R.I.P.
* * *
It was dark when Samantha made the short walk across the street from the Camden house to her own, letting herself in the front door. It was good to be home, good to be away from Lucy, good to look forward to a long bath and then her own bed. Mom was back and had saved her some dinner, and this Samantha ate gratefully, finally excusing herself for bed and kissing her mother goodnight.
Lucy, once, must have been likable. Samantha had brought up the Camden girl's past again and again, and with each story had encouraged her to tell another, until Lucy produced a box from the back of her closet filled with pictures and certificates and a cheerleader's outfit. Samantha pointed to one photo in particular.
"You were doing construction?"
"Oh, yes. Habitat for Humanity. I worked with the plumbing crew. We installed the kitchen and the bathrooms."
"Sounds like hard work."
Lucy smiled. "Yeah. But just think; there's a family with a roof over their heads now because of the work we did."
"That must feel good."
"It does. My dad always pushed for us to reach out and help people. It's just the way we were raised."
"Well, I'm impressed, Lucy."
"Thank you, Samantha. That means a lot."
#
The upstairs hall was quiet as Samantha made her way to the bathroom, running a tub of hot water and indulging herself with her favorite bath crystals. This felt good and she nearly dozed off; a long bath is a luxury in a populous household. Rising at last, she brushed her teeth and then stared at her naked reflection for a moment.
Beautiful, they all said. Angelic, beautiful Samantha. They didn't say that about Ellen; boys didn't stare at her longingly, didn't beg her for attention.
What is it? The shape of my face, my body? Is that all it takes to get a Simon Camden to do anything, to take risks like this?
Simon.
They had walked their dogs today, she and he. Had walked their dogs and talked. He had his money with him, a decent sum, and with hers maybe enough. But as he had extended it to her he had drawn back.
"What is it?" she asked.
He watched her from beneath those bushy, furrowed brows.
"Maybe there's another way," he said. "I've been thinking. This isn't going to work. It isn't a good idea."
"Are you backing out on me, Simon Camden?" she asked.
"No." He shook his head vigorously in denial. "But I have an idea."
"Tell me."
He did, and she grilled him long and hard over it. Every detail, every possibility. But she had to admit that his idea had a certain genius, and when she was satisfied she looked him in the eye and spoke softly.
"If this goes wrong, Simon, if anything happens to her, I won't bother with my father. I'll go straight to his gun collection. Do you understand?"
Simon nodded, his face white.
#
Samantha made her way to her bedroom, opening the door quietly and stepping inside. It didn't take long to change for bed and her pillow felt good beneath her head as she lay down. She sighed from the exertions of the day.
Motion, then, from the other bed. She looked over.
Ellen was looking back at her.
"I'm sorry," Samantha said. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Ellen said nothing.
Some moments passed. Then Ellen reached out, across the space between them, and Samantha felt her sister's hand, warm, against her cheek. She reached up without thinking, took the hand in her own.
Each could just feel the pulse of the other.
"Cold," Ellen said then.
"Cold?"
"He was cold. When I touched him."
Samantha hesitated. "The Reverend?" she asked.
Ellen nodded, the motion just visible.
"Cold," she said again. "It only took a second. That's all it takes, Sam. Just a second. And then ...." Her voice drifted off.
Samantha held her sister's hands in both of her own now, was staring at her.
"El. You saved him. You know that."
Ellen said nothing for a time. When she spoke again her voice was distant.
"It's all so cold, Sam. Everywhere. God is cold. When I pray God is cold."
Still holding her hands, Samantha watched her sister, saw her shiver beneath her blankets.
"I think God is dead, Sam."
Samantha did not move.
"Dead?"
Ellen nodded.
"Ellen --" Samantha began, but Ellen's voice cut her off.
"I'm dying too, Sam. I'm sorry."
* * *
It was dark when Samantha made the short walk across the street from the Camden house to her own, letting herself in the front door. It was good to be home, good to be away from Lucy, good to look forward to a long bath and then her own bed. Mom was back and had saved her some dinner, and this Samantha ate gratefully, finally excusing herself for bed and kissing her mother goodnight.
Lucy, once, must have been likable. Samantha had brought up the Camden girl's past again and again, and with each story had encouraged her to tell another, until Lucy produced a box from the back of her closet filled with pictures and certificates and a cheerleader's outfit. Samantha pointed to one photo in particular.
"You were doing construction?"
"Oh, yes. Habitat for Humanity. I worked with the plumbing crew. We installed the kitchen and the bathrooms."
"Sounds like hard work."
Lucy smiled. "Yeah. But just think; there's a family with a roof over their heads now because of the work we did."
"That must feel good."
"It does. My dad always pushed for us to reach out and help people. It's just the way we were raised."
"Well, I'm impressed, Lucy."
"Thank you, Samantha. That means a lot."
#
The upstairs hall was quiet as Samantha made her way to the bathroom, running a tub of hot water and indulging herself with her favorite bath crystals. This felt good and she nearly dozed off; a long bath is a luxury in a populous household. Rising at last, she brushed her teeth and then stared at her naked reflection for a moment.
Beautiful, they all said. Angelic, beautiful Samantha. They didn't say that about Ellen; boys didn't stare at her longingly, didn't beg her for attention.
What is it? The shape of my face, my body? Is that all it takes to get a Simon Camden to do anything, to take risks like this?
Simon.
They had walked their dogs today, she and he. Had walked their dogs and talked. He had his money with him, a decent sum, and with hers maybe enough. But as he had extended it to her he had drawn back.
"What is it?" she asked.
He watched her from beneath those bushy, furrowed brows.
"Maybe there's another way," he said. "I've been thinking. This isn't going to work. It isn't a good idea."
"Are you backing out on me, Simon Camden?" she asked.
"No." He shook his head vigorously in denial. "But I have an idea."
"Tell me."
He did, and she grilled him long and hard over it. Every detail, every possibility. But she had to admit that his idea had a certain genius, and when she was satisfied she looked him in the eye and spoke softly.
"If this goes wrong, Simon, if anything happens to her, I won't bother with my father. I'll go straight to his gun collection. Do you understand?"
Simon nodded, his face white.
#
Samantha made her way to her bedroom, opening the door quietly and stepping inside. It didn't take long to change for bed and her pillow felt good beneath her head as she lay down. She sighed from the exertions of the day.
Motion, then, from the other bed. She looked over.
Ellen was looking back at her.
"I'm sorry," Samantha said. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Ellen said nothing.
Some moments passed. Then Ellen reached out, across the space between them, and Samantha felt her sister's hand, warm, against her cheek. She reached up without thinking, took the hand in her own.
Each could just feel the pulse of the other.
"Cold," Ellen said then.
"Cold?"
"He was cold. When I touched him."
Samantha hesitated. "The Reverend?" she asked.
Ellen nodded, the motion just visible.
"Cold," she said again. "It only took a second. That's all it takes, Sam. Just a second. And then ...." Her voice drifted off.
Samantha held her sister's hands in both of her own now, was staring at her.
"El. You saved him. You know that."
Ellen said nothing for a time. When she spoke again her voice was distant.
"It's all so cold, Sam. Everywhere. God is cold. When I pray God is cold."
Still holding her hands, Samantha watched her sister, saw her shiver beneath her blankets.
"I think God is dead, Sam."
Samantha did not move.
"Dead?"
Ellen nodded.
"Ellen --" Samantha began, but Ellen's voice cut her off.
"I'm dying too, Sam. I'm sorry."
