"Hi, thank you so much for coming," Mrs. Johnson said, opening the door with a warm smile. "Sierra has two sisters, but they're twin sisters, so I'm afraid she feels more lonely and isolated than ever. Sierra pushed all her friends away when Sasha died. I think she just needs someone who knows what it feels like."
I gave a small nod. "Yeah, I get that."
Mrs. Johnson led us upstairs. I surveyed the house looking for traces of Sierra and her sister to try and get to know the girl. At least as much as you can through photos. Finally, on the wall, among a bazillion other pictures was a picture entitled Sierra and Sasha. It had a little girl maybe eight and an older girl behind her who looked about ten or eleven. The younger one had semi-long blondish brown hair and bangs and the older one had the same color hair but hers was cut down to her shoulder. She had multicolored braces that fitted her bright and happy smile. She had her arms around the younger girl lovingly, reminding me of what Richelle and Eva used to do with Gabby and me. Lately, I don't know why, but everything reminded me of Eva.
Mrs. Johnson paused by a closed door and knocked quietly. No one answered, so she cracked the door open and called, "Sierra, I've got someone here who wants to meet you." Still no answer. She pushed the door all the way open. "Sierra?"
"Go away!" A voice screamed, slamming the door shut.
"Sierra, calm down," Mrs. Johnson said. She shot us an apologetic look.
"I don't need another pity friend," Sierra snapped as she opened the door. This girl couldn't be the sweet-looking little girl from the picture. This girl was a tall twelve-year-old with dirty blonde hair cut just above her chin and a sharp tongue. I now knew why I was nervous earlier. What had I gotten myself into?
"Sierra, please," Mrs. Johnson pleaded. "She's just here to help."
"Mom, I told you I don't need another pity friend," Sierra growled.
"Sierra-"
"Please, Mom, just take her away," Sierra said.
What a warm welcome I was receiving. Not hostile at all. Nope, not condescending or supercilious in any way at all. Nope.
"Sierra Beth Johnson," Mrs. Johnson said sternly. "You will not talk to me in that tone of voice. Give it a chance. Am I clear?"
Sierra frowned, seemingly making the corner of her mouth touch her chin. "Yes, ma'am." She looked at me. "Well, come in I guess."
I stepped in and surveyed the room. A twin bed stood to the side of the room with a string of lights hanging from it. A string of yarn hung above the bed with a few pictures hanging from it. Two were the ones from the hallway and one that looked fairly recent, maybe from the previous year. One was of a little two-year-old holding a baby in her arms with her mother supporting her. And the last one was of Sierra and her two younger sisters, Sierra holding a framed photo of Sasha.
Mrs. Johnson and my mother walked back downstairs. Sierra turned to me, her blue eyes full of sorrowful anger. I knew that it looked too well.
"I don't need sympathy," Sierra said. "So don't even try."
"I wasn't going to give you-"
"I just want to be left alone," Sierra added haughtily.
"Okay-"
"And I don't need your pity, so keep it to yourself," Sierra punctuated.
"I wasn't-"
"It won't make me feel better," Sierra interrupted.
Wow. This girl was very used to getting her way just because she was the walking pity party. Man, I would never have gotten away with that. I took a deep breath to calm myself before speaking, as my mother taught me. "Okay."
"And I wish everyone would stop trying to pity me," Sierra growled.
That was it. I was fed up with her attitude.
"Look, Missy, I know you don't need sympathy," I said, jabbing my index finger at her, backing her into a wall. "And trust me, I'm well aware that you don't need my pity. And I understand wanting to be left alone. But that's not the case, so why don't you drop the attitude and do something useful?"
"Look, girlie," Sierra sassed back. "You can stop yelling at me because I know you don't get what I'm feeling. I lost my sister, best friend, and part of me. So trust me when I say I don't need you."
Talk about wallowing in self-pity.
"No," I said. "You trust me when I say I know what it feels like. You're not the only one who's lost someone."
"Oh, my gosh," Sierra rolled her eyes up into my head. "I've heard this. Let me guess-was it a dog? Cat? Oh, poor you."
"You can stop anytime," I snapped. "It was my sister."
Sierra opened her mouth to say something else, then shut it. Her eyes bored a hole into me. "Sorry."
"The apology of the month," I replied.
Sierra didn't respond. She just stared down at her hands like she didn't know what to do with them.
"Does it ever get easier?"
"A little,"Â I said. "The hurt doesn't go away, not really. You just learn how to deal with it I guess. How did Sasha...?"
"She was in a car accident," Sierra said. "It collided head-on and the trauma to her brain was too extensive. You?"
"Cancer," I said. "I don't know. She was getting better, then she caught a cold or some virus and her immune system was too damaged."
"I'm really scared," Sierra looked up. "I'm scared I'm gonna lose another sister or parent in a car accident."
"I get it," I said quietly.
"I don't know how to explain it to my parents without seeming... I dunno," Sierra finished awkwardly.
"Yeah, no," I replied. "I get it. It feels like no one gets it, huh?"
Sierra raked a hand through her short blonde hair and looked at me. "Do you ever have random days where you feel like you can't function without them?"
I nodded solemnly. "All the time."
Sierra looked up at me, tears glistening in her bluish eyes. "Thank you. I needed that."
"Any time," I said, trying to smile.
"I'm sorry," Sierra said. "I'm sorry for yelling."
"That's alright," I smiled. "I get it. It's hard."
Sierra nodded.
"Anyways," I said, digging my toe into the carpet. "I hear I'm supposed to be hanging out with you."
"Suppose so. What do you propose we do?" Sierra asked, cocking her head.
"Um...well, do you like baking?" I suggested.
Sierra laughed a little. "Oh, yeah." She untangled her legs. "Let's go." She smiled, took my hand, and we ran downstairs. Her smile was intoxicating. Pretty, bright, dazzling, all the things Richelle used to be.
"Girls, what are you doing?" Mrs. Johnson asked.
"Baking cookies!" Sierra exclaimed.
"Okay well remember Cecelia and Cynthia will be home soon and they'll be drawn to the smell of cookies," Mrs. Johnson's lips twitched.
"Way to be a buzzkill, Mom," Sierra rolled her eyes playfully.
"Haha now go have fun," Mrs. Johnson said. My parents would never put up with something like calling them a buzzkill. I'd get grounded pretty quickly. But apparently, Mrs. Johnson wasn't like my parents.
"Who are Cynthia and Cecelia?" I asked.
"My little sisters,"Â Sierra said, rolling her eyes to display her annoyance with them. "They're twins."
Twins...like Richelle and Eva. My smile wavered for a little. "Oh. Okay."
We baked batch after batch, experimenting with Sierra's endless baking supplies.
About five minutes before the last batch was done Cynthia and Cecelia burst in through the garage, talking a mile a minute. Both girls had blondish brown hair with bangs like Sierra. They were adorable. Cecelia and Cynthia stopped talking at the exact same time and Cecelia breathed in a deep breath.
"Cookies!" She exclaimed, practically drooling over the sheet.
"Can we have some?" Cynthia asked.
"Sure, go for it," Sierra said, smiling at her little sisters.
Cynthia and Cecelia squealed with joy and grabbed four or five cookies each and ran off.
Sierra smiled at me. "They're so adorable."
Cynthia came running back, wrapping her arms around my waist. "Thank you for bringing my sissy back." Quickly, before I had a chance to say anything, the little girl was gone.
"Ooh, they're done," Sierra said, grabbing a potholder. She pulled them out of the oven and slid them on a cooling rack. "Let's go out back with these," she said, grabbing a handful of about seven or eight and dropping them into a bowl. She stopped. "That's cool with you?"
"Yeah, sure," I shrugged.
She looked up. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you want any?"
"You plan on eating all of those by yourself?" I asked, pointing to her bowl, so many cookies swimming around.
Sierra blinked as if I had just asked her if she breathed oxygen. "Of course."
I shook my head. Some people have extra stomachs. Like cows. I grabbed a few cookies out of a Tupperware container. "Okay, fine, let's go."
Sierra's backyard was beautiful. Two pots sat on either side of the back door with two lounge chairs on the porch with a glass table in between and an umbrella above them. An inground pool stood in the middle of the yard, covered by a tarp and colorful bushes lined the fence.
We sat, eating cookies and relaxing for a while until Sierra broke the silence.
Do you believe in God?" Sierra asked.
I blinked, surprised. "What?"
"Do you believe in God?" Sierra repeated.
I shrugged. Sierra wasn't taking that as an answer. "I used to," I explained. "Before Eva died."
"Why don't you now?" Sierra asked.
"Let me ask you this," I said, "Why would a loving God take away such an amazing girl? Eva was a Christian. She was kind and loving, but God took her away from me. From Gabby. From my parents. He took her from Richelle."
"I don't know why He took Eva," Sierra said. "I don't know why He took Sasha. All I know is He loves me and He has His reasons. I just have to trust Him."
"That's what my parents and Richelle keep telling me, but why would you trust someone who takes away loving people?" I asked. "Like, I feel like if I trust Him, He's going to take away someone else I love. Eva and Richelle had started bringing me into the God thing and then she died..."
"Maybe He's preparing us for the glory of when He comes back," Sierra said. "Like the world is broken now to remind us that this isn't our home."
"Maybe," I said with uncertainty in my voice.
"Sadie, time to go," Mrs. Johnson said, poking her head out. "I'm taking you home. Your mom's picking up Richelle from the hospital."
"Aw," I said, getting up. I glanced at Sierra. "You coming?"
"Of course," Sierra said, getting up.
We followed Mrs. Johnson to the driveway and into a Hummer. A freaking Hummer! I was elated. A Hummer! I wanted to ride in a Hummer! Hummers were so cool.
I climbed in, grinning hugely. Sierra and I talked the entire time, getting to know each other. I was a bit disappointed when we pulled into my driveway. "I'll see you at school tomorrow?"
Sierra smiled. "See you."
When I walked in the front door, my breath caught in my throat.
Richelle was home. She had crutches leaning against the couch next to her and a cast around her left calf and foot. But that wasn't what I was worried about. Her face was red, her shoulders shook, and tears dripped off her chin. Mom sat next to her, rubbing her back.
"Richelle?" I asked, running over and dropping down next to her on the couch. "What's wrong? What's going on?"
"I-It's... um..." Richelle's voice, thick with tears, broke. "I-I can't. I'm sorry. Mom, can you tell her?"
"Honey, you know how Richelle's vulnerable to osteosarcoma because of the Li-Fraumeni Syndrome?" Mom asked.
I nodded. I didn't like where this conversation was going.
"Well, after her leg break, they did MRIs, and different scans and tests all day," Mom said. "And, um... she just got diagnosed with osteosarcoma."
I put a hand to my mouth. "No. No. No, it can't- I can't... please no."
Richelle glanced up at me, taking in a ragged deep breath. "Um, it's stage one B osteosarcoma. It's better than when Eva was diagnosed," Richelle's voice cracked on the last word. I could see the tear stains on her cheeks. "The, uh... the break was the first sign." Richelle lifted her head to look at me. "There's a tumor in my leg. It's not very aggressive, but treatment starts next week."
"We've got an appointment with her oncologist tomorrow," Mom said. "Then comes chemo to reduce the tumors and then surgery, then more chemotherapy."
"I can't believe it," I said. I sat down beside Richelle, raking my hands through my hair.
"Neither can I," she said and pulled a runaway strand of brown hair behind her ear.
"Sad thing is I remember what chemo did to Eva," Richelle whispered. "It just seemed to sort of... sap her, I guess. Her energy, her strength." Richelle sighed. "But it's not like I have much of a choice."
"But on the bright side they found hers earlier than they did Eva's," Mom said.
"That doesn't change the fact that she has-" my voice broke.
Richelle fell silent. "Yeah," she muttered. "No one knows that better than me."
"I'm scared," I said, leaning into her side.
"Me too, Princess," Richelle whispered. "Me too."
"We're going to try to get you a phone," Mom said. She cocked her head at Richelle. "Her chemo treatments last a full eight hours and you'll be the one responsible for getting you and Gabby safely home. Tomorrow too. We have a meeting with her oncologist."
"I wanna come though!" I protested.
"Well, then who's going to watch Gabby?" Mom asked.
"I wanna come too!" Gabby said as she sat down beside me.
"No," Richelle said seriously, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.
"Why?" I asked.
"Well for one it's a school day," Mom said, giving me a look.
"And you don't need to be there," Richelle said simply.
I stared at my sister. "Please?"
"No!" Richelle snapped, her head darting up to glare at me. "Alright? Chill."
"What's wrong with you?" I asked. "You should chill."
"Nothing," Richelle said, taking a deep breath. "You just don't need to be there."
"I want to be there for you," I said. "Is there something so wrong with wanting to be there for my sister?"
"There is when she doesn't want you there," Richelle snapped. "I'm having a hard enough time as it is without adding little sisters to the mix, alright? So please just stop." She grabbed the crutches beside her, struggled to her feet, and limped out of the room.
I rolled my eyes. "What the heck is wrong with her?"
"She's stressed," Mom said. "You've got to cut her some slack."
I sighed. "Yeah, I know, but come on. We're just trying to help."
"She doesn't see it that way," Mom said. "She sees it as an intrusion of her privacy."
"How?" I ask incredulously.
"How personal do you think her diagnosis is for her?" Mom asked. "Think about it. She lost her twin sister to the same diagnosis she now has. How personal do you think it is to her?"
I sighed. "Alright, you've made your point. Should I apologize now?"
"She's in a rough place right now," Mom said. "Give her time to come around."
I sighed again. "You know I don't like waiting."
Mom gave me a look. "Don't test her," she said. "Her patience is not going to support your nagging."
I sighed. Unfortunately, my patience was going to have to wait. Mom was right.