“I always wanted one when I was your age, Fiona, but Grandpa Mark wouldn’t let us get one, either,” I said. “Too much work, apparently.”
The path narrowed, and Fiona led the way, the dogs flanking her on each side and trudging through the snow-covered underbrush. “How could a dog be too much work? That makes no sense,” she proclaimed.
“I agree.” I was next in line in our little parade through the woods. The cold was getting to my face so that I could hardly feel my cheeks, but the rest of my body was warming up.
“What were you like as a girl, Katherine? When you were my age?”
I wasn't quite sure how to answer that question. If any adult had spent too much time analyzing their childhood self, it was me.
“Katherine was bossy.” Amy had apparently decided to chime in.
“I can see that.” Fiona came to a stop where the path forked. “Which way?”
“Left!” Amy and I answered in unison. We never went right. Not any more.
“No one ever says that boys are bossy.” I was desperate to redirect our conversation. Luckily, Fiona hadn't seemed to take issue with us barking orders at her.
Fiona turned around and planted her hands on her hips. “Why is that?”
The dogs stopped and looked at her. Apparently they didn't know the reason either.
“Because men don’t like to think of women as leaders,” Amy said.
“Well, I don’t like them being so stupid. Well, not all men. Dad isn't stupid. Or Luke. Or Grandpa Mark.” Fiona returned to the trail, matter-of-fact.
“I really wasn't that bossy, anyway. The oldest child always seems like that, but it's only because they're older and know more.” I had to stick up for myself.
“What in the world are you talking about?” Amy asked from behind me. “You always set the rules if we were playing a game. You always overruled me when it came to TV. You were always blaming me for things if we got in trouble.”
That brought Fiona to a dead stop. She whipped around, her hair splaying out from under her hat. “What sort of trouble?”
“We broke a neighbor's birdbath once.” Amy was once again lightning fast with her response. She loved telling this story. “We were goofing around in their backyard and we weren't supposed to be back there. Katherine told our mom that we were both responsible, when the truth is that it was all her idea.”
“Now who can't remember things right? It was not my idea. You were obsessed with that red squirrel that used to sit in her back yard. That's why we went over there. So you could try to catch it. I was just the dummy who agreed to it.”
Fiona stood there, looking back and forth at us as we argued about quite literally the stupidest thing ever, something that had happened twenty-five years ago. “Did you ever do anything really bad?” she asked.
Amy and I both gawked at her then we stared at each other, neither of us coming forth with an answer. Had it been really bad? What we did? Our intentions had been good. We were trying to keep our family together.
“Every kid does bad things.” Amy didn't take her eyes off me. There was so much forgiveness on her face every time we talked about this. That was undoubtedly a huge part of why I was attached to her. She understood I'd never meant for things to go so wrong. “It's all about whether or not you're willing to own up to it later. And apologize if necessary.”
“I always say I'm sorry,” Fiona said.
“That's a very good idea,” I said.
“Now let's talk about something fun,” Amy added. I was so relieved. “Fiona, do you know about Katherine's special eyesight?” She pointed down at the snow.
“What kind of special?” Fiona’s eyes were wide with wonder. I loved that about her. She was so open to any idea, no prejudice or prejudgment. Just curiosity.
I crouched down and scooped up a small handful. “Snow comes in all different colors, not just white. There's red and green and orange. Even black. Most people see some slight color variation, especially later in the winter, but I can see it right away.”
“She can see something like a million more colors than you or I can,” Amy added.
Fiona took some of the snow in her hand and held it right in front of her face, seeming perplexed. “Did something happen to you to make your eyes like that?”
I’d wondered that same thing a few times, but I shook my head. “It's the way I was born. Most people have three cones in their eyes for seeing colors. I have four.”
“Pretty cool, huh?” Amy asked.
