by Sarah Zettel
Chena laughed, just a little, and bowed her head. “I think I was crazy.”
“I think you were.” Teal paused. “I’m sorry I left you.”
Chena raised her eyes and saw her sister’s face shining with hope and fear, warmth and worry. “If you hadn’t”—tears pricked the corners of her eyes—“we wouldn’t be here now.”
“I know,” Teal said softly, hoarsely, and Chena realized that tears also shone in her sister’s eyes. “But I’m still sorry, that’s all.”
Chena stretched out her arm, and Teal smiled and snuggled herself under the blanket, just like when they were both children sharing secrets. Well, they were not children anymore, and all their secrets were known. Chena wrapped her arm around her sister. So much done, so much wrong, so much she would never forget or truly forgive, but for the first time in so many years she felt no anger. She felt light, as if the gravity had already lost its hold over them and she was about to float away. She felt as if she stood in the threshold of an open door with the whole world in front of her.
She felt free.
“Come on.” She shook Teal’s shoulder. “Let’s go find our brother.”
