{"id":10434,"date":"2025-03-02T17:42:31","date_gmt":"2025-03-02T23:42:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/?p=10434"},"modified":"2025-03-02T17:42:32","modified_gmt":"2025-03-02T23:42:32","slug":"an-unbreakable-chain","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/an-unbreakable-chain\/","title":{"rendered":"An Unbreakable Chain"},"content":{"rendered":"
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\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

<\/h3>\n\n\n\n

By Patricia Crisafulli<\/h3>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

Summer 1973<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Born eleven months apart, the sisters tried to pass themselves off as twins, even within the family that certainly knew better. Then came Miranda\u2019s thirteenth birthday, putting her officially in teenage years, while Muriel at twelve kept one foot in childhood. And that was when Aunt Gloria, their mother\u2019s sister and Miranda\u2019s godmother, came for a visit and brought the bracelets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Shiny interlocking chains\u2014one gold, one silver\u2014encircled nearly identical wrists. At first, Muriel loved the single charm of a bird that dangled from her bracelet\u2014wings spread, its tail long and graceful. Then she looked over at Miranda, fingering her shiny links and saw how much her butterfly charm sparkled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cMine\u2019s better,\u201d Miranda said. \u201cIt\u2019s gold. Yours is only silver.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Discontent tarnished the little bracelet, and a week later Muriel opened the catch and let it slip from her wrist while out walking in a field behind their house. Regret gripped her the next day, but her search yielded only tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Spring 2025<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Muriel backed out of a tight space in the grocery store parking lot, swiveling her head left and right to keep from scraping the cars on either side. At age 64, she detested driving\u2014too many cars, too many pedestrians, not to mention bicycles and those scooters that zipped along the shoulder and cluttered the sidewalks. A horn blared, she slammed on the brakes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            That was when her phone rang, the Bluetooth connection flashing the caller\u2019s name on the screen: Krissy, her niece, Miranda\u2019s daughter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cJust a sec.\u201d Murial backed the rest of the way out of the space and put the car in gear. \u201cWhat\u2019s up?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cI\u2019m calling about Mom\u2019s birthday,\u201d Krissy said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cBig one this year\u201465. I\u2019m right behind her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cDad wants to have a party for her. It\u2019s a surprise.\u201d Krissy gave the details\u2014a weekend event at an inn on the shore: dinner Saturday evening, brunch Sunday morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 As she listened, Muriel felt the prick of jealousy. She didn\u2019t begrudge Miranda for having a comfortable life and a 40-year marriage to Carl who doted on her. But there were times that intensified the inevitable comparison between them, when Muriel felt more disappointment than acceptance of her own life; of being divorced for more than 20 years from a man who had never really been right for her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cCan\u2019t wait!\u201d Muriel declared, forcing enthusiasm in her voice. \u201cWhat can I do to help?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s all set,\u201d Krissy told her. \u201cAll the guests are staying at the inn. We\u2019re going to be in a villa\u2014still on the property, but about a mile away. We\u2019ve got to keep Mom from running into anybody.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Muriel signaled and turned out of the parking lot. \u201cI\u2019ll wear my best disguise,\u201d she joked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Fall 1986<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The wedding was in two days, and the thought terrified her. With a deep breath, Muriel reminded herself that she and Doug loved each other. Sure, they had their ups and downs\u2014didn\u2019t every couple? They\u2019d broken up twice but always came back together.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Sitting on the edge of the bed, she saw herself in the mirror over her dresser. Dark hair and eyes, cheeks she wished weren\u2019t so full. Her gaze continued across the pink walls of the bedroom and pictured what had been Miranda\u2019s room next door. They used to tap little messages on their shared wall: two raps for good night, three for are you awake, four for it\u2019s time to get up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Now they had their own apartments, lived completely separate lives. Each time they were together, a dozen unspoken messages seemed to flutter between them: love and resentment, compatibility and competition, understanding and confusion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 A knock sounded, and Miranda stepped into the room. Muriel waited for her sister to say something, but there was only expectant silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cI should have made you maid of honor,\u201d Muriel blurted out. \u201cIt\u2019s just that, well, Dotty knew Doug and me in college\u2014and she\u2019s friends with the best man. I think she\u2019s stuck on him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Miranda shook her head. \u201cIt\u2019s okay. I like being a bridesmaid. Besides, I might lose your rings or something.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cBest man does that. Hang onto the rings, not lose them. At least I hope.\u201d Muriel got up. \u201cYou wanna go for a ride?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Cocking her head, Miranda looked at her, and Muriel nursed an annoyance that her sister might be weighing other plans.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 \u201cYeah,\u201d Miranda said. \u201cI\u2019ll drive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            At a convenience store, they bought wine coolers in glass bottles, then grimaced at the fruity taste as they drank them at a picnic table beside a pond in a town park. \u201cYou know that sign over there says no alcohol.\u201d Muriel took another sip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cAnd no glass,\u201d Miranda raised her bottle in salute. \u201cWe get arrested, you\u2019ll spend your wedding in jail.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cMight not be a bad idea,\u201d Muriel murmured.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Miranda tapped the bottle against the wooden tabletop. \u201cYou sure you want to go through with this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Muriel studied her sister: Miranda with the suntanned good looks, a promising new job, a one-carat engagement ring and a matching wedding band. She dumped the rest of the wine cooler on the grass and headed back to the car, carrying the empty bottle, never giving Miranda an answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Winter 1990<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cHe cheated.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Muriel leaned over the narrow counter in the apartment she and Doug had lived in for two years of marriage, while saving for a house. The cordless phone felt hot and heavy in her hand; her head pounded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cOh, that\u2019s awful,\u201d Miranda said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The pity in her sister\u2019s voice jerked Muriel back from the edge of her sadness and vulnerability. Why had she called Miranda of all people? \u201cHe said it meant nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cBut cheating\u2014it\u2019s a big deal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cHappens in at least half of marriage, maybe even sixty percent. I read that somewhere.\u201d Muriel hadn\u2019t; she\u2019d made that up, but it sounded correct.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cYou deserve someone who treats you better,\u201d Miranda said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cLike Carl,\u201d Muriel shot back with more edge than she intended. But she was a little sick of her sister and brother-in-law as the posterchildren for marital bliss. \u201cWe\u2019ll put this behind us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cWill he go to counseling?\u201d Miranda asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cGotta go,\u201d Muriel said. \u201cHe\u2019s here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cCall me later.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Muriel stared out the window; Doug was nowhere in sight.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

Spring 2025<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 The inn sat on an expanse of blue so bright it looked fake. At the registration desk, Muriel picked up her key, a packet of information, and a list of guests\u2014just twenty of them, including immediate family. A small envelope marked \u201cAunt Muriel\u201d held a note from her niece and a gift certificate for a spa treatment. Booked you a massage for one o\u2019clock Sunday.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Muriel smiled at Krissy\u2019s thoughtfulness. After driving for three hours, though, she really wanted to take a walk, then get a massage. She\u2019d be completely relaxed before the party. At the concierge desk, she called the spa and changed her appointment to a 60-minute treatment at three o\u2019clock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Strolling along the beach, she saw seals sunning themselves on the rocks and birds circling the waves before diving into the water. The beach ended at the town pier, and Muriel headed toward the tiny downtown where she found two charming boutiques. She made it back to the inn just in time for a quick shower, then a sprint to the spa which was farther away from the inn than she\u2019d expected.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Rushing to relax, Muriel thought, the story of her life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            A quiet knock sounded, and a masseuse in dark blue scrubs entered the dimly lit room. She asked about body aches, chronic pains. \u201cMy right shoulder,\u201d Muriel said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Strong hands went to work, kneading muscles, relaxing knots. Muriel exhaled through the pain that wasn\u2019t really pain, felt her body release.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The masseuse pushed the bony point of her elbow into a muscle. \u201cRight shoulder pain might mean you\u2019re hanging onto something that you should let go of.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cAhhh\u2014huh,\u201d Muriel replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The masseuse applied pressure on Muriel\u2019s left side. \u201cThis is where your emotions sit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Another guttural response escaped her.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

Winter 2005<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Muriel carried a box up the sidewalk toward the front door of her new townhouse. At age 44, she was on her own again. After nineteen years of marriage, three separations, two reconciliations, and instability that had kept them from committing themselves to having children, this final split had been inevitable. But that didn\u2019t make it any less sad.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            In the galley kitchen, Muriel wondered where she\u2019d put all her stuff\u2014the stockpots and roasting pans, pasta maker and bread machine. Maybe she\u2019d minimize and downsize, donate the rest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The doorbell chimed, sooner than Muriel expected. The movers had been packing the truck when she\u2019d left the house for the last time. Instead of two husky men in matching \u201cGet a Move On\u201d shirts, she saw a floral delivery person bearing an enormous bouquet in a blue glass vase. She signed for it, pulled a five dollar bill out of her purse by the door, and opened the card, knowing it would bear Miranda\u2019s name and a cheery message. New Beginnings! XOXO \u2013 M<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            A half-hour later, the doorbell rang again. Muriel looked out the window for the moving truck but saw only a van: \u201cEddie\u2019s Edible Treats.\u201d She accepted fruit on skewers made to look like a bouquet of flowers. Plucking a piece of pineapple, she read the card: Life is sweet XOXO \u2013 M.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            She stuck it in the refrigerator, thinking she\u2019d offer some to the movers. Otherwise, she\u2019d have to eat five pounds of cubed fruit by herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fifteen minutes after that, Muriel was back at the door. A young man with a bewildered expression stood there with five mylar balloons\u2014two teddy bears, two smiley faces, and a giant #1. \u201cI work at the grocery store. Some lady paid me to bring these here. She told me to tell you something.\u201d He paused. \u201cDoug was an asshole.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Muriel sputtered with laughter and called Miranda. \u201cYou ever hear of overkill?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cI had to make up for the flowers that probably pissed you off. Not to mention the fruit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cWhat the hell am I supposed to do with these balloons.\u201d Muriel held the strings tightly; she was afraid they\u2019d get loose and drift up the narrow staircase to the second floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cIf that\u2019s the biggest problem you have right now, I\u2019d say you\u2019re doing just fine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\"\"<\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

Spring 2025<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

            The tension drained out of her body, Muriel poured herself a tall glass of water from a pitcher filled with slices of lemon and cucumber. She drank deeply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            It was just after four o\u2019clock, and cocktails started at five-thirty, but she just couldn\u2019t hurry. Sitting down in a wingback chair in the spa\u2019s waiting area, she closed her eyes, just for a moment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Someone called her name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Fluttering her eyes open, Muriel surfaced through a moment of disorientation. Her sister stood in front of her chair.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Suddenly, Muriel realized what she\u2019d done by veering out of Krissy\u2019s carefully planned schedule. \u201cOh, geez,\u201d she said. \u201cCan we just pretend I\u2019m not here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Miranda laughed. \u201cIt\u2019s okay. When Carl insisted that I buy myself a new dress for my birthday, well, I knew something had to be up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Muriel groaned. \u201cI\u2019m so sorry. Krissy is going to kill me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Miranda batted the air with her hand. \u201cLike I said, already suspected. But I better get going. We\u2019re supposed to be going out for dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cStop by my room.\u201d Muriel gave her sister the number. \u201cJust give me a minute to get there first\u2014see if the coast is clear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Hers was a large corner suite at the end of a hall on the second floor, with a balcony where she waited for Miranda to approach. Waving over her head, she pointed her sister to a side entrance and scurried down to meet her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cFeels so clandestine,\u201d Miranda giggled as they walked quickly up the stairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Inside the room, Muriel handed her sister a bag from one of the boutiques in town. \u201cI have another birthday gift for you. I\u2019ll bring that tonight. But I saw this today and, well, you\u2019ll see.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Miranda lifted the lid of a long, narrow box. Inside was a length of gold links, dangling with charms. \u201cOh, it\u2019s lovely.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Muriel opened a second box and extracted an identical piece of jewelry she\u2019d bought for herself. \u201cYou remember those bracelets Aunt Gloria gave us?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Miranda reached over to help Muriel fasten it. \u201cHow could I forget? And I was a brat who told you yours wasn\u2019t as good as mine.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cIt wasn\u2019t,\u201d Muriel said, cocking an eyebrow along with her smile. \u201cYou\u2019ll notice these are both gold. No more coveting your bracelet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Reaching over, Miranda clasped both her hands with Muriel\u2019s. \u201cI love you\u2014you know that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            Tears flooded, blurring Muriel\u2019s vision as she caught a glimpse of the two of them in the mirror on the wall. Same size, hair tinted within a few shades of each other, faces bearing the lines of laughter and worry in equal measure. Close enough in age to be twins, entwined enough in heart to be friends. Though stretched and frayed at times, theirs was a lasting bond\u2014an unbreakable chain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/div>\n\n\n
\n
\"Bracelet<\/figure><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

By Patricia Crisafulli<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_exactmetrics_skip_tracking":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_active":false,"_exactmetrics_sitenote_note":"","_exactmetrics_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2,18],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10434","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-original-online-fiction","category-patricia-crisafulli"],"yoast_head":"\nAn Unbreakable Chain | Faith Hope & Fiction<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/faithhopeandfiction.com\/content\/an-unbreakable-chain\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"An Unbreakable Chain | Faith Hope & 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