My twin sister died eighteen years ago. We lived in a small town on the shores of Lake Superior. We were just fooling around on the lake, like teenagers do. Then the storm came.
She was too far out, and the current took her.
I remember running along the shore screaming her name. Calling and calling for her to come back. But she never did. She wasn’t just my sister. She was my best friend. Somehow I recovered.
I married the man she was going to marry. These things happen with grieving people. I’ve lived the life she should have had. Now everyone is gathered for my father’s funeral.
I hear whispers behind us in the church. My husband’s hand tightens around mine as he turns to look. I turn around too . . . and there she is.
