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Carina sat on the bench in court. Andrew’s hand in hers. Two tiny stomachs in knots so big and tight both of them could throw up any second. The judge hit his hammer and the decision was made.
A lone tear slipped out of her eye. Andrew's eyes looked up, seeking comfort in his big sister's. But Carina couldn't look down, couldn't meet him eye to eye cause she knew she'd entirely - completely break down if she did.
Carina stood in the driveway as the taxi reversed. This time Andrew didn't look up, too afraid that if he saw Carina he might never be able to leave. He opened his palm and looked down at the green stone. “Keep it. It’ll always remind you of us, of me. And you’ll know I am only a call away.” Carina said last night as they lay in the same bed for the last time.
It was a bright day on the beach, both the siblings hopped around the sand and collecting shells. Andrew’s eyes fell on the most beautiful shade of green, it was dark with wave sand wave sof lines going across it. It was just big enough to fit inside his tiny palm. He skipped to his sister, happy and proud to share his new shiny find and Carina admired it before plopping it into her bag to add to her collection of rocks.
“Dai, Carina. andiamo dentro.” Papa said, let’s get back inside. The door closed behind her, papa squeezed her shoulder, maybe in guilt, maybe as a silent apology, she’d never know, he’d never say. Too proud. He was a good father but talking about feelings was never his strong suit. Instead he went into the kitchen as Carina slid down the closed door, hugging her knees, resting her arms on them and her chin atop. Silent tears ran down her cheeks.
Sounds of cabinets and ingredients being pulled out filled the house.
The fire of the stove crackled alive and butter sizzled aross it. Eggs were whisked and metal hitting metal sounded as he let the last strands of eggs fall into the bowl. Cinnamon. Sugar. A thick slice cut out and drunked.
Sigh. Papa let out a breath in a moment between letting the bread soak. Within a few seconds a sweet aroma filled the house as the soaked bread hit the pan.
Chop. chop. Chop. Strawberries cut in half, honey and whipped cream pulled out, flipping the toast somewhere in between. He watched and waited, kept his gaze on the sugary bubbling along the pan. A plate in one he flipped out the toast onto it. Drizzled the honey, added a few strawberries and a good dollop of the cream.
His french toasts. His mother used to make it for him and he made it for the kids.
A pair of legs still in pyjamas walked over. “Tesoro, mangiamo.” Darling, eat. But Carina was angry and hurt and wanted to cry but she couldn’t. Her head was hurting and pounding from all the crying she had already done over the night. She took a deep breath in and let her eyes go beyond her kneeling father offering her the plate to the window in the far back.
Her eyes focused on the house and family picture that she and Andrea drew directly on the wall. The house yellow and full of life, warmth. Outside of it green grass, the tree next to the house - a generational tree that had stood strong in their backyard giving them some of the most delicious sweetest mangoes every summer.
They were happy. At least the two of them were.
She hit her head on the door, light not too tough. Just enough to keep her present and controlled. She looked at the plate in front of her and her father, his head slightly tilted, eyes gleaming for apology, lips pursed. Looking down at her with love, his own heart aching for causing this separation.
Too soft.
She ran upstairs to their room, banged the door closed.
The plate closed in the fridge, he leaned against the metal door.
Both let their tears flow in isolation. There was a longer road ahead than anticipated.