FlashFiction: Campfire

I tried to act like nothing was wrong. It was, after all, Thursday night, campfire night, and I thought I could easily go through the motions just like every other Thursday night, but Shelley knew me too well.

“Spill it, Michael.” My twin sister didn’t even look up from the conical pile of twigs and branches she’d been coaxing into a flaming pyre. “I know something’s bugging you, so you might as well tell me what it is.”

We’d been doing the Thursday night campfire thing since we were both eleven years old. Twelve years later, each of us with careers, spouses, and apartments of our own, we’d still kept our Thursday night ritual. It was a connection that neither of us wanted to break.

Until now.

The fire’s light enveloped us in a perfect circle of light that shimmered with crimson and gold. My mouth went dry as I tried to form the words that would surely break my sister’s heart.

“Karen got a promotion, she’s been transferred, we’re moving to Jacksonville.”

She was quiet for a moment, then raised her eyes to mine. They were sparkling in the firelight and for just a moment I thought she was crying. A heartbeat later, I realized that sparkle I saw was amusement.

“I know, Michael. Karen told me last weekend, when I called to tell her my news.”

I raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

“I’m pregnant and Kevin wants to move closer to the city. Prepare yourself, Uncle Michael, because we’re all moving to Jacksonville.”

In that moment, the crimson and golden glow of the campfire could not compare to the inner light that had entered my soul.

Now, we just needed to find a lakeshore near Jacksonville.