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Janine took all his pictures down from the wall, singing as she moved from frame to frame. They had all been up there for three years, now. Three long, fruitless years and the photos left dark, square imprints on her wallpaper. Frames of wood, frames of glass and frames of steel to capture the same face, blond hair and blue eyes, over and over again. Egon in the sunlight, Egon in the shade, Egon as a baby, and several other Egon's caught unaware joined each other leaning against the wall on the floor.
"Baby, we can talk allll night. But that won't change the way that I feel...!" Janine sang, smiling. She fished a small screwdriver out of her petite, pink tool kit and went to work on the backs of each picture frame, prying away the fastens and hooks and carefully pulling the photo's out to place in a neat stack on a cherrywood sidetable.
She attacked the sedately faded wallpaper next, yanking it gleefully down, stopping only long enough to fix herself a glass of sweet tea. Then the new wallpaper, bright and colorful reds, blues and greens, the elements of a Monet floral, went onto the wall. She'd chosen it because she loved it and he'd hated it. Her entire home was cheered immediately and she laughed as she admired the effect.
She ate lunch and rested, listening to her favorite rock and roll and enjoying the spring breeze as it cooled her and carried away the wallpaper glue fumes.
Eventually, she lit a stick of strawberry incense to help the breeze along and moved back to the empty frames.
In this plain oak frame would go a gorgeous print of Picasso's Pink Lady. She found some tacks and a small hammer and hung the picture in her bathroom. Inside the Victorian mosaic frame went her photos of her family, dating over the past 30 years, her beloved mother and father and all her sisters and their children. That one was displayed in the main entrance hall. In this small frame of silver wire and gemstones went a foggy postcard of the Thames. Egon lying on the beach was replaced with a original portrait of Janine herself, brilliantly sketched by a good friend in pastels. And so on she went.
Finally, she was down to her last frame. Trimming her favorite 'Egon in the Sun' picture down she inserted it in one of the four stainless steel panels. Next to him went a photo of Winston engrossed in a mystery novel. Janine smiled to think that she had caught him at that precise moment when he figures out who the murderer is, before getting through half the book, and he looked appropriately annoyed. The same expression he wore when he was accusing the others of foolishly ignoring his battle strategies.
Next to Winston was a picture of Ray grinning over an armful of wrapped Christmas gifts. His auburn hair was haloed by a streetlight, softly muted by the falling December snow. He looked like an angel made flesh, which is indeed what Ray was.
Last but never least was Peter, in the fourth panel. Arms raised in a stereotypical Rock God pose of triumph with a smoking trap in one hand and a proton thrower in the other, Peter was great and he knew it.
Janine placed the four panels over her mantelpiece in a place of honor but they did not overwhelm the rest of the room. A few seashells, china boxes, dolls and a charm bracelet were arranged around them.
There.
She stood back and took in her home, her bright colors, her scents, her jungle of houseplants, her fabrics, her art and her music. She felt as if she'd been gone a very long, very sad time.
She turned to the mantel again and studied Egon's face. His panel was no greater or lesser than the other three's, now, and that was precisely how it should be. Perspective was a wonderful thing.
Janine ran her fingertip against the wave of his sun-blown platinum hair. After three years the truth had finally been accepted. This was her brother. There was no passionate love here. Her understanding made her light as the foam in the sea. She suddenly laughed, a great shout of joy, and did an impulsive pirouette. Free.
She was free.
She didn't have Love but she had Perspective and Freedom.
And two out of three ain't bad.
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