Winter Garden

by Kristin Hannah

We don’t know how to say goodbye: we wander on, shoulder to shoulder. Already the sun is going down; you’re moody. I am your shadow. –ANNA AKHMATOVA, FROM POEMS OF AKHMATOVA, TRANSLATED BY STANLEY KUNITZ, WITH MAX HAYWARD

But lately that kind of intimacy felt impossible. She wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, or when, but distance seemed to be spreading between them like spilled ink, staining everything. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Aye. I want to be there for you, Nina. Is that so terrible?” She didn’t know how to respond to that, what to say. Relying on people for comfort had never felt natural to her. The last thing she wanted was to give someone the power to hurt her. Self-preservation was the one thing she’d learned from her mother. So she did what she always did at times like these: she reached down for the buttons on his pants. “Take me to bed, Daniel Flynn. Get me through this night.”

In the waiting room on the third floor, she found her sister positioned like a sentinel next to an absurdly cheery aquarium full of tropical fish. Nina skidded to a stop, afraid suddenly to say anything. They’d always handled things differently, she and Meredith. Even as girls. Nina had fallen often and picked herself back up; Meredith had moved cautiously, rarely losing her balance. Nina had broken things; Meredith held them together. Nina needed that now, needed her sister to hold her together. “Mere?” she said quietly. Meredith turned to her.

Words were like pennies, fallen into corners and down the cracks, not worth

the effort of collecting.

stopping for longer than a moment; and Meredith had done all the heavy lifting. She’d organized and set out all of the food people had brought; she’d made sure there were plenty of napkins, plates, utensils, and glasses on hand, as well as ice; and she’d washed dishes almost continuously. There was no doubt that she was doing what she always did when stressed: hiding out behind endless organizing and chores.

When there was nothing left inside, she drew back, feeling shaky, and tried to smile. “I guess I’ve been holding that in.” “That’s what you do.” “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Should I fall apart?” “Maybe.” Meredith shook her head. It only made her feel more separate when he said things like that. He seemed to think she was a vase that could break and be glued back together, but she knew that if the worst happened—if she shattered like glass—some pieces could be lost forever.

But Meredith saw the grief in her sister’s bottle-green eyes. It was like too much water in a glass, spilling over, and she knew Nina was like her: neither of them knew how to express it or even really feel it as fully as they should, and she hurt for both of them,