My sister. Wide awake and standing in the window. Wispy hair parted down the middle, curtaining her face. A white cardigan wrapped over thin shoulders. Waiting on me. Searching for me in the night, and for one second, one brief moment, I consider turning around and running. Going anywhere except that cabin. Instead, I lift my hand in an apologetic wave and walk toward my sister. And I can’t help but wonder how much she saw. Or why it seems to matter so much.
