The June sun, long lasting, but weak in brilliance, rose again and again, with each sun’s movement of as little consequence as the last. The clouds even seemed to sigh as they dragged themselves slowly across the sky, feeling sluggish in the immense heat. Temperatures rose very quickly as the days passed. Alicia lived in the basement; even then, three days after the funeral. She wouldn’t come out. Julie approached Terrence in the kitchen; he was standing in front of the refrigerator for some relief from the weather rather than hunger.
“I’m not talking to her,” Alicia’s mother began.
“Don’t start, Julie,” Alicia’s father interrupted.
“She needs support, Terrence. They were close-”
“They hadn’t talked directly in six weeks, Julie. Over a month.” Julie’s eyes weren’t offering anything; Alicia’s father couldn’t tell if that was a good sign, or a bad sign. The worst part was, that he realized; he didn’t care. Anything is better than not caring. Despising is better than not caring, he thought. Nonchalance is the end; the silent killer. The basement door, adorned with carefully-applied white paint, now peeling under years of poor upkeep, loomed around the corner.
At Juliet’s funeral, Alicia had not said a word. No one bothered her then; family members assumed she was grieving, and Juliet’s friends refused to speak to Alicia. They knew enough. Not even Brent would say anything; he seemed to be in shock. Terrence had spoken with him after the funeral.
“Brent,” Terrence said with a half-smile.
“It’s my fault,” the teenager instantly replied.
“Brent, no. It’s not your fault, son.” But Terrence only believed it as much as he could force himself to believe it. After all, Brent had been driving. Without his glasses, or contacts. Late at night. In the rain.
“I just wanted to get away from Alicia-”
“Son-”
“No, Terrence. I had to get aw- Julie.” Julie had approached, her brown eyes semi-closed, making it look like she was sleepwalking; unconscious, unaware. Wasn’t she, though? Brent knew as well as Terrence did to not discuss Juliet, or Alicia. Small talk was better. Always better. So they filled up the awkward space as best they could; how was school, it was okay… Wow, look at the weather. It sure is hot. You’re right; it hasn’t been this hot since that summer three years ago. I swear, even the mailboxes leaned towards the shade.

“Alicia?” Terrence called. The basement was dark, and the only window had its blinds shut. The large freezer in the corner, filled with popsicles, was open. Alicia was hunched over the only source of cold, choosing her next snack.
“Alicia?” Her eyes were puffy; her hair was unbrushed. She was gone. Juliet’s death… She had been so beautiful. Even as a little girl. Juliet, being the fun older sister, would braid her dark hair, and put flowers in her dress pockets as a surprise. Juliet was only a year older; as kids, they were almost friends. Unsurprisingly, that bond grew in emotional intensity as they grew older.
“Get out.”
“Alicia, we should-”
“Dad. It’s my fault.”
“Al, it’s not your fault.” But Terrence only believed it as much as he could as much as he could force himself to believe it. After all, Alicia had been the one yelling. When she knew about Brent’s anxiety.
“Get out.”
“You are a part of this family.”
“Tell that to the part that matters. Oh, wait. She’s dead.”
“She was my daughter.” Alicia paused; and slammed the freezer lid shut.
“Sorry.”
“You should be. Get upstairs.”
“You and Mom are splitting up. This family isn’t salvageable. Why are you trying?” Alicia turned away; Terrence reached after her.
“I love you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.” He crossed the small room, and held open his lanky arms, trying to wrap Alicia in a hug, but she was smaller, and used this to her advantage, running away from him.
“If you love me, why didn’t you come down here two days ago?”
“I thought you needed space.”
“After my sister died in a car accident? After she left with Brent to get away from me? After I yelled at her stupid, anxious boyfriend because he isn’t in love with me like I am with him-”
“It was a flawed thought.”
“Don’t make jokes. You sound like Mom.” Terrence paused and crossed his arms.
“Sorry.”
“You should be. Go.” Alicia spun around and grabbed a popsicle, retreating to the corner of the basement. Terrence approached the stairs, but stopped on the first step, drumming his long fingers on the splintered railing.
“I do love you,” said Terrence after a while. Alicia looked at her feet.
“The worst part about that,” she murmured, “is that it’s true.”