Capture the Wind for Me by Brandilyn Collins

as an office assistant, then again as a caterer. After that, she worked for the City of San Diego in the tourism department. Finally, she just got tired of it all and wanted to go home. She returned to Bradleyville.
    Mighty short story, I thought. What about boyfriends? Surely Katherine had been pursued by hordes of men. There had to be things she wasn’t telling us. Important things.
    â€œAre you gonna stay here now?” Clarissa pressed. “’Cause I don’t want you to go.”
    Robert took a purposeful drink of iced tea, as if Katherine’s answer concerned him not in the least.
    â€œYes, I am,” Katherine told my sister firmly. Maybe a little too firmly. “I’ve seen enough of the world, Miss Clarissa. I’m ready to settle down.”
    The moment the words left her mouth, Katherine realized their dual meaning. She blushed. Lowering her eyes, she worked at placing her knife just so across her plate.
    â€œI can understand you’re wantin’ to do all those interesting things.” Daddy sprang to her rescue. “But I know what you mean about bein’ back here, near family. I never even wanted to leave, myself.”
    My throat tightened at that. He’d never wanted to leave because Mama had been here. Every state in the country could have beckoned with golden opportunities, and he wouldn’t have been tempted to go. Now Mama was gone, and Katherine King sat at our table, talking of her adventures, declaring them behind her. And Daddy nodded his head, saying he understood when I knew he didn’t, not at all. What adventure had he ever pursued in his life? What had he done, other than be completely, achingly, content to live in Bradleyville, married to Mama?
    At that moment, I didn’t know who I understood more, Daddy or Katherine. My sudden confusion made me feel as if I’d been buffeted by some wild wind into unfamiliar territory. I didn’t like that feeling one bit. Abruptly, I pushed away from the table. “Time for dessert.”
    With concentrated efficiency, I stacked plates and whisked them into the kitchen.

chapter 10
    M ama knew this day would come.
    I pushed that thought away easily enough as I served dessert. As I played hostess and poured coffee. As I whirled through the kitchen, wiping every sticky square of tile and cleaning every dirty dish. Including the blackened glass pan I’d shoved into a cabinet. I even managed to block the thought as we bade Katherine goodbye and watched her glide down our sidewalk to her car. I saw Clarissa to bed, accepted Daddy’s gratitude and accolades for supper, shook my head over Robert’s shiner as I bade him good night. Finally, then, I had nothing to do but retire to my room and slump, exhausted, upon my bed. I did not bother to turn on the light but did turn my radio on low. One of my favorite songs played.
    If only you would see me for all my soul can bare,
The inside of me, the best of me, the part I long to share . . .
    Picking at my bedspread, I stared vacantly at the posters of singers on my wall, my mind elsewhere. Thinking, Mama knew.
    Some things in this world cannot be adequately described. One is watching your mama, bubbly, full of life, waste away into a rag doll of pain and sedation. Through the summer of 1996 she went in and out of the hospital. Finally they sent her home to die. When the pain tied her face in knots, we gave her extra medication and prayed for drugged sleep to hurry. Other times, Mama would be more lucid. I think she saved her most important thoughts for those moments, spilling them like picked blossoms from an apron. During one of those times she called me to her side—alone—to prepare me for this day. I did not want to hear what she had to say.
    â€œMama.” My throat pinched as I sat beside her on the bed. “Don’t talk now.”
    â€œI know it’s hard.” Her voice rasped. “Hard to talk about rebuildin’ when