Threads of separation Leni Korhonen Threads of separation Leni Korhonen An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Ovi ebooks are available in Ovi/Ovi eBookshelves pages and they are for free. If somebody tries to sell you an Ovi book please contact us immediately. For details, contact: ovimagazine@yahoo.com No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior permission of the writer or the above publisher of this book Threads of separation Threads of separation Leni Korhonen Leni Korhonen An Ovi eBooks Publication 2024 Ovi eBookPublications - All material is copyright of the Ovi eBooks Publications & the writer C Threads of separation T he rain came down in sheets , turning the cobblestone path outside St. Agnes Church into a glistening mosaic of puddles. Inside, the air smelled of damp coats and fading lilies. Clara Roberts stood by the guestbook, her umbrella drip- ping a steady rhythm onto the polished wooden floor. “Couldn’t they have chosen better flowers?” she muttered under her breath, her lips tightening as she scanned the arrangements. The lilies leaned tiredly in their vases, their white petals tinged with brown. Clara shook her head. “Typical Martha, always cut- ting corners.” A voice behind her interrupted. “Still critical after all these years, huh?” Leni Korhonen Clara turned sharply. Yvonne stood there, rain- soaked and flustered, her dark curls clinging to her face. Her mascara was smudged, giving her the ap- pearance of someone who had been crying—or run- ning late, which Clara knew was more likely. “You’re late,” Clara said flatly. “Hello to you too,” Yvonne replied, pulling off her sodden coat. “Nice to see you haven’t changed.” Clara ignored the jab, her eyes darting past Yvonne. “Where’s Wills?” “Probably hiding in the back, as usual,” Yvonne said with a shrug. “Avoiding conflict. It’s what he does best.” Before Clara could respond, the organist began playing a somber hymn. People shuffled to their seats, heads bowed. Yvonne gestured toward the pews. “Shall we? Or do you need to critique the hymn choice first?” Clara didn’t answer, striding toward the second row, where the Roberts family once sat every Sunday. Yvonne trailed behind, biting back a retort. The service began, and Wills slipped in just as the Threads of separation pastor welcomed everyone. He moved quietly to join his sisters, his face pale and his movements hesitant. “Sorry,” he whispered as he sat down, his damp jacket brushing against Yvonne’s arm. “Fashionably late runs in the family,” Yvonne mur- mured. Clara shot them both a sharp look. “Can we focus, please?” Wills sighed and folded his hands, staring at the wooden cross above the altar. The pastor’s words about Martha’s kindness and unwavering dedication to her friends washed over him, but he couldn’t help glancing sideways at his sisters. Yvonne sat with her arms crossed, her foot tapping softly against the floor. Clara’s posture was rigid, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. It was surreal, being here together after so long. They had once been in- separable—three parts of a whole. Now, they felt like strangers forced into the same room. When the pastor mentioned a letter from Martha, all three of them sat up slightly. “She wrote this shortly before her passing,” the pas- Leni Korhonen tor said, unfolding a piece of paper. “It’s addressed to her dear friends, the Roberts siblings.” A murmur rippled through the congregation. Clara stiffened, Yvonne raised an eyebrow, and Wills blinked in surprise. The pastor began to read: “My dear Clara, Yvonne, and Wills, If you’re hearing this, it means I’ve left this world, but my hope for you hasn’t wavered. I’ve always believed in the bond you share, even when you couldn’t see it yourselves. You may not remember why you drifted apart, but I re- member the love you had for each other. Life is too short to hold onto anger or misun- derstandings. Please, for me, try to find your way back to each other. You’ll be surprised what you uncover when you let the past go. With all my love, Martha.” Silence followed, heavy and uncomfortable. Clara’s jaw tightened. Yvonne blinked rapidly, her expres- sion unreadable. Wills looked down at his hands, his shoulders slumping. Threads of separation “Let the past go?” Clara whispered harshly. “She makes it sound so simple.” “Maybe it is,” Yvonne said quietly, though there was a hint of defiance in her voice. Clara turned to her, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t pretend you’ve been waiting for this moment. You’re the one who walked away first.” Yvonne’s mouth opened, but Wills cut in. “Can we not do this here?” His voice was low but firm. “It’s Martha’s funeral.” The tension between the sisters simmered, but nei- ther spoke again. After the service, the rain had eased into a driz- zle, the sky a dull gray. Clara stood under the church awning, clutching her umbrella like a shield. Wills joined her, hands shoved into his pockets. “Yvonne went to the car,” he said softly. “Of course she did,” Clara muttered. “Always run- ning.” Wills hesitated. “She’s not the only one.” Clara looked at him sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Leni Korhonen “You’re so focused on being right all the time that you don’t even see what you’re losing,” Wills said, surprising himself with his boldness. “You’re just as much to blame as she is.” Clara opened her mouth to retort, but Yvonne’s voice interrupted. “Are we done here?” She stood by the car, arms crossed, her expression guarded. “No,” Clara said, her tone clipped. “We’re not. We need to talk.” “Talk?” Yvonne scoffed. “About what, Clara? About how everything fell apart? Or about how you always think you’re the victim?” “Not here,” Clara said firmly. “Dinner. Tonight.” Yvonne raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so now we’re play- ing happy family?” “It’s what Martha wanted,” Wills said quietly, step- ping between them. “For once, can we just try?” Yvonne stared at him, her defenses softening just slightly. “Fine. But if Clara starts lecturing, I’m walk- ing out.” Threads of separation Clara didn’t respond. She simply turned and walked toward her car, leaving Wills and Yvonne standing in the rain. “She hasn’t changed,” Yvonne muttered. “No,” Wills said, his voice heavy. “None of us have.” The chapter ends with each sibling driving away, their thoughts a jumble of guilt, resentment, and the faintest flicker of hope. Leni Korhonen II. The restaurant was small, dimly lit, and carefully curated, just like Clara. Yvonne and Wills arrived within minutes of each other, both looking out of place. Yvonne wore a black leather jacket over a bright green sweater, her curls barely tamed. Wills, ever understated, sported a navy blazer that looked as though it had been pulled out of the back of his closet. Clara, already seated at a table near the window, glanced at her watch as they approached. “You’re late,” she said, her tone clipped. “It’s two minutes past,” Yvonne replied, sliding into the seat across from her. “Didn’t realize punctuality was life or death.” Threads of separation Wills sat down next to Yvonne, offering Clara a tentative smile. “Hi, Clara. You look... well.” She didn’t respond immediately, her gaze fixed on Yvonne. “Two minutes is still late. It’s a matter of re- spect.” “Right,” Yvonne muttered, reaching for the menu. “Because that’s what tonight’s about. Respect.” Clara ignored the comment, picking up her glass of water. “I took the liberty of ordering a bottle of Merlot. I assume that’s acceptable?” “Perfect,” Wills said quickly, trying to stave off any further tension. Yvonne smirked. “You assume correctly, your highness.” Clara’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, sig- naling to the waiter instead. The tension at the table was palpable, the silence broken only by the clink of glasses and the faint hum of jazz playing overhead. The wine arrived, and Clara took charge of pour- ing. “To Martha,” she said, raising her glass. Leni Korhonen “To Martha,” Wills echoed softly. Yvonne hesitated, then raised her glass too. “To Martha.” They drank, and for a brief moment, the shared gesture felt almost like old times. But as soon as the glasses hit the table, Clara launched into conversa- tion. “So, Yvonne, still working as a... freelance design- er?” she asked, her tone hovering between genuine interest and condescension. Yvonne leaned back in her chair. “Yep. Still free- lancing. Keeps me busy.” “Busy?” Clara arched an eyebrow. “Is that why you couldn’t make it to Dad’s anniversary last year?” Wills froze mid-sip, his eyes darting between them. Yvonne’s expression darkened. “Oh, we’re diving right in, are we? Okay. Sure, Clara. Let’s talk about why I didn’t attend an event I wasn’t invited to.” “You were invited,” Clara snapped. “Was I?” Yvonne shot back. “Because all I got was a group email sent by your assistant. Real personal.” Threads of separation Wills cleared his throat. “Maybe we could talk about something else—” “No, let her finish,” Clara said, her voice icy. “Oh, I’m finished,” Yvonne replied, her voice drip- ping with sarcasm. “You can move on to interrogat- ing Wills now.” “I’m not interrogating anyone,” Clara said, folding her napkin neatly. “I’m simply trying to understand how we ended up here. Thirty years without so much as a phone call from either of you.” Wills looked down at his plate. “It’s not like you called us, either.” Clara’s eyes narrowed. “I kept the family together for years. I was the one who stayed. While you,” she pointed at Yvonne, “ran off to chase whatever it is you’ve been chasing, and you,” she turned to Wills, “hid behind your ‘neutral’ stance.” “That’s rich,” Yvonne said, leaning forward. “You stayed because you liked being in control. You didn’t keep the family together, Clara ...you smothered it.” “Enough,” Wills said quietly, but neither of them heard him. Leni Korhonen “Smothered it?” Clara’s voice rose. “You mean I kept things functioning while you acted like none of us existed?” “Functioning? Is that what you call it? Dictating everyone’s lives?” “Someone had to take charge!” Clara snapped. “While you were too busy being selfish, and Wills—” She turned to their brother, her tone sharp. “Wills just sat there, doing nothing, as usual.” “Hey!” Wills finally raised his voice, startling them both. “I’m sitting right here.” Clara’s lips tightened, but Yvonne leaned back, her arms crossed. “What do you want from us, Clara?” Wills asked, his voice trembling slightly. “Why did you even sug- gest this dinner? To lecture us? To rehash everything we did wrong thirty years ago?” Clara looked taken aback but quickly recovered. “I thought it was time we had an honest conversation.” “An honest conversation?” Yvonne laughed bitterly. “Sure, let’s be honest. You’ve been holding a grudge since the day I left for college.” Threads of separation Clara’s face hardened. “You didn’t just leave for col- lege. You left the family. You didn’t even come back when Mom got sick.” The words hung in the air like a slap. Yvonne’s face paled, and Wills shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t come back because she didn’t want me to,” Yvonne said quietly. Clara frowned. “What are you talking about?” “She didn’t want me there,” Yvonne repeated, her voice rising. “She said it would upset Dad too much. Said it would cause more trouble than it was worth.” “That’s ridiculous,” Clara said, her voice shaking. “Is it?” Yvonne shot back. “You always sided with her. You never asked me what happened, never want- ed to hear my side. You just assumed I didn’t care.” Wills put his head in his hands. “This isn’t helping.” “No, let her talk,” Clara said, her tone softer now. “If that’s what she told you, then she was wrong. I didn’t know.” Yvonne stared at her, searching her face for a sign of sincerity. For the first time that evening, Clara’s ex- pression was unreadable. Leni Korhonen The conversation shifted after that, moving into lighter territory as they picked at their meals. Wills told a story about his son’s disastrous science fair project, earning a genuine laugh from Yvonne. Clara even smiled, though it was brief. For a moment, the years of distance seemed to melt away. They reminisced about summers spent at the lake, the treehouse their father built, and the disastrous Thanksgiving when Yvonne burned the stuffing. “I still think it was salvageable,” Yvonne said, grin- ning. “You nearly set the house on fire,” Clara replied, shaking her head. “Details,” Yvonne said with a wave of her hand. Even Wills laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing. But the fragile truce didn’t last. As they were finishing dessert, Clara leaned for- ward. “There’s still one thing we haven’t addressed.” Yvonne groaned. “Of course there is.” “Why did we stop talking?” Clara asked, her voice quiet but firm. Threads of separation The table fell silent. Wills hesitated, then said, “I don’t think any of us really remember.” “Convenient,” Clara muttered. “It’s not convenient,” Yvonne snapped. “It’s the truth. Something happened, and we all... just stopped. Maybe we were too hurt. Maybe we didn’t know how to fix it. But sitting here blaming each other isn’t go- ing to change anything.” Clara’s eyes glistened, but she quickly looked away. Yvonne pushed her chair back. “You know what? I’m done. This was a mistake.” “Yvonne, wait...” Wills began, but she was already grabbing her coat. “Of course she’s walking out,” Clara said bitterly. “Maybe because you don’t know when to stop,” Wills shot back, standing abruptly. Clara opened her mouth to respond, but the words died on her lips as Wills followed Yvonne out the door. Leni Korhonen Left alone, Clara stared at the half-empty bottle of wine, her reflection wavering in the glass. Outside, Yvonne lit a cigarette, her hands shaking. “You okay?” Wills asked, joining her on the side- walk. She exhaled a plume of smoke. “No. But thanks for asking.” They stood in silence, the night air cool and damp. “She’s not wrong, you know,” Wills said finally. “About some of it.” Yvonne sighed. “Neither are you.” They exchanged a small, weary smile before head- ing off in opposite directions, leaving Clara inside to reckon with the ghosts of their past.