Winter Garden

Meredith turned to look at her sister. "You have wings.”

"Huh?"

"Maybe I'm like some ostrich or dodo bird. I stayed on the ground so long, I lost the ability to fly."

"What will we be without him?" Meredith whispered, clinging to her.

"Less," was all Nina could think of to say.

“I don't think men understand, though. ... They march off with their guns and their ideas and they think they know courage.”

“It won't be easy," she said. "You know Meredith likes everything in its place. She'll want you here."

The smile he gave her was so sad and sloppy it broke her heart.

"You... hate easy."

"I do," she said quietly, stung by the sudden thought that without him, no one would know her that well.

But lately that kind of intimacy felt impossible. She wasn't quite sure how it had happened, or when, but distance seemed to be spreading between them like spilled ink, staining everything.

They would always be a family, but if she'd learned anything in the past few weeks it was that a family wasn't a static thing. There were always changes going on. Like with continents, sometimes the changes were invisible and underground, and sometimes they were explosive and deadly. The trick was to keep your balance. You couldn't control the dire

Nina didn't know until then how a word like proud could rock your world, but it rocked hers, and she understood love in a way she hadn't before, the all-consuming way of it.

And Vera understands. It is time for her to quit marking time and start doing something with it.

Maybe she'd thought time was more elastic, or love more forgiving.