Wrapping Paper

I looked at my reflection in the mirror as I fastened a small diamond earring into my ear with a click. I smiled, fondly remembering when my sister, Jen, bought them for me 3 years ago for Christmas. A sharp pang seized my heart at the thought of her. Ignoring it, I scowled as I tried to smooth out the annoying wrinkles in my modest black dress. If only I owned an iron. Oh well. I left my vanity and went towards the front room and grabbed my purse from where I discarded it on the couch the night before. I was checking the contents and readying myself to leave for the memorial service when the doorbell rang. Throwing the bag back to the couch, I opened the door.

At my doorstep was a small package wrapped in plain brown paper. I could see the mail truck a few houses down already. I wracked my brain trying to recall if I had been online shopping while on sleeping pills again. I picked up the package and took it to the kitchen counter to open it. There was no return address. I looked at my watch, I was supposed to leave ten minutes ago. But it’s not like Chris will come back from the dead to yell at me for being late, and Jen is too catatonic to care.

I reached into a drawer for a knife to cut open the package and peel back the wrappings and box. Inside, nestled in a handful of tissue paper, was a rusty hammer with a wooden handle.

Who the hell would send me this?

I was so thoroughly confused that I nearly missed the ringing of my phone. I pulled it from my pocket and saw ‘Mom’ written across the screen. I answered her call, annoyed, and assured her I was on my way as I slipped on a pair of sensible heels and a large coat and ran out the door to my sedan. The hammer was far from my mind, replaced by a stone in my stomach as I drove to my brother-in-law's memorial service.

At the church I sat with my sister in the front pew that was decorated a bit garish with garland and fake poinsettias, while Chris’ friends, family, and coworkers all took turns sharing in their grief of her husband’s tragic accident. They took turns sharing stories, finding solace in remembering the good times.

In the silence between each anecdote was tension, as everyone took peaks in our direction. They were all wondering when Jen would finally snap and what she’d do when she did. Everyone was waiting for the waterfall of tears, knowing that her strange stage of denial was just a ticking time bomb. Our mother wanted her hospitalized, but I fought her on it. She just needed time. Everyone works through these things differently.

Jen never spoke at the memorial. I didn’t think it would be right to try and force her. We didn’t go out to eat with the others after either. Instead, we drove in my car back to her house. When we got there I reheated one of the half dozen condolence casseroles in the oven for dinner. Seeing her push the food around lifelessly made my chest tighten.

After I ate, I took Jen to her room and helped her get ready for bed. I grabbed pajamas from the shelf in her closet, but not before noticing a stack of Christmas presents and wrapping paper tubes that would never be used. My throat clenched at the unfairness of it all. Jen loved Christmas more than anything and this year all she’d got was funeral expenses and heartache. One tube of wrapping paper stood out to me though as I grieved for her. It was the same brown wrapping paper that had arrived on my doorstep that afternoon.

I thought about how weird a coincidence it was when my thoughts were broken by a doorbell for the second time today. I sat my sister's pajamas on the bed next to where she sat, staring off into the distance the way our cousin did sometimes after he’d come home from Iraq.

“Get changed into these, I’ll see who it is.” I told her.

I opened the door to see our childhood friend Nick Ramirez in his police uniform at the door.

“Hey Amy, is Jen home?” He asked me.

“She’s asleep, what’s up?” I inquired.

“Well, it’s not really pleasant news, so maybe she’ll take it better coming from you. We just got the autopsy back from the coroner’s office and they’re ruling Chris’ death a homicide.”

My stomach dropped.

“What are you talking about, he fell down the basement stairs. How could that be a homicide?”

“You didn’t hear this from me, but the coroner says it looks like blunt force trauma, like someone hit him in the head with something. Did he have any enemies that you know of? Someone that wanted him hurt or dead?” Nick asked.

I was shocked, my whole body was on fire with nerves as I immediately thought about the hammer that had been mailed to me wrapped in my sister’s wrapping paper. She couldn’t have, she wouldn’t. There was no way my sister murdered her husband.

“No, I have no idea.” I told him.

“Okay, well, I know this isn’t a great time but we need to speak to Jen. If you could bring her by the station in the morning so we can question her. It’s just to rule her out, you know?”

A lump formed in my throat and I tried to swallow but couldn’t, so I just nodded.

“Alright, thanks Amy, try to get some sleep alright.”

“Yeah, thanks Nicky.” I told him before shutting the door as he walked back to his cruiser.

I leaned against the door and began to hyperventilate as my mind went a thousand miles a minute, filling with dread. I’d just lied to a cop, and not just any cop, I'd lied to Nick. Kind of. The package could have nothing to do with this at all. How was I to know?

A noise from the hallway made my breathing come to a complete halt. And I clutched my chest as I walked closer, my palms were sweating from the anxiety. My breath returned in a gasp to see Jen in her pajamas emerge. For the first time since Chris died I saw tears form in her eyes as she moved closer and gripped my body in a hug. I could feel tears pricking the corners of my own eyes, as I held her close and she sobbed in my arms.