Butterfly Effect

Five

"Welcome home, ladies," Rose said from the driver's seat. He pulled directly in front of the three porch steps.

I tried to peer inside through the windows. There were two moving silhouettes dancing behind gauzy white curtains, like poltergeists ready to strike at my entrance.

"Come on," Rose said. He opened my door and stretched out his hand. "They don't bite."

I stared at his outstretched fingers, long and graceful. It looked as though they belonged on a grand piano, not wrapped around a leather steering wheel. I didn't take his hand, as if it was some kind of self-punishment. My mother is dead repeated in my mind like a new mantra, one that told me any kind of pleasure was no longer allowed— even something as brief and small as taking Rose's hand and feeling his warmth beneath my palm.

I scooted out awkwardly, eyes not matching his. His warm smile turned into a confused frown, as if he wasn't used to being brushed off.

Leonora escorted me inside. Her fingers clutched my right shoulder, a welcomed pressure that kept me grounded with each heavy step we took. The moment we reached the front entrance—off-white French doors with abstract stained glass— it swung open.

Inside stood a girl, no older than sixteen, beaming. She was three inches taller than me, with warm brown eyes, dark umber skin and a head of full, 4c curls that bounced when she released a loud, high-pitched squeal. She wore a simple, white nightgown and a dark purple robe. She must have only just woken up. There was something familiar in her face—the sharp cheekbones, the smart line of her lip, her deep pupils flecked with tiny pieces of gold.

"Meet Jacqueline," Leonora said. "My daughter."

"I prefer Jackie," she said, and then, she enveloped me in a tight hug. She was like a furnace against me, and it was then that I realized I hadn't felt another human hold me like this... for months. My arms awkwardly remained straight at my side until I moved forward, wrapping my hands around her back. "I am so happy to meet you, and I am very sorry for your loss."

"T-thank you," I murmured. I was taken back by her beauty. She inherited the same air of grace my mother and Leonora naturally possessed. "I'm Susanne—but I like going by Susanne."

"Susanne it is," a man, tall and lean from behind Jacqueline spoke. He shared her same dark skin, and his head was bald. The lights of the room reflected off of the shiny surface, like a freshly waxed floor. "I'm your Uncle Daniel." He brought out a slender hand, one that was soft like Leonora's. I took it. "I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances, but I hope you can make this place home."

"Where is mother and father?" Leonora asked.

Rose answered. "I'm afraid they are stuck in Seattle until Wednesday."

"Well then," Leonora turned to me, and again, allowed her eyes to slowly move over my body, like I was a specimen she studied. "You are clearly tired." And at her words, a heavy wave of exhaustion washed over me. "Jackie, would you mind showing Susanne to her room? I'm sure she's tired of seeing my face."

It was then that I realized I liked Leonora. She didn't speak to me like I was the girl with the dead mother. She spoke to me like a person—because she knew we were mourning the same woman. That pulsing alarm stuck in my head was in her, too—the one that ached to drag fingernails over skin until it turned raw. Anything to get away from that terrifying frustration.

"Sure!" Jackie grabbed my hand and pulled me away from my aunt and uncle.

And Rose.

***

It was hard to take in the interior of the home when I first arrived. Jacqueline and Daniel blocked my view of every single piece of finery. But on my walk with Jackie, who still clung to me, now by the elbow, a maze of a house unfolded itself.