She rolled her shoulders and then her neck, first left then right. It was no use. She was as tight as a loaded spring. She sighed. “Fine, Fran. I’ll get right on that. Do you happen to have the East Coast playbook?”
“Funny. Hey, I don’t make the rules.”
“Lucky me. I’m tired. This whole thing is unimaginable.” She trudged back upstairs to her bedroom. Her sister’s humor was never a comfort. Sometimes Fran completely lacked an ounce of empathy, even back when they were children.
“I can see how being there is very, very draining. Nothing is like it was before. But we can’t change history, right? We are who we are, and now we must stand alone. But you’ve always known what you wanted. You’re so lucky with your politically correct writing and perspective.” Fran’s pronouncement wasn’t exactly complimentary. Claire could feel the same hard edge of competition that drove her sister.
“Then why don’t I feel justified?”
If Fran thought she was sure footed, her sister was wrong. Claire had worked her way up to editor of the school paper but had always kept of cache of stories hidden away. Love stories. She wrote about what she couldn’t or wouldn’t reveal. Those secret stories didn’t disappear.
Only recently had her stories evolved into sensual exchanges; a playground where she acted out some of her adult fantasies. She wasn’t ready to share this other fiction, either. If she ever made that leap to unleash her secret erotic stories, there would be no turning back. One world or the other wasn’t such an unrealistic scenario. It was reality. If she chose to publish her erotic fiction, the other MFAs from her graduating class would read what she was up to in the world of writing, and they would either ignore her or snicker.
She tried for the bright side and realized things could be worse. Being a writer working within a small, albeit recognized, publication still provided her with a sense of status. But her desire to change really had nothing to do with Mike or Seattle. Her heart wasn’t in staff writing. She’d tried to bridge the world of nonfiction with her desire to create heartfelt stories. She’d used what she witnessed as a reporter as the springboard to writing several short fiction pieces. Two of her stories were already published, and she’d recently submitted a longer piece. She’d sent out resumes and queried publishers well before becoming involved with Mike. It was the waiting, not knowing, and the desire to move on that trampled her peace of mind.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a lack of excitement. From where I stand, you live a pretty vanilla life.”
“I’m willing to take my chances, same as you.”
“Really? If you say so.”
“Anyway, did you work on clearing your schedule? It’s late and you should have already made travel arrangements. Are you coming down or not?”
Fran exhaled loudly. “No, I don’t think I can make it. I’ve got a ton of meetings, travel plans that I can’t reschedule.”
Blood pounded in her temples. “I meant tomorrow. Are you saying not at all?” Claire began another round of deep breathing exercises. Fran’s apparent inability to deal with their parents’ death would leave her alone and responsible for handling the details. The buzzing of calamity lifted. She held back the sharp edge from her voice. “There’s no burial. They want to be cremated.”
“All the more reason to stay put and get my work done.” Fran sounded bitter. “No burial. Let me guess. Their ashes spread over the trail. Am I correct?”
Tinges of anger jabbed Claire at hearing the all-too-familiar sarcasm creep into her sister’s voice.
“Yes.” Claire could hardly get the word out. Was this grief or Fran talking? “Are you telling me you’re not going to carry out our parents’ wishes?” Claire had dealt with a selfish sister for a lifetime. Sometimes it worked best to give Fran a chance to rethink. “Do you want to visit the trail with me in the fall? We can go when your schedule less hectic.”
“I don’t see that day coming anytime soon. Really, Sis, what’s the point? I never pretended to like those plaid flannel hiking adventures. Backcountry camping. I’m more the champagne, satin, and penthouse type with C-SPAN in the background. No, thanks. You can keep the s’mores.”
“Well, you might change your mind. I won’t be going until the weather cools, maybe October.” This was exactly why Claire wanted a change. She didn’t have the drive to chase her subjects until she obtained the makings of a story. She enjoyed the aspects of observation and relating, not trying to persuade potential sources into giving up information like a homicide detective. Unlike Fran, she absolutely sucked at bending people to her will.