The Color of Joy by Julianne MacLean

empty frame into it. “I stayed home from work this morning,” I explained.
    “Oh no. Are you sick again?”
    “I haven’t stopped being sick,” I replied. “I just wanted to stay in bed for once. I can’t believe how tired I am. Anyway, I got up a little while ago, and when I went into the bathroom, you’ll never guess what I found in the garbage.”
    “What?”
    I began to pace around the kitchen. “The framed picture of the house and sailboat Jake and I rented for our honeymoon. You know the one?”
    “The one that sits on your mantle?”
    “Yes, exactly. You know how much it means to me. Well, the glass was smashed. It looked like it was thrown against a wall or something.”
    My explanation was met with silence. “Mom, are you there?”
    She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m here, but I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
    I sat down and buried my forehead in my palm. “First, I should back up a little and tell you about my online chat with Jake last night. We were talking about Sylvie and I said a few things I shouldn’t have.”
    “What did you say, Jenn?”
    “It’s not really that important,” I replied guiltily. “I might have made a comment about her blond hair, and Jake may have said something about her mood swings.”
    “Oh no. Did she hear you?”
    “Yes. She came in afterward and talked to me. I apologized of course and I thought everything was fine until…” I glanced toward the window. “Until I woke up this morning and found this broken picture in the garbage. It was so upsetting, Mom. I can’t even tell you.”
    “That’s awful. So you think Sylvie is responsible?”
    “Who else would be?” I replied. “She must have been listening to us talking about going back there with the baby when Jake gets home. He mentioned he’s sick of the desert and I said I’d look into it.”
    “You think she heard that, too?”
    I shut my eyes and nodded my head. “She must have. And I thought she was doing so well. She seems to love her classes. She’s always telling me how good she feels and she thanks me for letting her stay here. Have you talked to her lately? Has she seemed okay?”
    There was a long, tell-tale pause. “I’ve had a few conversations with her…yes.”
    Instantly I knew I was being kept in the dark about something. I could read my mother like a book. “What’s she been talking to you about?”
    “She usually calls me during the day, from school.”
    I digested this information, stood up and went to fill the kettle to make some herbal tea. “Is everything okay with her?”
    “I promised I wouldn’t say anything,” Mom replied ruefully. “She’s trying so hard to be supportive of you.”
    My stomach turned over with dread which created a burning sensation in my core.
    “She’s been having a hard time lately,” my mother continued, “thinking about the baby.”
    “ My baby?” I asked.
    “No, hers .”
    Setting the kettle on the stove to boil, I fought with a commotion of conflicting emotions. Part of me was sympathetic toward my sister—for the pain and regret she felt over a choice she’d made in her youth. A choice she could never undo.
    Another part of me wanted to grab hold of her and shake her. It was fifteen years ago, for pity’s sake. It’s time to let go of the past and move on. Life’s too short. Stop punishing yourself!
    I couldn’t say any of that, of course. It would be insensitive.
    Maybe I was. Maybe I had a heart made of cold, hard steel and that’s why I could cope with my husband being deployed to Afghanistan while I was pregnant with the child he hadn’t wanted me to have.
    “Are you still there, Jenn?” my mother asked.
    “Yes, I’m here,” I replied, feeling frazzled and realizing I’d blanked out again, become lost in thought.
    “I think you should definitely talk to Sylvie about it,” Mom said. “You can’t just let her get away with something like that. We all understand that she’s hurting, but she needs