As a child, Helena truly and deeply believed that she would find her eternal happiness building a home for her own children with her husband, as would her sister. She believed they'd live door to door with a shared backyard. She believed their children would be close in age, best friends, almost twins. But not twins, not really, because five-year-old Helena, locked in a closet with barely any food for a month- her only companions: brooms, believed that their bond was magic.
She believed that Sarah and she were the only twins in the whole wide world. She believed that no one else ever had or ever would feel something quite like they did. And because she believed, believed so deeply as she did, Helena didn't die in that closet. Or later, when they struck her, when they cut her, when they put her head under water until she lost consciousness, when they said they had to clean her innominipatrietfiliietspiritussancti, amen.
Four-year-old Helena had a most precious secret. A secret that kept her alive, kept her going. And a belief that was so deeply routed and unquestioned in her heart (unlike cutting herself, which she learned was bad, but still did when she felt hollow and empty like the closet she'd spent a month in) that at the age of 26 she still believed it.
So when Jesse asked her to marry him, of course she said yes.
And she'd say it again. If he asked today, if he asked tomorrow: she'd say again.
Because Helena still holds onto believing. Helena thinks:
If only Sarah would talk to Kira's dad (Cal, not Vic, no 'lena, what do you think jeez, no, his name's Cal, Cal, CalCalCalCalSarahKira).
If only Sarah would talk to Mrs. S (you cannot dump her and take her as you will, she's a child, she deserves better).
If only Sarah would talk to Helena (this is Sarah's phone, leave a message).
And it's Christmas and Jesse has asked Helena to marry her and Helena said yes and Kira is sitting on the floor playing with her new colouring book and Sarah is gone. Goes. Went. Gone.
"I worry", Helena tells the hogwash. They used to share that task. Helena would do the rinsing (she likes the bubbles and how her fingers crumple when they're all water soaked) and Sarah would do the drying (she doesn't like it particularly, but she doesn't like the rinsing either and at least they can talk when they're doing it). Sarah isn't here. Mrs. S does the drying.
"I know", Mrs. S says. She doesn't say don't worry. She doesn't say Sarah will be fine.
Helena wishes she'd said something else.
Kira is five, which is how old Helena was when she lived purely by believing in Sarah and their future together. If Kira lives by believing in Sarah, she's got a big storm coming. Or really, she's got nothing coming.
Because Sarah doesn't come for Christmas. Not this year.
Helena doesn't believe she will. Not anymore.
Helena sits with Kira to help her do the colouring. It's a calming task. Colouring with Kira, her niece, Sarah's daughter. Doing what Sarah should be doing. Pretending Sarah is here doing it with them. It's calming. It makes her heart ache.
Kira is only five, but Helena knows that your heart can hurt when you're five years old. Helena knows. That's why she tries her hardest to keep Kira happy, far from hurting.
But Kira is five now. And Kira understands that she has a mummy, who isn't coming on Christmas. And she asks, and Helena says: "Maybe she got stuck in the snow."
Lying is a sin, but she doesn't feel guilty. Sarah might as well be stuck in the snow on their street or miles away, trying to fall asleep in the hidden corners of an empty train station, eyes glued to the Christmas advert featuring a young couple and their daughter, all smiles.
Five-year-old Sarah believed in nothing at all. Her elder foster brother, whose name she would forget later, but at that time she knew, a teenager, had told her all about it. How the tooth fairy only came to children, whose parents had money. How the Easter bunny was the main course, not someone who brought coloured eggs. How it wasn't Santa Clause, who filled the socks and ate the cookies, but parents of children, who had parents. Which ultimately meant that none of those creatures would ever come to Sarah, because Sarah didn't have parents. Or anything for that matter.
All she used to have was Helena. And Helena, now, was gone.
Five-year-old Sarah only partially believed in God. She thought, If she prayed often enough he might give her back her sister. But he never did. And Sarah stopped praying.
26-year-old Sarah is sitting inside a cabin, that is not hers. Waiting for the man it belongs to. Knowing that he probably won't come, since it's Christmas. Thinking that If she up and left right away, If she made it back to the station and into the next train, If she run all the way to their house-
no, she wouldn't make it. It's too late now.
Sarah didn't plan on not coming for Christmas. She knows she's been horrible with Kira. With everyone, really. But she always made it for Christmas. Always.
Sarah used to love, no, loves Christmas. She really does. It's a lot of bickering and good food, but it's also family and it's peace. It's like they used to be before all the shit with boarding school and Vic and drugs and clubs and Kira and Helena and Sarah and Helena and Sarah happened.
S can be cruel If she wants to, but never on Christmas. Everyone's just happy on Christmas.
And Sarah thought. Sarah was thinking, that she might change everything this year. That she might get back to how things were before everything went down the drain. She really did think that bringing Kira's dad, making them a family, would save them. Save her.
It's what she lacked as a child. It's why she went crazy as a teenager. She never knew her origin. She only had Helena, who, frankly, was no help in that regard, because she didn't care (Sarah was always enough for her). She had S, who said she didn't know anything. And Felix, who himself didn't want to look into his birth family tree, too afraid of how they might react to him liking boys.
When Sarah last saw Kira (because it's come to the point where Sarah may only see her with S' permission, where Sarah has to stay with S to see Kira and Helena isn't even there to back her up, because Helena moved away without telling Sarah, because she only left a message when it was finalized and that's not really telling, is it, because she decided without even asking Sarah how she felt about it), Sarah saw changes in Kira.
Kira has become less bubbly, more quiet. Kira seemed to be absentminded, thinking. Kira didn't talk as much as she used to, she listened.
And Sarah saw Kira and Sarah saw herself in Kira and no. She can't let that happen.
And that's why Sarah, on the 22nd, packed a bag and said: "I'll be back soon."
And that's why Sarah is sitting in the cabin of Kira's father, waiting for him to come. Since two days.
Sarah needs to fix this. It might be too late for her, to ever really be fixed (it might have been to late the moment two social workers pulled on tiny legs, slapped tiny hands until tiny fingers let go and tiny girls cried, cried, cried). But it's certainly not too late for Kira. It mustn't be.
So Sarah sits. And waits. And falls asleep.
And Helena, in Toronto, not knowing, sits. And waits (her belief not quite dead yet), and falls asleep. Dreaming of two houses with a shared backyard.
Sarah doesn't have any dreams.