You mean you’d rather she stayed, he says. We got a take her with us, Saba. We cain’t leave her behind.
What about … maybe if you was to talk to Pa, he might see sense, I says. Then we could al go to a new place together.
He won’t, Lugh says. He cain’t leave Ma.
Whaddya mean? I says. Ma’s dead.
Lugh says, What I mean is … him an Ma made this place together an, in his mind, she’s stil here. He cain’t leave her memory, that’s what I’m sayin.
But we’re the ones stil alive, I says. You an me.
An Emmi, he says. I know that. But you see how he is. It’s like we don’t exist. He don’t give two hoots fer us.
Lugh thinks fer a moment. Then he says, Love makes you weak. Carin fer somebody that much means you cain’t think straight. Look at Pa.
Who’d wanna end up like him? I ain’t never gonna love nobody. It’s bet er that way.
I don’t say naught. Jest trace circles in the dirt with my finger.
My gut twists. Like a mean hand reached right inside me an grabbed it.
Then I says, What about me?
Yer my sister, he says. It ain’t the same.
But what if I died? You’d miss me, wouldn’t you?
Huh, he says. Fat chance of you dyin an leavin me in peace. Always fol owin me everywhere, drivin me nuts. Since the day we was born.
It ain’t my fault yer the tal est thing around, I says. You make a good sunshade.
Hey! He pushes me onto my back.
I push him with my foot. Hey yerself! I prop myself up on my elbows. Wel , I says, would you?
What?
Miss me.
Don’t be stupid, he says.
I kneel in front of him. He looks at me. Lugh’s got eyes as blue as the summer sky. Blue as the clearest water. Ma used to say his eyes was so blue, it made her want to sail away on ’em.
I’d miss you, I says. If you died, I’d miss you so much I’d wanna kil myself.
Don’t talk foolish, Saba.
Promise me you won’t, I says.
Won’t what?
Die.
Everybody’s got a die one day, he says.
I reach out an touch his birthmoon tat oo. High on his right cheekbone, jest like mine, it shows how the moon looked in the sky the night we was born. It was a ful moon that midwinter. That’s a rare thing. But twins born unner a ful moon at the turnin of the year, that’s even rarer. Pa did the tat oos hisself, to mark us out as special.
We was eighteen year our last birthday. That must be four month ago, near enough.
When we die, I says, d’you think we’l end up stars together, side by side?
You got a stop thinkin like that, he says. I told you, that’s jest Pa’s nonsense.
Go on then, if you know so much, tel me what happens when you die.
I dunno. He sighs an ops back on the ground, squintin at the sky. You jest … stop. Yer heart don’t beat no more, you don’t breathe an then yer jest … gone.
An that’s it, I says.
Yeah.
Wel that’s stupid, I says. I mean, we spend our lives doin al this … sleepin an eatin an xin roofs an then it al jest … ends. Hardly seems worth the trouble.
Wel , that’s the way it is, he says.
You … hey Lugh, you wouldn’t ever leave without me, would you?
Of course not, he says. But even if I did, you’d only fol ow me.
I wil fol ow you … everywhere you go! When I say it, I make crazy eyes an a crazy face because it creeps him out when I do that. To the bot om of the lake, I says, … to the ends of the earth … to the moon … to the stars …!
Shut up! He leaps to his feet. Bet you don’t fol ow me to skip rocks, he says an runs of .
Hey! I yel . Wait fer me!
We run a fair ways out onto the dry lakebed before we nd water enough to skip stones. We pass the ski that Pa helped me an Lugh build when we was lit le kids. Now it lies high an dry where the shoreline used to be.
We walk til we’re out a sight of the shanty, out a sight of Pa an Emmi. The erce noonday sun beats down an I wrap my sheema around my head so’s I don’t fry too much. I wish I took after Ma, like Lugh, but I favor Pa. It’s strange, but even with our dark hair, our skin burns if we don’t cover up.
Lugh never wears a sheema. Says they make him feel trapped an anyways the sun don’t bother him none. Not like me. When I tel him it’l Lugh never wears a sheema. Says they make him feel trapped an anyways the sun don’t bother him none. Not like me. When I tel him it’l deserve him right if he drops dead from sunstroke one day, he says, wel if that happens you can say I told you so. I wil , too.
I find a pret y good stone right of . I rub my fingers over its flat smoothness. Feel its weight.
I got a lucky one here, I says.
Lugh hunts around to nd one fer hisself. While he does it, I walk up an down on my hands. It’s about th’only thing I can do that he cain’t.
He pretends he don’t care, but I know he does.
You look funny upside down, I says.
Lugh’s golden hair gleams in the sun. He wears it tied back in one long braid that reaches almost to his waist. I wear mine the same, only my hair’s black as Nero’s feathers.
His necklace catches the light. I found the lit le ring of shiny green glass in the land l an threaded it on a piece of leather. I gave it to him fer our eighteen year birthday an he ain’t took it of since.
What did he give me? Nuthin. Like always.
Okay I got a good one, he cal s.
I go runnin over to take a look. Not as good as mine, I says.
I’m gonna skip eight today, he says. I feel it in my bones.
In yer dreams, I says. I’m cal in a seven.
I whip my arm back an send the stone skimmin over the water. It skips once, twice, three times. Four, five, six …
Seven! I says. Seven! Didya see that?
I cain’t hardly believe it. I ain’t never done more’n five before.
Sorry, Lugh says. I warn’t lookin. Guess you’l hafta do it agin.
What! My best ever an you didn’t … you rat! You did see! Yer jest sick with jealousy. I fold my arms over my chest. Go on. Let’s see you do eight. Betcha cain’t.
He does seven. Then I do my usual ve. He’s jest pul in his arm back fer another try when, out a nowhere, Nero comes swoopin down at us, cawin his head of .
Damn bird, says Lugh, he made me drop my stone. He gits on his knees to look fer it.
Go away! I says, flappin my hands at Nero. Shoo, you bad boy! Go find somebody else to—
A dustcloud’s jest appeared on the horizon. A bil owin orange mountain of dust. It’s so tal , it scrapes aginst the sun. It’s movin fast.
Headed straight at us.
Uh … Lugh, I says.
There must be somethin in my voice. He looks up sharpish. Drops the stone in his hand. Gits slowly to his feet.
Holy crap, he says.
We jest stand there. Stand an stare. We git al kinda weather here. Hotwinds, restorms, tornadoes, an once or twice we even had snow in high summer. So I seen plenty of dust storms. But never one like this.
That’s one bastard of a cloud, I says.
We bet er git out a here, says Lugh.
We start to back away slow, stil starin. Then, Run, Saba! Lugh yel s.
He grabs my hand, yankin at me til my feet move, an then we’re runnin. Runnin fer home, fast as wolfdogs on the hunt.