The car turned into the driveway as the sound of gravel crunched under the tyres. Zena stared out the window, her breath fogging the glass just a little, as the house came into view. The house looked bigger than she remembered.
It seems her father bought the lands surrounding their home and expanded it. Some things still looked the same....White paint. Big windows. Flower boxes with red geraniums that swayed gently in the breeze.
Zena also noticed new cars in the garage, some of them looking like the cars the president's visitors drove. It seems they were rich now...or maybe James was rich now.
James killed the engine with a soft click, the sudden quiet pressing in around them. "Ready, pumpkin?" he asked. His voice was light and easy, as if eight years could fold away like a napkin after dinner.
Zena nodded, her fingers tightening on the strap of her bag where it dug into her lap...the bear doll nestled inside, Mom's old dress folded carefully beneath it, a few worn books stacked on top like silent guardians.
She pushed the door open and stepped out, the air wrapping around her warm and thick with the scent of fresh-cut grass mingled with something sweeter, like vanilla baking in an oven somewhere close. Her shoes crunched on the path, each step pulling her closer to the front door, heart beating steady but loud in her ears.
Before they even reached the porch, the door swung wide, and there she was... a woman with soft brown curls tumbling to her shoulders, wearing a blue dress that swished like water over stones when she moved. Her smile stretched wide as she stepped forward to wrap James in a quick hug, her laughter bubbling up light and easy. "James! You are back early. I was just pulling cookies from the oven."
Then her eyes landed on Zena, softening even more, and she reached out a hand, "And you must be Zena. Oh, dear, look at you, so tall and lovely, just like your dad said. Come on in, we have been waiting all day."
James's arm slid around the woman's waist with a casual ease that made Zena's chest tighten. "Zena, this is Clara. We have been married two years now, though it feels like longer, in the best way." His words tumbled out warm, like he was sharing a favourite joke, not dropping a whole new world into her lap.
Wife. The word hung there, heavy as the bag on Zena's shoulder, twisting something deep inside her until it pinched. She stood frozen for a beat, the woman's hand still outstretched, warm and waiting. Finally, Zena took it, the shake brief and firm, her palm cool against the softness. "Hello," she said, the word coming out even and distant.
Laughter came from inside then, as two kids burst through the doorway, tumbling onto the porch in a whirl of energy. The boy led, maybe ten, with freckles scattered across his nose. He skidded to a stop, grinning wide enough to show a missing tooth in front. "Hey! You are Zena, right? I am Ben...this bag looks heavy, what is in it? Books? Or secret treasures?"
The girl trailed right behind. Seven or so, her braids swinging with pink ribbons tied at the ends like little flags. She peeked out from Ben's shadow at first, shy but curious, then stepped forward with a small wave. "I'm Lily. Mom said you draw stars. Can you teach me how? Mine always look like blobs."
Clara laughed as she put a hand on Lily's head. "Give her space, you two. It is a long drive." She looked at James, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "They are excited about a new sister and all. They have been practising their welcome speeches all morning." Clara and James looked at themselves with a soft smile, you know those smiles that say "we are right for each other."
Sister. Zena's grip on her bag turned white-knuckled, the strap biting into her skin as she peered past them into the hallway to look at the coats hanging crooked on hooks, small sneakers lined up in a messy row, a basket of toys spilling blocks and cars onto the rug by the stairs.
The space felt crowded already, alive with echoes of feet and voices that weren't hers or Summer's or even their Mom's.
"Summer?" Zena asked, the name slipping out softer than she meant, laced with a hunger she'd carried like a stone in her pocket for years.
Clara's smile didn't falter, warm as ever, and she nodded toward the kitchen, "Right in there, drawing up a storm like always. She talks about you nonstop, Zee-Zee this and Zee-Zee that. Come see for yourself."
She looped her arm through Zena's and guided her inside, the floor creaked under her feet. The wood still warm from the sun...but the walls felt closer. New pictures were hung. James and Clara at a beach. Smiling. Arms around each other. No Mom. No old Zena.
Zena paused at one, her hand hovering near the glass, tracing the curve of her sister's smile. At least Summer made it into some pictures. Framed, cherished.
The kitchen wrapped them in warmth, the oven's heat still lingering, vanilla and chocolate thick in the air like a hug you could taste. Summer sat cross-legged at the big oak table, surrounded by a rainbow scatter of crayons, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she scribbled fierce yellow lines on a sheet of paper.
Eight now, she had grown a little taller, her dark hair pulled into a single braid that swung when she leaned in close to her work. She looked up at the sound of footsteps, her brown eyes going wide as saucers, crayon frozen mid-stroke. "Zee-Zee? Is that really you?"
Zena let her bag slide to the floor with a soft thud, dropping to her knees in one fluid motion, arms opening wide as the sea calling home. "It's me, little star. I am here, home for good."
Summer scrambled off the chair in a blur, launching herself across the room to crash into Zena's chest, her hug fierce as her small hands clutched at Zena's shirt like she would vanish if she let go. "You came back! Daddy kept saying 'soon,' but it was forever. I missed you so much, Zee-Zee. Look, I drew a whole sky of stars for your room, see? The big one's yours, with a tail like a comet, so you never get lost again."
If Zena had any tears left in her, she would have joined Summer in her teary outburst. But she didn't. So she just clung to her sister, holding her tightly and patting her hair.
"They are beautiful," she murmured, her voice thick as she pulled back just enough to trace the jagged yellow lines with her fingertip, the paper crinkling under her touch. "The best sky painting I have ever seen. We will hang it right by the window so the moon can see it too."
Everyone watched them both. James looked away guiltily as if convincing himself that he did the right thing. He loosened his tie as he leaned against the frame, "Zena, we have plenty of time for more reunion now that the family is all under one roof. Clara has turned this place into a real home. You will fit right in, pumpkin."
Summer pouted, crossing her arms in dramatic protest. "Aw, Dad, just a little longer, Zee-Zee just got here!"
James took Zena's bag over his shoulder, "Come on, pumpkin, let's get you settled upstairs before Clara's stew boils over. The house has grown a bit since you left; I bought the back fields last year, turned part into a little orchard. The apples will be ripening soon, and you can see them from your window."
Zena let him take the bag and followed him up the stairs. James cleared his throat. "We kept your old room just the same. Clara added some touches."
"It's... nice," Zena said, stepping inside, her shoes sinking into the rug that wasn't hers. She set the bear on the pillow, its button eyes staring up blank and knowing.
James lingered in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck. "Missed this, you know? The noise downstairs...Clara's got a way of filling silences. The kids... they are good for Summer. Teach her to share the spotlight a bit." His words trailed off, eyes flicking to the floor, then back up with a forced brightness. "Dinner in twenty. Stew's your favourite, or used to be. Come down when you are ready."
Zena went down for dinner. Amidst the constant chattering from the kids and Summer calling her name every minute as if to reassure herself of Zena's presence, the dinner went well.
After dinner, Zena tucked Summer in bed and stayed until she slept. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead, the skin soft and sleep-flushed. Her hand stroked the braid Summer had mentioned Clara tied for her...it was too neat, too tight...but she didn't think too much of it before slipping out, the door clicking softly behind her.
Back in her room, Zena changed into a nightshirt from her bag, as sleep pulled her slowly into the nightmares she had just run from.
It was the phone that shattered it; a buzzing sound came from downstairs, cutting through the quiet like a knife through silk. Zena sat up, heart slamming, ears straining as James's voice rose muffled through the floor, low and tense. "Yes, sir... she's home safe, just now. The papers are all in order. No, nothing has changed on that front."
A pause, then Clara's whisper joining, hushed but clear: "Tell him the girl's settled, but... watchful. Like she knows."
James's reply dropped colder, the words slicing up through the vents: "She doesn't. And Summer's fine. Clara has got her wrapped tight. The arrangement holds, as long as the promotions keep coming."
Zena froze, breath shallow, the bear's fur damp under her fingers. Arrangement. The president's voice crackled faintly on the line, a gravelly echo she knew too well: "Good. Keep the egg close. And the little one... untouched. For now."
Even through the static, she knew that voice - the one that had haunted her nights.
The call ended with a click, silence flooding back, but Zena's pulse roared on, eyes fixed on the door as footsteps padded up the stairs, heavy, pausing outside Summer's room for a beat too long before continuing down the hall.