The frigid cold bit at Rachel’s bare skin. The white of the world and the accompanying winds shoved her back, almost as if to say, You don’t belong here. Leave.

She took a breath and another step forward. The cold air forced itself down her throat and the blizzard knocked her back. She found herself gasping for a next breath but had to turn her head away and rush into a narrow alleyway between two stout brick buildings. She collapsed against the side of one and let the bag slip from her shoulder as she slid down the wall. Both her and the bag gave a crackling thud as they landed on the icy ground beneath them.

The wintered landscape of her old suburban neighborhood blew down and along the streets, wrapped in an impenetrable cold white.

“Feels like home already,” Rachel sighed, dragging her bag toward her to reach inside. She felt the warmth of the wool scarf and gloves and started to pull them out, but stopped.

Her hand brushed against her notebook, the paper crinkling with her touch. She could almost feel the words she’d written the night before, almost hear them call back out to her.

Her eulogy. Her requiem.

Her vision started to blur with the reminder of why she’d come back, why she needed to return home. She brought a hand up to wipe the tears away, but her skin stung and cracked as she touched it.

Only three tears streaked down Rachel’s cheeks before they froze onto her skin. They would remain frozen there for quite some time, still. Rachel inhaled deeply and let the cold freeze her lungs. Then the gloves found themselves tugged onto her hands, and the scarf wound tight around her neck. She shrugged her bag onto her shoulder and pushed herself back on her feet. Her knees wobbled as they rose, but they soon found themselves steady again.

The moment she stepped back out into the street, she ran. Her joints creaked and her feet felt numb, pressed against the pale earth with every step. With ragged breaths and foggy glasses, she could hardly see in front of her, but she continued to charge forward regardless. Houses rushed past, seemingly flitting in and out of existence with the fog. Blurs of gray, brown, tan, and white, all passed by in the corner of her eye, and she ran.

Then there was a blossom of green. She stopped, turned, stared.

Finally, she found herself in front of her old family home. The image of its lime walls rippled across the cold sheen of her own seaweed-green eyes and reminded them, just for a moment, of its past spark. For a moment, she felt her mother’s soft hand gently caress her cheek, and felt her gaze trapped in her mother’s emerald eyes. For a moment, she heard that soft voice whisper in her ear… they’re beautiful.

Just for a moment.

“Goodness,” she mumbled. She walked forward and raised her hand to knock. “Even the door is still—”

“Let’s paint it green!”

Rachel’s pale cheeks suddenly flushed with warmth with the sweet sound of those words. The echo of them diluted the pain of the wind and snow, and for a moment, the storm settled. She clenched her fist tightly, clamped her dry eyes shut, and turned her head. White light trickled in as she slowly…

There was nothing. Nobody. The warmth was gone as quickly as it came. There was just more snow, just more cold.

Rachel turned back to the door and took a deep breath to let the disappointment settle back into her stomach. Then she raised her arm again and knocked.

Her knuckles stung as they slammed against the wood and green paint. A slow rustling could be heard from behind the door, and it opened soon after.

Rachel winced as a rush of warm air opened onto her.

“Oh, Rachel. It’s you.” The voice was one of controlled dullness, given by a blonde nineteen-year-old girl.

“Oh, Trisha. It’s you,” she mocked quietly. Trisha hadn’t changed much from the last time she saw her. She still had the figure of a cheerleader and the fashion-sense of a teenage boy, but her eyes now had a subtle weight to them, like she hadn’t gotten enough sleep, or she’d been crying, or… yeah.

“Hurry and get inside, idiot. It’s freezing out there.”

Rachel didn’t hesitate or argue this time, and the loud storm behind her was soon muffled and out of mind. And immediately, the warmth of the house started to thaw her blood.

“You look like shit,” Trisha said as she stood aside and watched Rachel take off her many coats.

“Thanks, you too.” She just finished pulling the last sweater off over her head. “The difference? You’re not the one that just walked half an hour through a blizzard of the century.”

Trisha opened her mouth to retort, but hesitated. “Damn. You got me.”

“Don’t try too hard, sis, or you might pull a muscle.”

“Whatever, ass.”

Rachel kicked off her snow pants and followed Trisha down the hall, leaving everything else on the ground by the front door.

“They have bags now,” Rachel said. “Your eyes. Is college killing you, too?”

Trisha didn’t respond and walked on into the family room. Rachel gave a subtle pout, but soon drifted into her own thoughts. She’d somehow forgotten that it’d been three years since she last set foot in this house, and since she’d last seen Trisha.

It still smells the same, she thought. Drywall, paper, Trisha’s perfume… wholly uninteresting and not particularly pleasant, but it was the same.

The family room ahead had no lights on, just dimly lit with the little sunlight that trickled in through the snow, fog, and curtained windows. Rachel took another step, and passed through that invisible veil that separated her from the room.

An explosion went off in her head. Rachel faltered and fell onto her back foot. The dull light of the room blasted into a warm orange.

She felt a shove from behind, then felt it pass through her. A ghost wrapped in warmth frolicked through her in the form of a little girl with black hair and green eyes. Rachel, confused, looked to Trisha, who had disappeared. In her place was another ghost—a shy and reserved girl with bright blue eyes and beautiful flowing blonde hair.

The girl with black hair danced around the room, admiring the full bookshelves that lined every wall, and the framed pictures of the blonde girl’s family.

“Rachel, be careful.”

Rachel held her breath at the sound of the voice.

The girl with black hair turned in Rachel’s direction and smiled without restraint. “Yes mom!”

Rachel’s heart pounded, but she forced herself to turn around anyways. Then she blinked. Behind her stood her mother and foster father. They made conversation in the hallway.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Anne,” Ryan said. “I trust Peter. He’s your husband; you should too.”

Ryan’s voice was soft and measured, like it had always been as far as Rachel could remember. His blond hair was messy, like he’d just woken up, and he wore an oversized t-shirt. Anne stared at the ground as if considering his words, then glanced in Rachel’s direction.

“Promise me anyways,” she said. She extended her fist out to Ryan’s shoulder. Before he could respond, they both faded away into specks of light.

Rachel took a step forward and reached out to them, but they were already gone. Again, she felt a shove from behind, and little Rachel and Trisha sailed past her. They both seemed to be a little older than they were a moment ago, and carried plastic katanas in their hands. Little Rachel jumped onto Trisha and pinned her to the ground. They skidded across the hardwood floor for a moment as Trisha’s sword clattered out of reach.

“Haha, I’ve got you now, Trisha!” Little Rachel cackled and raised her sword above her head. “You can’t defend against my special finishing attack!”

“Wait, no, Rachel! I give up, I give! Please stop! Stop!”

Then they faded away just like Anne and Ryan had, and Rachel turned back to the family room. The two girls played Jenga on the glass table now, probably about thirteen-years-old.

“If I win, you have to tell me who your crush is,” Trisha declared, carefully picking out a block from the tower.”

“Right, right,” young Rachel said, a somewhat mischievous smile on her lips. “And if I win, you have to do the same.”

Rachel remembered this day. She’d already known that Trisha had fallen desperately in love with someone, and just wanted to tease her.

Trisha’s face turned red and nearly toppled the tower. “F-Fine.”

Rachel closed her eyes when she heard the door to Ryan’s office open. She remembered. This moment, that sound, the very smell of the time gone by. How could she forget?

Ryan stepped out into the family room, his right hand shaking. He stared at the ground and clenched his teeth.

“Rachel…” His voice shook for the first and only time she could recall. “I need to tell you something.”

Rachel kept her eyes shut as the scene faded away.

“What happened?” young Trisha whispered. “You can tell me. You’re like a sister to me.”

“Yeah,” Rachel scoffed bitterly. Her eyes were red and puffy. “Right.”

The scene changed one last time. Trisha sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel heard herself say. Her voice was more mature now. “I didn’t know he would react like that. You have to believe me. We’re sisters, right?”

“Yeah,” Trisha laughed bitterly between her sobs. “Sure.”

Finally, Rachel opened her eyes. The ghosts were gone. She took a deep, shaky breath, and finally walked into the room. Trisha, the real adult Trisha, sat on the couch with a blank stare. She took a seat beside her.

“You were really reserved as a kid, huh?”

Trisha turned to her. Smiled. “Yeah, we kind of switched roles, didn’t we?”

“Well,” Rachel said, bouncing her legs on the couch cushion, “I’m still the smarter one.”

“You’re also still the bigger ass.”

Can’t argue with that, she thought. The two girls sat in silence and basked in the dissipating glow of the dust that floated around them.

“There are four generous offers to buy the house,” Trisha finally said. “It’d pay for the funeral, you know, but…”

“But we can’t sell this house.”

“Yeah.” Trisha paused for a moment before continuing. “Hey Rachel, you never did explain to me… why you came to live with us. No one told me.”

Rachel hesitated. She settled her legs. “I don’t—”

“And no one ever told me why we made this house so green.” She leaned back and put a hand against her forehead. “The carpet, the walls, the furniture, the door.”

“I…”

“We spent days repainting this house… ‘For Rachel,’ he said. And you were always sad. You were always so sad…”

She trailed off, letting the muffled whistles of the blizzard take over.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel whispered, clenching her fists on her lap. “I’m sorry.”

Trisha buried her face in her hands. “I know why,” she said. “I know everything. I looked through Dad’s things. He had a letter addressed to you. I read it. I’m sorry, Rachel, I’m so sorry. For everything, for… everything.”

Rachel was stunned. The letter was on the table in front of her. She hadn’t even noticed, but it had been there the entire time. “For Rachel,” she could hear Ryan say in her mind. She silently picked up the letter and began to read it.

​

Dear Rachel,

It’s so strange. Even now, I can see you playing with Trisha through the glass doors of my office. You look so happy. You haven’t heard the news yet. I can’t bring myself to tell you. You’re so young, Rachel, so this letter will be for when you’re older, and after you’ve experienced the pain and heartache and grief that you’ll inevitably experience.

Once upon a time, your father and I were best friends. We crawled out of high school together, barely alive… I was his best man at his wedding, and I was the third person in the world to ever hold you as an infant. So you’ll understand when I tell you how much it hurt for me to see him break down when he finally told me about your mother’s condition.

She passed away three days ago.

Your father was barely stable once they first received the diagnosis, and now that she’s actually gone, I guess he just lost it—that after it all, he just couldn’t return.

Before your father fell too far into his alcoholism and his depression, he gave me strict instructions on how to raise you… for me to make sense of love and faith no matter how much like Hell life might feel like.

When you find out Rachel, soon now, I don’t expect you to understand. Just live whatever life your broken heart can, that’s all any of us can do. Time will keep moving as it always does, and one day you may wonder whether your heart had gotten stronger if that time had simply shifted its weight.

And I know, I know… you’ll always remember the moment God took your mother away—you’ll always remember the moment when it seemed the weight of the world would crush you, and you’ll remember the moment when it does. But I want you to remember, Rachel, that no matter what happens, that you’re truly loved. Peter would cry a sea of tears for the years he’s let you go. Anne would chip away at a mountain of ice if you were stuck inside. I’d paint a thousand houses for you. And Trisha, I’m sure she’d try to melt the lonely winters of your heart when she finally finds you in them.

You’re loved, Rachel. You’re loved.

Never forget.

Sincerely,

Ryan.

Rachel put the letter down; the paper was almost completely drenched with tears. She felt her body convulse, felt it shake. Her vision blurred and her ears burned.

“You’ve lost so much,” Trisha said, tearfully watching Rachel collapse. “Your mother. Your father. And now ours.”

Rachel curled up into a ball as the pain came back to her. She remembered the years she spent crying over her mother’s grave. She remembered the years she knocked on her father’s door, answered only with the muffled shattering of glass.

“Rachel...” Trisha pulled her close and hugged her tight. Hugged her until her cries subsided, until she stopped shaking. And when it was silent, Trisha finally let her go. She lifted her chin, stared into her eyes. They shone brightly, brilliantly. They reflected the dim light and the color of the room. And with a sharp breath and a smile, she realized.

“They’re green.” With a steady finger, she whipped Rachel’s tear-streaked cheek, where she felt the three frozen tears melting. “They’re green.”