“Come on, Becca,” Heather encouraged. “I know this is all my fault, but we can’t just mope around all day.”
Rebecca sighed, “I guess you’re right.”
“Exactly,” Heather encouraged. “And I promise I’ll make this up to you when this is all over.”
“You’d better,” Rebecca remarked as she and Heather walked downstairs.
Heather chuckled and looked around, “No sign of mom or Delilah.”
“Good,” Rebecca wasn’t sure she was ready to face her mother or baby sister like this.
“And,” Heather added as the two stood before the basement, “We’re in luck; mom left the chain bolt off after putting supplies away.”
“Good,” Rebecca repeated. Miranda always tried to keep a level head in situations like this, but maternal instincts tended to kick in whenever her daughter’s were small and needed help.
Heather opened the door, and the two were presented with the dark staircase to the basement. The girls had been downstairs plenty of times in their lives, but there was something about being so small and seeing the dark area. “I suddenly feel bad for laughing behind her back when Delilah thought the furnace was a monster,” The college student told her sister.
Rebecca nodded, “Let’s go.”
The pair walked down the stairs and jumped a little when the third step squeaked, but they pressed forward. The girls walked past the room containing the household supplies (toilet paper, paper towels, etc.) and the room with the holiday decorations. Despite the situation, the girls were hit with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia when they reached the back room, which contained old toys and clothes.
“Oh my God!” Heather ran to a plastic vanity table, “Look, Becca; it’s our beauty station.”
“Our what?” Rebecca questioned.
“Come on,” Heather smiled, “You remember? We spent hours doing each other's hair or using mom’s makeup.”
“Oh yeah,” Rebecca grinned, “Remember when the playroom was painted, so mom moved it outside in the sun?”
“And we were too scared,” Heather finished, “To tell her that her favorite lipstick was inside the vanity.”
Both girls laughed, “We got grounded all weekend, and mom made us promise never to use her makeup without her permission.”
“And then there was the time that….” Heather started but stopped suddenly, “Never mind.”
“What?” Rebecca inquired.
“Well,” Heather said slowly. “I was five, and you were Delilah’s age, and I wanted to play hairstylist.”
“Heather,” Rebecca spoke slowly, realizing what her sister was saying. “Did you cut my hair?”
“I wasn’t trying to be mean,” Heather defended, “I really thought that you were going to come out looking like a little model.”
“What happened?” Rebecca asked.
“You had to wear a hat for a month,” Heather explained, “Mom grounded me and refused to let me touch scissors for years.” Heather looked to her sister, who seemed upset, “Oh, come on; it was years ago, and I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay,” Rebecca grinned. “I’m sorry that I put your hand in warm water at our sleepover when I was ten.”
“That was you?” Heather demanded. “Everyone at school called me peepee pants for months!”
“I said sorry,” Rebecca defended. “At least I never cut your hair!”
“I was five!” Heather responded. For a moment, the two sisters looked at each other angrily before they fell back laughing.
“Come on,” Rebecca said through her chuckles, “We should get clothes.”
“No,” Heather argued, “This is fun; I want to remember more stories.”
“Heather,” Rebecca responded, “What if by the time we get back upstairs, mom’s already gone? And what if she expects us to babysit today?”
“Just a few more stories,” Heather insisted.
What should the girls do?
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