by Nancy Thayer
Maggie’s so pleased she giggles. “Except, um, you’re blond and I’m dark.”
“Yeah, but …” Emily bites her lip. “It’s not just the way we look. It’s the way we think. It’s the way we are.”
“I know.” Maggie cocks her head, considering. “You’re the closest thing to a sister I’ll ever have.”
“Same here.”
“What if …” Maggie begins, then stops.
“What if what?” Emily prompts.
“I have an idea but I’m afraid you’ll make fun of me.”
“Which would be so wrong because sisters never make fun of each other,” Emily teases.
“Okay, then: Here.” Maggie lifts the lid of the small plastic box in the corner. “I’m making a yarn bracelet.” She holds it up, a few inches of blue, white, and yellow braided together.
“That’s really pretty,” Emily says, a yearning note in her voice. She has bracelets at home, lots of them, but this one calls out to her.
“Do you like it?” Maggie holds it out to her. “You can have it. I mean, when I finish it.” Scooting around to face Emily, she directs, “Hold out your hand. So I can measure your wrist. I’ll see how much more I need to do.”
An emotion swells inside Emily—a gratitude, a kind of love, and an astonishment that Maggie wants to give her this bracelet.
“And you make one for me!” Maggie tells her.
“I don’t know how.” Emily’s learning how to make knots for sailing, but she’s never learned how to make a bracelet.
“I’ll teach you. Right now. It’s easy.” Handing the box to Emily, she says, “Should I have the same colors or different?”
Emily’s glad to be able to make a choice since the box, the yarn and the idea are Maggie’s. “The same colors, of course.”
“Okay.” Maggie digs around in the box and takes out three skeins of yarn. “You won’t believe how easy it is. You know how to braid, right?”
“Duh.”
The two girls sit together, hands busy with the yarn, concentrating hard as Maggie shows Emily how to be sure the yarn is taut.
“Like this?” Emily asks after a while.
Maggie grins her irresistibly contagious grin. “Right.”
They lean against opposite sides of the walls of the little lair, braiding quietly in the quiet shade. It doesn’t take long. Their wrists are small.
“Now,” Maggie instructs, “I’ll tie yours on your wrist, and you tie mine.”
Emily obeys. “It’s like a rope bracelet, only prettier,” she says.
“Only more important,” Maggie reminds her.
Emily smiles. “Yes. It means we’re sisters.”
Maggie proudly specifies: “Nantucket sisters.”
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