The Fine Print: Carnivale, Iris, and BJ belong to HBO and DK.

Author's Note: I wrote this a few weeks ago when there was much discussion about Iris's ever-present necklace. Since then I've gotten a photograph of Iris that shows it quite clearly—and it's a rather common cameo. Oh, well. It was fun to speculate.

What to Give Your Sister on Her Birthday

By EllisBelle

Justin Crowe felt as if a physical load had been lifted from his shoulders as he quietly slipped through the screen door and into the house he shared with his sister. After a day spent administering to the spiritual and emotional needs of his parishioners during his weekly visitations, Justin was relieved to finally return to the comforts of home. He glanced into the living room and saw no sign of Iris. Listening for a moment, he smiled to himself, and then followed the soft sounds of humming through the house until he came to the kitchen. Iris stood at the counter, her back towards him, making bread. He paused in the doorway to take in the scene, and the woman, before him.

He watched, as her whole body seemed caught up in the rhythm of kneading the floury pile of dough before her. Her red hair escaping from its pins to fall in messy tendrils along her neck and into her face. The hint of muscle that appeared beneath the soft skin in her forearms with each push. How she rose up just slightly on her bare toes. He watched, almost hypnotized by the rocking of her hips, in tune to the song she was humming. He finally looked away guiltily, reaching into his coat pocket and trying to remind himself what he had come into the kitchen to do.

Iris could feel Justin watching her from the doorway. Finally she said without looking up or altering her rhythm, "Dinner isn't ready yet. As you can see." He didn't answer. "I know you're standing back there. I heard you come in." She blew out of the corner of her mouth to try to move her hair off her forehead. Eventually she gave up and wiped at it using the back of her arm.

"Close your eyes."

She jumped, startled that Justin was standing right behind her. "Close your eyes," he repeated again slowly. She swallowed hard at the feel of his breath warm across her ear. He took a step back from her as she took her hands out of the dough and wiped them on her apron. She closed her eyes, humoring him. "What is this all about?"

"All in good time," he teased. "Are they closed?"

"Yes."

"Keep them closed," he warned. She sighed, exasperated.

He took her by the shoulders and turned her towards him. She stood there looking slightly irritated, yet with eyes dutifully closed. And a big streak of flour across her cheek.

He laughed. "Did you get any of that flour in the dough? Or did you decide to wear most of it?"

"Justin," she warned as she wiped blindly at her face. "I'm only going to play along with this for so long, you know."

"Sorry, just hold still."

She felt him move closer to her until they were nearly touching. He put something around her neck. The weight of it dropped between her breasts. He lifted her damp hair off the back of her neck to let the cold beads of the chain settle against her skin. He stepped back.

"Now."

She opened her eyes and looked down at her chest to see the dark ebony cameo, carved with the face of a woman. She gasped as she immediately recognized the gentle eyes and soft smile, despite the fact that it had been nearly twenty years since she had last seen them. Iris was speechless for a moment as she took the pendant in her hand and stared down intently at it.

Justin stood grinning in front of her eagerly waiting for her reaction. He was sure she would be pleased with this gift. And he recognized the play of emotions across her face. He had felt the same ones as he had gazed into the jeweler's case in disbelief.

She smiled up at him, shaking her head. "How did you have this made? It looks just like hers . . ."

"I didn't," he explained. "I didn't have it made."

"But it can't be."

"Turn it over," he said eagerly.

Iris turned the necklace over in her palm. There carved into the stone in Cyllric characters were the letters "P.B. – L.B." Iris slowly traced a finger across the markings before looking up at Justin, her eyes bright with the threat of tears. "Our mother's."

"Yes, it has to be."

"How did you ever find this?" Iris asked, staring down at it again.

"Providence, I think. I found it without looking really. In a little shop in Salinas when I was visiting Norman last month. I couldn't believe it when I saw it. I hadn't thought about that necklace in years. But there it was in the jeweler's case. Her face staring up at me."

"But she sold this in New York."

"I know. I remember," Justin said. "The owner said someone in town with a carnival had brought it in a few months before. I wanted to tell you about it then. But I decided to wait and surprise you with it today."

"Oh, Justin," she beamed up at him. "I can't believe this."

"Happy birthday, Ira," he said softly. He was very pleased indeed with her reaction to the gift. He liked seeing her happy and smiling. Iris had worked so hard for years to help him go to seminary training and now she was right here at his side day in and day out struggling to make a go of First Methodist.

Yet something was wrong with the picture. The necklace looked out of place with her white housedress. But it didn't look out of place on her. It suited her. And it made him realize just how much Iris resembled their mother. Not in her coloring. That was so much lighter, maybe she got that from their father, but there was something about her mouth and the curve of her cheek, which looked distinctly like the woman on the cameo. Justin decided that his sister deserved more nice things. A new dress to go with the necklace maybe. Before he could mention this she stepped towards him.

"Thank you, Alexsei. It's wonderful." She stood on tiptoe; then, still not quite tall enough to reach him, she put her arms up around his neck and pulled his face down towards hers. She kissed him enthusiastically on the cheek once, twice, and then something went wrong.

Later, alone in her room, she will stare at her reflection in the mirror, the cameo dark against her slip, as her fingers retrace all the places where his lips have been. She will say to herself that their first kiss was only an accident, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth, as if of their own will. She has a harder time explaining away all the rest. She will swear to herself that it will never happen again. But she will pray that it does.

Later, alone in his room, he will stare up at the cross on his wall, the pain cutting through his body, as the whip leaves a mark for every place where his lips have touched her skin. He will say to himself that their first kiss was only an accident, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth, his lips responding in turn, as if of their own will. He has a harder time explaining away all the rest. He will swear to God that it will never happen again. And he will keep punishing himself until he prays that it doesn't.