Human Sister

thoroughly accepted that she wasn’t permitted into the house, squeezed in between their legs. I scooped her up in my arms. She was already getting heavy for me.
    “What a cute puppy,” Dad said. He freed his hand from First Brother’s and petted Lily before leaning down to hug and kiss me.
    “What kind of dog is she?” Mom asked. She, too, had freed her hand from First Brother’s and was stroking Lily.
    “A German shepherd,” I said. “Her name is Lily.”
    “Oh, my. She’ll be a big dog.” The expression on Mom’s face wasn’t altogether approving.
    I looked up and noticed that First Brother was still staring straight ahead. “Would you like to pet Lily?” I asked, lifting her slightly toward him.
    Though his gaze didn’t move from the blank white wall, his right hand rose and gently caressed Lily’s head and back. I was shocked by this apparent dissociation between his eyes and hands. Evidently, he was able to pay attention to something, perhaps even to me, without appearing to do so. Crowding out that thought was my growing concern that Grandma would appear and discover that Lily had again sneaked into the house.
    “Grandpa said we could play with Lily by the garage,” I said, stepping outside.
    I set Lily down and walked under the vine-covered arborway connecting the house with the garage. In front of the garage, in shade that time of day, I had left two of Lily’s squeaky chew toys, the implements of my first game, which was to see who was better at getting Lily to come.
    After explaining the rules of the game, I demonstrated both toys, cream-colored bones, by squeezing them, then handed one to First Brother. Dad, as instructed by me, carried Lily to the far side of the garage and set her down.
    “Come, Lily. Come here,” I said excitedly, while squeezing the squeaky toy. First Brother just stared at the toy in his hand. Lily came to me and received a reward of hugs and kisses.
    Mom showed First Brother how to squeeze the toy to make it squeak and instructed him to kneel down, squeeze the toy, and repeat, “Come, Lily. Come here.”
    Still, Lily came to me. Five times straight. What a good girl, I thought. You don’t prefer First Brother over me.
    Dad picked me up and hugged me. “Lily’s a nice dog,” he said. “I see she loves you very much.”
    I hugged Dad back, melting into his warmth and strength and earthy scent.
    “We should go in,” I heard Mom say. “They’re undoubtedly waiting for us for tea.” From her chilly voice, I sensed that she thought I’d just been naughty.
    The next game I’d devised was one for First Brother and me to play in the kitchen. Its object was to see who could name the most flowers rising in curly plumes of steam above freshly poured cups of tea. I quickly pointed out a marigold, then an iris, over Grandpa’s cup.
    “Don’t you see them?” I asked, turning to my brother, who’d said nothing. He slowly shook his head while keeping his gaze fixed on the steam. I glanced back to the tea, and just then, clear as day, the gentle swirl of a white arum lily appeared over the cup.
    “Arum lily!” I shouted, pointing at its outline as it evaporated.
    Then, for the first time, my brother looked at me—not just at my hands or feet, but at my face and into my eyes. I remember feeling a tingle, as if from a prickly net wrapped around my scalp, and thinking something to the effect that perhaps a little girl who could find phantom flowers with steamy stems wavering in the kitchen air held for him some of the interest of water swirling in a toilet bowl or of milk dispersing into tea. And then he smiled—not a broad happy smile, but a thin smile expressing interest, his eyes darting about like dragonflies over my face—and I felt for the first time that he was my brother.
    I smiled back, and saying, “I’m glad you’re my brother,” I put my hand on his hand, which still felt strangely cool and smooth. His smile evaporated, and his gaze turned back toward the curlicues of steam rising over the cup of tea.
    Grandpa then asked me to read aloud my list of new words for the week and the story I’d composed about Lily getting one of her paws stuck in chicken wire that Grandma had put up in the garden. I wasn’t excited about doing this, considering how bored with my new words First Brother had earlier appeared, but I did as Grandpa requested.
    Sure enough, all the while I read my list and my story, First Brother’s attention appeared to be