Robin peered down the ridgeline, scoping out the ranch below. In the late afternoon twilight, everything looked picture-perfect. A thick blanket of snow made everything look pristine.
The house, a gigantic ultramodern interpretation of a log cabin, glowed with Christmas lights. The light breeze carried a whiff of the smoke that drifted from the river stone chimney– juniper, as sharp and sweet as the picturesque scene before her. It looked too perfect to be real, more like a Kincaid painting or movie set than a place where she once lived.
And yet, her heart ached at the sight of home, a place so long out of reach. She told herself that the tears were caused by the cold and wind. After blotting them away with a corner of her Michael Kors scarf, she retraced her steps back to her rental car so she could finish her drive. Finish her unfinished family business, maybe.
The huge wooden door was new. The wreath on it was not. Her gloved fingers skimmed lightly over the woolly snowmen that her younger sisters had made, the miniature “deer” trophy (a mouse skull with pipe cleaner antlers) added by her younger brother, the doll-sized snowshoes that Robin had labored over on that winter afternoon so long ago. The same tattered tartan ribbon wound through it all, freezing her heart with the memory of her mother’s smiling face on that day.
She yanked her hand back and knocked. This was home no longer. She wasn’t expected. Her mother had no smiles for her, not now, probably not ever again. After a long moment, the porch light came on and the door opened directly afterward.
“Michael,” she said hesitantly to the young man who peered unblinkingly at her. So much taller, and his hair shorter than she remembered. Broader in the shoulders, smaller in the waist. A tartan plaid shirt that matched the ribbon on the door.
He turned away. “You guys!” Michael yelled. “Rob’s home.” With that he wandered off into the depths of the house, leaving her to take off her boots and come in on her own. The house slippers from her previous life were still tucked into the shoe rack by the door. For an instant she reached for them, but no. She got into her bag and pulled out the quilted red velvet ballet flats she’d bought on the first Christmas after she had become Robin. Best to go on as herself, for there was no going back now.
“Robbie?” Her little sister Kelly, also not so little anymore, crashed into the hall and skidded to a halt in front of her, only her fuzzy gripper socks saving them from a collision. At sixteen, Kelly was almost as tall as Robin, with a lithe grace that filled Robin with envy and pride.
“I’m Robin now, sweetie,” Robin said. “It’s so good to see you!”
“Dotty! Mark! Get down here!” Kelly yelled.
Robin winced. Mark had only been three when she’d last seen him. He wouldn’t remember her. Wouldn’t care to remember, considering the judgment laid out by their mother. And Dottie had been her best friend in the world, once upon a time. The only one who seemed to understand her, yet not a word had been spoken between them in the last six years.
“I’m playing MarioKart here!” called out a young voice.
“So help me, Mark Antony Sewell, I will bust your behind if you don’t get down here right this minute!” Kelly yelled back. She turned to face Robin once more. “Dad’s out checking on the horses. More snow’s supposed to be on the way.”
“Yes, the weather report. . .”
“Hang your coat up and come back to the kitchen,” Kelly said, cutting her off. “I’m making dim sum.”
“You are not,” Mike said as he reappeared, an egg roll wrapped in a Christmas napkin in one hand. “You’re reheating dim sum. Nobody in their right mind would eat a blessed thing you cooked. If it weren’t for Dotty, we’d all starve.” He gave Kelly a one-handed shove and they headed off toward the kitchen, swatting and arguing their way through the cavernous open-plan family room that preceded it.
“Where’s mom?”
Kelly and Michael froze and turned toward her, mouths agape.
“What do you mean, ‘where’s mom’?” Dotty sailed down the stairs and planted herself in front of Robin. Her dark eyes looked Robin over, head to toe. “Mom’s exactly where she’s been for the last year and a half. Dead in the ground, Rob. And you didn’t even have the decency to come to the funeral!” Dotty spun on her heel in a whirl of dark braids and marched into the kitchen, back rigid with anger. “Kelly! What do you think you’re doing with this dim sum? You can’t just shove it in the microwave!”
Someone, either Kelly or Michael, directed her to the tan pit group and shoved her onto an ottoman, guiding her head between her knees. As she cried and hyperventilated, she could hear a three-way shouting match going on in the kitchen, but few of the words made sense to her shocked mind. The back door slammed, bringing the fight to an abrupt cease-fire.
“What in heaven’s name is going on in here?” her father boomed.
“You are NOT going to blame me for this like you always do with everything else,” Dotty replied.
Robin raised her head up long enough to watch Dotty scurry back up the stairs again. A bedroom door slammed as Robin sank her face back into her hands.
“Robbie.” Her dad’s huge, weathered hand landed on her shoulder. “Robbie.”
She found herself abruptly hauled to her feet and enveloped in a hug that she thought she would never receive again.
“Well, let’s see you,” her dad said, pushing and pulling her this way and that as he inspected her the way he’d look over a newborn foal. “I’d say that I didn’t hardly recognize you, but you’re still my Robbie, I think.”
“I’m Robin now,” she managed to get out past her runny nose and hoarse throat.
“Oh, Rob. You didn’t deserve,” he snuffled into his sleeve and cleared his throat, “She didn’t deserve. Ah, honey. You were always her Robin Redbreast. Always will be. She regretted so much. . .” He snuffled again and turned his attention to the kitchen, where Kelly and Michael had renewed their argument, seemingly about the correct way to reheat dim sum.
Mark came down and turned the TV on to wrestling. “Hi. Who are you, and why are you on my couch?” he asked at the first commercial break.
“I’m your oldest sister, Robin.” She paused. You wouldn’t remember me, she thought but didn’t say.
The boy shrugged. “You left me your Wii in your will. I love it. So vintage. Since you’re not dead like Mom said, you wanna play Mario Kart with me later?”
“Yeah,” Robin said. “I’d like that a lot.”
And suddenly, Robin was home.