The Sound of Glass by Karen White

each other with matching eyes. Loralee felt a glimmer of hope, as if she’d somehow found a rip in Merritt’s duct-taped heart that allowed a little light toshine in. “He loves to draw and paint, too, and he’s so creative. You should see what he can do with a bunch of LEGO bricks.”
    Brother and sister continued to stare at each other without Merritt saying anything, and Loralee began to fish through her brain for something else she could try to convince her stepdaughter to allow them to stay. She was about to mention how they both ate their Oreos cream-first (according to Robert) when Owen reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
    Handing it to Merritt, he said, “I drew this for you. It’s not very good, because I was only six. But that’s when I found out I had a sister.”
    Loralee watched as Merritt’s mouth softened, which made her believe that Merritt would take the piece of paper. Because if she didn’t, Loralee didn’t know if she could be held accountable for what she might do.
    Owen took a step forward and slid the paper from his fingers to hers. She opened it slowly, then spent several moments staring at it without saying anything. Mr. Williams shifted his feet as Loralee and Owen held their breath, waiting for Merritt to say something.
    “It’s very good,” she said, her words sounding like they’d been tumbled with cotton. “Even for a six-year-old,” she added, and her lips tilted upward in what probably passed for a smile in some parts of the country.
    The three of them let go of their breath as Merritt’s gaze settled back on Owen’s face and her features softened as if she’d put on a mask. Loralee wondered whether Merritt did it on purpose, or if she was so used to hiding her feelings from other people that the mask appeared without her knowing. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Owen. And I’m glad you’ve come for a visit. I’m sure there are hotels in town. . . .”
    “We have the same eyes,” he said, studying her the way he watched the ants in his ant farm. Like he had to study her to figure out how she worked. Loralee decided that he probably had that right.
    Merritt’s eyes darkened, and Loralee thought of the cornered fox again. Merritt blinked rapidly as she stared back at Owen as if she were going to cry. But Loralee knew she wouldn’t. Merritt had probably practiced how not to cry in front of other people for years. Loralee had figured that one out when Robert told her how Merritt had gone to her mama’s funeral with dry eyes, and then spent the wake bringing people punch and straightening the pillows on the couch. Loralee thought of something else to add to her journal:
Some people hide their grief by pretending it’s not there
.
    Loralee shifted her feet, wishing it were just her shoes that were making it hard to stand, and needing another breeze. Mr. Williams touched her elbow. “You all right there, Mrs. Connors?”
    She gave him her flight-attendant smile, the one she’d used to greet passengers. “I’m fine, thank you. It’s just a hot one today, isn’t it?” She punctuated her words with a heavy fanning of her hand. She was about to ask again whether Merritt wanted her to get some water when Owen spoke.
    He was looking up at the line of sea glass strung across the entire porch like an ocean had just thrown up all over the front of the house. “I like the wind chimes. Daddy made one for our backyard in our old house, but I think we forgot to bring it. Can I have a room where I can hear them from my bed? I’d like to hear the sound in the morning when I wake up. Sort of like I’m still in my bedroom and Daddy’s downstairs.”
    Merritt must have heard his voice break a little, too, because she leaned forward, almost as if she wanted to reach out and touch him. But she didn’t. Her lips tilted upward again, and Loralee wondered whether her smiling muscles would hurt the next day from being used too much.
    “He made