over to the chair that was piled with clothes. She rummaged through the dirty dungarees and pilled sweaters until she dislodged what appeared to be a large sweatshirt.
    “I’m