[ Ben comes closer, but cautiously, dragging his feet. He had imagined a hundred different reunions with each of his siblings; this isn't like he pictured it. He'd thought it would start with an immediate hug, telling Allison all the things he'd wanted to say all those years he'd been seeing her life from the sidelines as a ghost. And he'd also thought she would say his name, tell him how she was feeling, tell him about getting married getting divorced, having a kid.
But the bandage is stark white against her throat and Ben remembers how she'd looked on the floor of that cabin, so much blood, how sure he had been that she was going to die, from a danger he'd never even seen coming enough to worry about it.
He inches closer and she doesn't disappear, or shift into a nightmare, or do anything un-Allison-ish. And so he tentatively sits on the bench, unable to tear his eyes away from his sister. But he fumbles around in the pockets of his hoodie, pulls out a little pocket-sized paperback he'd had tucked into the pouch, and a ballpoint pen that had been in the pocket of his jeans all day. Hands shaky, he offers them out to her. Moment of truth: is she substantial enough to take them, or will they go right through her, the way he had gone right through everything solid in the world for so many years?
(Not once in this process does Ben glance at the place where, to Allison's mind, Claire is sitting, because, of course, she isn't really there.) ]
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But the bandage is stark white against her throat and Ben remembers how she'd looked on the floor of that cabin, so much blood, how sure he had been that she was going to die, from a danger he'd never even seen coming enough to worry about it.
He inches closer and she doesn't disappear, or shift into a nightmare, or do anything un-Allison-ish. And so he tentatively sits on the bench, unable to tear his eyes away from his sister. But he fumbles around in the pockets of his hoodie, pulls out a little pocket-sized paperback he'd had tucked into the pouch, and a ballpoint pen that had been in the pocket of his jeans all day. Hands shaky, he offers them out to her. Moment of truth: is she substantial enough to take them, or will they go right through her, the way he had gone right through everything solid in the world for so many years?
(Not once in this process does Ben glance at the place where, to Allison's mind, Claire is sitting, because, of course, she isn't really there.) ]
I missed you.