The Wrong Sister

Initially, we didn’t speak much as we wound our way through the streets, hearts heavy with sadness. “Would you like some music?” Lisa eventually asked. I shrugged, brushing a tear from my eye. “What do you like?” “I’m up for anything you want to listen to.” I settled on a hip-hop station playing some rather hardcore rap. Smiling, Lisa reached for the volume control. “Maybe not quite that loud.” “Sorry.” “It’s quite okay. You like this stuff?” I looked at her and laughed, leaving her to wonder what was so funny. “Okay, I was going to wait before I brought this up,” Lisa began after a brief pause, “but I think the sooner, the better.” “It must be pretty bad based on the tone of your voice.” “That depends on your opinion of decent insurance.” “No way I’ll ever have that again.” “You could if you married me.” My head snapped toward Lisa. Then I glanced at Burke, who was nestled between us. “Don’t ever let me tell anybody again that there’s nothing I haven’t already heard.” Lisa laughed—a mixture of humor and nervousness. “Oh my God, you really are serious.” “I wouldn’t joke about something like that. But before you answer, know that after a while—like in a year or so—you could undo it if you wanted. I just thought it would be beneficial while your arm heals and you get a new doctor for your thyroid, cholesterol, and whatever else you need. You could even see my own doctor. She’s fabulous.” “I’ll bet.” “Believe me, I never thought I’d suggest such a thing. You’re welcome to say no and let the county handle your health if you prefer. I just think it’s like the difference between a hundred-year-old Toyota and a modern Ferrari.” “Pretty sure Toyota wasn’t in business a century ago.” Lisa smiled but kept her eyes on the road. “I’ll do it. But what if you wanted to marry someone else for other reasons?” She glanced at me momentarily. “I highly doubt I would, but I’ll take my chances.” “That’s quite generous. I really appreciate it.” Silence filled the truck for a while, then she asked, “You okay?” “Yeah, it’s just hard to believe I’ll never see Henry or Stacey again. It’s almost like they were part of another life long ago.” “Yeah, I know. Very sad. I love all my sisters, but I was closest to Stacey.” “I can see why. No offense.” “No, not at all.” More silence, then, “I’m sure they’re watching over us and glad to know you have someone looking out for you.” “I don’t know if I believe in God or the afterlife.” “How about ghosts, angels, or psychics?” “Psychics, yes. Only because I am one.” She smiled. “No joke.” “Oh, I didn’t think you were joking. Stacey told me about it.” “Dream premonitions, vibes… a sudden sense of knowing the unknown.” “Wow, how often?” “It comes and goes. I haven’t been very psychic lately—and I don’t want to be.” “Why not?” “Because when it happens, it’s usually negative. So… when do we tie the knot?” “Ugh…” she said, caught off guard. “As soon as you’re ready. I was thinking something quick and simple on our own, then later a bigger ceremony if we wanted. I know it’s untraditional.” “Tradition is overrated. Do I seem like a traditional person?” “Ugh… I guess not.” “I don’t do normal, politically correct, or traditions, but I try to be fair and real.” “Aw, nice to know. There’s one thing I should bring up in advance.” I looked at her expectantly. “I don’t want the trial period to drag on. After a year, I don’t want to be in the maybe-we’ll-stay-married phase.” “Well, if you’re not a druggie or nutjob, we can skip that phase. If we were younger, maybe different. But since we’re in our forties…” She looked surprised and happy as she maneuvered through traffic, glancing at me at a red light. “You’ve got a deal.” “Since Marcy worries about money, I can use Henry’s ring. I only stopped wearing it because people were confused.” Lisa shook her head. “Keep it safe. It’ll always be special to you.” “Yeah, it will. So will the things Stacey gave me and the memories. I’m sorry.” “Don’t be,” she said softly. “I understand.” “Well, I can be quite a crybaby, so watch out.” She laughed. “We all have ways of dealing with things, Shay.” I sniffled. “Do you prefer Shay or Shaylin?” “Either. Better than what my mother would call me when pissed.” “What was that?” she asked, smiling. “Shitlin.” The smile dropped instantly.