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The driveway is choked with cars,
lined bumper-to-bumper against
the berms of piled snow. “Did you
do all that shoveling, Grandpa?”
He maneuvers the Lexus carefully.
With a little help from your brothers.
“Brothers? Plural? You actually got
the boys to work?” That’s a surprise.
Believe it or not, Donald has become
quite a good helper. David would still
rather play with the puppy, but he’s
getting better too. Consistency.
We could all use a little of that.
Grandpa noses the SUV against
the garage, and as we exit the car,
the office door opens. “Who’s that?”
The girl is a year or two older than me,
with thick copper hair tumbling loose
to her shoulders. She is not dressed
for snow. I have no idea, Grandpa says.
She stares up into the crackled
blue sky, lost in solitary reverie.
I am connected to her in some
unfathomable way. The door opens
again, and out comes my mom
with some guy I don’t know either.
They light cigarettes, and Grandpa
Scott says in a stiffened voice, Trey.
Everything clicks into place. Trey plus
Kristina equals, “Autumn.” My sister.
