rare. Once we met my uncle, my dad’s brother, who has always been a wanderer and a loner. I hadn’t seen him – well, no one had – since he had wandered away from us when I was ten, but we somehow made a passing together anyway and ended up in Portugal together. He seemed happy enough to see us and we all made plans to stay together this time, but no one was completely surprised when he wasn’t around the night we all traveled again and woke without him. Every so often the loneliness is more than you can bear; but it’s easier for some to be the one to force it upon themselves than to be the one who is left behind. I wonder if Luke is like that, and then I remember no, he is not Lost, he merely wants a photograph of my grandmother. He probably has a wonderful family, people who are never further away from him than a phone call or a letter or a boat ride. I kick rocks all the way home and my fists are curled in my jacket pocket in muffled, stifled anger. Israel is silent but there is no familiar sense of comfortable camaraderie in our silence tonight.
********************
I wake the next afternoon to the smell of strong tea and bread. Amelia and Will are at it again, arguing in the living room. I can hear their tone of voice, if not their words, although I can guess at the conversation since it rarely differs. I can also hear the sound of the television with the ever running game shows. It sounds like Family Feud. Matthias and Harry are huge game show fanatics. They were so excited to be back in an era with television, they almost wept with joy.
I stumble out in my favorite old shirt, a soft gray one with faded pictures of horses, and a pair of plaid pajama pants. I have changed from the white, old fashioned nightgown I wear every night. The risks of waking in an unknown era are vast enough without calling attention to myself by an odd set of clothes. The nightgown, while a little eccentric in this day and age for a young woman, is the best I can do. I yawn and give Harry his customary high five as I walk by the couch. He loves this century. He loves smacking people’s hands instead of shaking them.
“Sonnet,” Amelia – Meli for short - calls out as I reach the kitchen and open the refrigerator. “Sonnet, tell this bum we need to go out! We need to go out, Will.” She turns her attention to her husband and props her cute, heart shaped face on her hands. She stares pointedly at him.
Will is short and small and wears glasses. He reads a book and sips orange juice and doesn’t pay her the slightest attention. Will and Meli have been married for several years and they haven’t agreed on anything since. Meli frets and mopes and stomps around the house when she isn’t working as a nanny, and Will indulgently pats her head occasionally, but mostly ignores her. Their devotion to each other and to their respective pursuit’s border somewhere between ridiculous and inspirational. Last week their daily arguments were focused about whether or not to have children. Now it seems Meli just wants a date night.
“Mm hm, you should take her out.” I agree while I put bread in the toaster. “Where’s Prue? Did she and Dad leave already?” I peer at the clock. It’s nearly 10:30.
“They were doing corned beef and cabbage today so they had to leave a little earlier than normal,” Will replied.
“That’s going to stink in this humidity,” Meli wrinkles her nose. “They should stick to the Cajun stuff, it sells better. Are you going down there, Sonnet? Please change your clothes, honey.”
I butter my toast and glance down at my shirt. “What’s wrong with it? You don’t like horses?”
“At least put on jeans. Come on, Sonnet! You could be so pretty if you’d put in a little effort, you know. Comb your hair, put on some make up. Let me take you shopping. Don’t you think I should take Sonnet shopping,