“Mother...died,” I said, whispering the impossible. “She actually...”
“Yes, Emma, I've been trying to tell you,” said Alexander, a tad bit impatient. “Come see.”
But I wasn't ready to face the impossible. Not just yet. I shook my head, meaning to retreat into my room, but Mrs. Angelina Baker, a plump, short woman who ate too much, came up to me and clutched my arm.
“Oh you poor dear! Your father, your brothers, and now your mother!” she murmured.
“My brothers aren't dead yet,” I found myself snapping back uncharacteristically. Mrs Baker recoiled, backing away.
“I'm sorry, Emma. A slight mistake.”
“No, it's not me,” I apologized, but she was already gone. I sighed, climbing up the old creaky steps that led to my cramped bedroom.
I sat on the bed, willing tears to come, but nothing came. After a while, I felt my eyes gingerly. They were dry. No remorse. Nothing. I was a heartless fool.
It was at that that I cried. The tears came freely, streaming down my face like mini-waterfalls, with a huge torrent of water supplying it from above.
“Don't cry, Emma.”
Someone had entered my room. I looked up sharply, wiping my eyes dry. “Hi Alexander. Where's your brother?”
Alexander paled. “I'm not sure.”
“You've lost your brother? My brother?” I said furiously.
“Emma, calm down. He's in his room, crying.”
“You said you lost him?”
“No, I said I'm not sure where he is. I think he's thinking, but his mind truly is somewhere other than here, in this stuffy little house.”
“Don't you dare call this house stuffy! It has been our family house for generations!”
“People must move on,” Alexander said gravely.
“Who are you to be …” I stopped. “I'm sorry, Alexander, I'm just not me today. Forgive me.”
Alexander looked small and pale, so I wrapped him up with my arms. “Let's go see Mother. I'm ready now,” I whisper into his shoulder.