Winter Reunion

Wind shrieks as snow skates over the frozen lake. Hot cocoa warms my throat, my stomach. The window I watch from rattles. It’s the same one I sat at each season we came here growing up.

I wait.

Waiting is my specialty. I wait for my new hot cocoa to steam (one mug, never enough). Wait at this frosted window. Wait in fear for winter to thaw.

I waited for him.

For three months.

Planned everything with precision. Winter is a complicit party in my excitement.

His face the last time I saw him terrified me. Those eyes. Hollow. Gone. But here? I’ve been itching to reunite with him. Gain closure. Revitalize the life in his eyes. That charming shine.

I light vanilla and lavender candles. Nostalgic. Calming.

I stoke the fire I began earlier.

I sit back at the rattling window. Memories swirl. A smile tugs at my lips as I sip the cocoa. My eyes lock onto the small metal box on the old oak desk. Its dull sheen flickers in the firelight, whispering secrets sharp enough to shatter blood and bond.

They remind me of who I am.

Who I am not.

Wind whistles through small imperfections in the cabin’s walls. Snow skips in the moonlight. My eyes fix on my reflection, the snow beyond dissolving into a blur.

A fist reached through my reflection and knocked on the window.

I curse, jump. Hot cocoa splashes onto my hand. I curse again, bringing it to my lips. I focus on the figure beyond the hand.

“Brian!” How did I not see him approach? My heart races as I throw open the creaking door. Adrenaline warms me, masking the gust of ice.

He stands there, awkward, disheveled. Snow dots his scruffy beard. His eyes never meet mine. Alarm bells. But I maintain composure. Maybe the hot cocoa went straight to my head.

I step to the side. A wet trail follows him to his room. He slams the door. I hear wet clothes slopping onto the floor.

The wind howls. The fire snaps.

I wait.

Once he’s dressed, I offer him cider. I want this easier for both of us. “How was your trek? I brewed this for our winter reunion.” I sip. It’s not hot cocoa, but it will suffice. We sit on opposite sides of the scratchy couch.

“Treacherous.” He growls. He sips, clears his throat. “You live out here?” He asks.

“Yes. Quiet. Only visitors are the ones I invite. Like my brother.” I reply, offering a smile he never sees. “Also, off-grid.”

He leans in. “Alone.” He returns upright.

More alarm bells.

“Yes… The state forgot about it.” I breathe.

We sip.

The alcohol cuts through the sweetness.

Wind assaults the cabin. It bites our ankles and crawls up our legs. My fire fights a losing battle as the wind seduces its way in.

His gaze flickers.

I wait.

I read about him in the newspaper three years ago. Nothing you want your family to read. His rap sheet is heavy with armed robberies. I’ve taken self-defense classes in case this ends up being a terrible mistake.

My heart and mind race.

My pulse quickens.

I will be ready.

I steal glances at him over the rim of the cup. His eyes finally meet mine, probing, and I choke on the cider.

“You’re jumpy.” He states.

I scoff. “I haven’t seen you in years.”

“You’ve been hiding since we were teenagers,” he bites back.

I swallow. “It never felt like home.” I whisper.

The fire crackles and pops.

I sip.

I wait.

He clears his throat. “Anymore?” He raises his empty glass.

Relief washes over me escaping to the kitchen. I imagine he also needed a breather. I reflect more on our relationship. Did we ever get along? Were memories rose-colored?

I grab a cider and re-enter the living room. “Brian?”

He’s gone.

Where is he? I step to the banging window. Nothing. The moonlight glints off each snowflake, like fireflies. I sigh. Then I realize I never heard the door screech.

I turn and—Brian is there. One foot away. My body jolts, jaw clenches. I snap in a breath to fight my surprise. His eyes wild. I feel his shuddering breath on my face. My eyes peek at the desk; the metal box is there.

It’s locked, right?

Yes.

“I thought you’d left.” I say, sidestepping. “Here, another one.” Nerves riddle my hand, but I steady it. I don’t think he saw. He never takes his eye off the window.

“Was looking around. Quaint.” He chugs the cider. “Another.” He belches, spittle landing on my arm and face. I scrunch my nose and walk to the kitchen. Anger rises in my chest. He is just like when we were younger. Dismissive. Arrogant.

But he is here.

I breathe.

I wait.

The wind clobbers the cabin. The fire roars.

I pull the fridge open, welcoming the cool air, laughing at the irony. The cider bottle is another welcome coldness to my clammy hand. Electricity trickles through my body as I pop the top.

I hand the cider to Brian. I smile, holding my glass to toast.

He toasts. Well, our glasses meet with the faintest touch.

“If Mom and Dad saw us now!” He half chuckles, easing the tension. “I know you didn’t take well to their murder, but I—humor. I cope with humor.” He collapses back onto the couch. “If they saw us now…” He whispers, head lolled back.

“If they saw us now, they’d blow dust out of their urns.” I offer my dark humor. It struck Brian’s tipsy brain enough to elicit childlike giggles.

With the strain lifted, the conversation flows. Our parents. Our sister. Neighbors. Lovers. Accolades. Failures.

Fears.

“I am curious—hic!—why you have Mom’s box.” He nods towards the desk. My heart leaps. I hold my breath.

The wind throttles the cabin’s boundaries.

I wait.

“No?” He hiccups again. “Ok.” He shrugs, bringing the cider to his mouth.

I exhale. “It was in her will.”

Brian’s hand stops below his open mouth.

His eyes dagger me as he gulps his cider. Time feels like it stops.

The wind cries. The fire rolls.

He doesn’t blink.

I don’t either.

Tears sting my eyes.

He finishes. “I’m tired.” He rasps, breaking the spell. I stand, squinting to relieve my burning eyes.

“Yes, chugging cider will do that.” I say, moving around the room blowing out candles. With the last two remaining, he stands and walks to his room. He stands in the bedroom doorway, turns.

He waits.

I blow out another candle. One left. The dimness muddles his features, like looking at him under water. I carry the candle to my bedroom doorway and face Brian. We share a brief glance.

I step back, blow out the candle and close the door.

Winter rages on as we sleep.

I wake to pounding on my door. I slip to the door and open it. My sleepy eyes see a young, chubby Brian in blue pajamas clutching a teddy bear. He asks to sleep in my bed. I blink, and the drunk adult Brian is in my room, scared of the dark.

We crawl into bed. As children, I was the big spoon on the rough nights. I’d sing made-up lullabies to soothe him. Storms, parents arguing, exes—whatever storm he weathered, I waited it out with him.

I do the same now.

Through my verses, his body trembles. I hear his muffled crying. So broken.

I continue singing until he drifts off. I tuck him close to me. Our breathing matches.

We sleep. We wait.

Winter screams for entry to the cabin.

***

Morning light cracks through the bedroom curtains. The plastic-sugary sweetness of the cider lingers in my mouth. I will not drink today; Brian and I—Brian!

I jolt over: empty bed. I listen. Silence. The storm is gone. Is Brian? I tiptoe to the door, hold my breath, and peer through the loose doorframe. Brian is sitting at the table, back to me.

Brian snaps his head toward me. I stumble back, knocking into my nightstand. I catch the lamp before it shatters. Did he see me?

Did I smell bacon?

I wait.

Then—

“Get out here!” I recognize that impatient tone from childhood.

I set down the lamp, rub my eyes, and smooth my hair.

The bedroom door shudders. I sit down in front of Brian.

And breakfast?

Brian grins, fork in hand. “Dig in!” He says, stuffing eggs into his mouth.

I stare at the plate. Bacon, eggs, coffee. Where did this come from?

He catches my look. “Backpack!” He exclaims, lifting his worn canvas bag next to him. His cheer brittle. His eyes dart.

My fork scrapes against the plate, shrill as the wind outside.

We eat. We wait.

I suggest another pot of coffee. It percolates. Hisses.

The fire sputters. The cabin creaks.

Brian wheezes with a full stomach.

I pour two mugs. Two simple ingredients for him: sugar and creamer. I douse mine with only cream.

We sip. We eat.

A chill runs down my spine. I look at the fading fire embers. I load kindling to feed it. Flames spring to life, jumping to dry pieces. The flame feels good on my face; I rub my hands together.

A familiar clack on the table. I freeze.

I turn toward Brian. He slides the metal box toward me. “Explain.”

“Mom gave it to me.” I answer.

“No. She. Did. Not.” His fists thwack the table. His face welts with anger.

Wind shakes the cabin.

“Where?” He snarls.

“Mom.” I whisper.

His hands cup his face. “Not true!” He yells, slamming his bare palms on the table. The thwack sends a jolt through my eardrums. In an earth-shattering second, he throws the box against the cabin wall. The air splits as the box shatters, the contents spilling out.

A suffocating pause.

Brian stops crying and eyes the mess. I swallow.

With calculated calmness, Brian asks, “What will I find?”

My heart climbs into my throat.

He stares.

I stare.

Wind rattles the cabin. Fire spreads through the dry wood like butter.

His eyes lock on me; he walks to the papers. He chooses the precious pink sheet. I’ve folded and read it thousands of times. “I knew it,” Brian whispers. He reaches into his pocket.

Alarm bells.

“Brian—” I start. Adrenaline rips through my veins.

He drops the delicate paper. Anger replaces my nerves.

Before I protest—a gun.

My breath hitches in my throat.

Brian aims at my face. I yelp, holding up my hands in surrender. “Let’s not do something we can’t take back.”

“Like you?” He shouts.

My mind flashes to last night. My heart aches.

His eyes are frantic. Searching.

I wait.

I dare to inch forward.

“Stay!” Brian’s scream ricochets off the cabin walls. The silence after rings in my ears.

I step forward again, hands still raised. “Brian…” I whisper, tears in my eyes.

A gust of wind smacks the window, stealing his focus. I dove my fist into the soft hollow of his chest, stealing his breath long enough to run. Icy air spits into the cabin when I throw open the door. I scramble barefoot through the drifts.

Brian roars behind me. Fear punches my legs toward the lake. My mind races: Why did I invite him here?

Am I next?

Behind me, I see Brian shuffling out of the cabin. The coffee is not giving him the energy he wants. His breath comes out in angry fog bursts. I look ahead. Nothing but white, gleaming snow.

This damn snow.

This damn cabin.

Snow crunches under my feet.

I’m trapped.

My face is wet. Warm. I’m crying.

I wait.

“Turn around.”

“Brian, please.” I beg and veer back in front of him.

“You don’t get to beg,” Brian screams. “Why?”

“Why, what?” I ask.

He steps forward; I step back.

The wind slaps our faces.

“Because you were adopted?” Brian’s brow furrows with confusion. He steps forward.

The ice moans.

I step back. I look down at the splintered ice. Why did I come out here? “I don’t want to go anywhere with you.” I yell, shivering. Afraid.

He raises the gun. “They did nothing wrong! Why?” He steps forward. I step back.

I whisper my reply to Brian, but it’s caught in the wind. He strains to hear.

He inches forward.

I retreat.

The ice groans, then splits—a scream from the lake itself. Water explodes upward, stinging my face with shards of cold. Brian plunges through. “Help!” His cry fractures in the wind, swallowed by the vast silence. The silence presses on my ears, heavier than his screams.

I stand at the edge.

He splashes, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He reaches his hand out for help, clawing at crumbling ice.

I look down.

I wait.

The wind whistles in allegiance.

Terror creeps into his eyes. He realizes I will not help. “Why?” He weeps.

“I don’t kill family.” I state. His eyes meet mine — it’s back! The charming shine I waited for was back! The revitalized life right before death.

Beautiful.

If they didn’t struggle so much, watching someone drown is a beautiful sight. His parents drowned like works of art.

I wait.

The wind gnaws at my skin, but I’m not cold.

Killing is my favorite winter jacket.

His thrashing slows; the paralytic in his veins pulls him down.

I wait.

I smile.

The holes I drilled in the ice last night were perfect. Brian passed out from the concocted cider and didn’t hear the hinges creak. He found Mom’s box “forgotten” on the desk. Breakfast was a pleasant surprise—it made the sugar easier to hide.

The fire welcomes me into the cabin with a warm hug.

Just as I planned.

Brian’s phone is on the ground in the flurry to get me. Another pleasant surprise.

It’s open to a text conversation with our sister. Urging her that something is not right and to investigate. I send her two replies. One chalks up my odd behavior to awkwardness. The other invites her to the cabin for a sibling reunion.

I smile as I hide the laced sugar in the cabinet.

I light vanilla and lavender candles. Nostalgic. Calming.

I simmer milk. Add cocoa. Sit by the frosted window.

I sigh.

Another winter.

Another reunion.

I wait.