Authors: Mary Carter
My Sister's Voice (30 page)
You just left. You just walked out the door with your brother.
You must be mistaken. I don’t have a brother.
Lacey smiled but walked on, leaving the nurse frustrated and alone.
Lacey met Monica and Mike three blocks away at a diner. “We did it,” Monica said as Lacey walked in. Lacey smiled. Monica looked cute in her clothes. She had the mug Lacey bought her on the table in front of her. Monica slid down the booth to make room for Lacey. Lacey slipped in and put her arm around her twin. They stayed that way until the waitress came back to take their order.
“Curry chicken salad sandwich and Pepsi for two,” Lacey said. Monica smiled and clutched Lacey’s hand as two fat tears dripped down her cheeks. Lacey’s BlackBerry buzzed. It was Alan again, making sure they were okay.
We’re fine,
Lacey texted.
We’re coming home.
Lacey texted.
We’re coming home.
Chapter 33
L
acey knelt in the grass, patting dirt around the recently planted rosebush. It was gorgeous. Monica would love it.
acey knelt in the grass, patting dirt around the recently planted rosebush. It was gorgeous. Monica would love it.
“What are you planning on doing?” Alan asked. “Are you just going to keep her?”
“She’s not a puppy. Of course I’m keeping her.” Lacey and Monica had been back from the hospital for over a week. Monica had practically moved in, and Alan was no longer needed every day at the shopping mall site, so he was spending more and more time at home. Only he was the one on the couch, and Monica was sleeping in the bed with Lacey.
“Can’t she sleep on the couch now?” Alan asked.
“Hand me the watering can,” Lacey said. Alan picked up the watering can.
“I’ll do it,” he said. He watered the rosebush, set the can down, folded his arms across his chest, and waited.
“It’s just temporary,” Lacey said. The truth was, she was terrified to let Monica out of her sight. What if the doctor had been right, and she needed psychiatric help? It was hard enough dealing with the hotel, trying to come to a payment they’d accept instead of pressing charges. Lacey knew “the parents” had plenty of money, but Monica refused to call them. Lacey couldn’t very well argue; she was the one who forbade Monica to tell them about her, and Monica had kept the promise. Still, Lacey wasn’t going to let Monica go to jail; she would do whatever it took.
“She needs more than you can give her right now,” Alan said.
“She needs to get laid,” Lacey said. She moved over to the next project, a tray of various flowers she needed to put in a large porch pot. She started filling it with dirt, wishing Alan would either help out or leave her alone. She knew he had a right to talk about this, but she was exhausted, and she wanted to get the flowers done before Monica woke up.
“Laid?” Alan said. “Are you kidding me?”
“It might cheer her up.”
“I think that’s a really bad idea,” Alan said. He knelt down beside her and started scooping dirt into the pot. Their hands touched in the bag. Lacey kissed Alan on the cheek. He gave her a proper kiss, neither able to take it too far with their hands stuck in the dirt. He brought his dirty hands out first. “I miss you,” he said touching the tip of her nose with his finger. “ I want to get laid.”
Lacey laughed.
“I miss you too.” She touched the tip of his nose with her finger, then laughed at the brown spot. He swiped dirt across her cheek next. She marked his forehead. They kissed again.
“You know we haven’t,” Alan said. “Since she moved in.”
“That’s why I need to get her laid first,” Lacey explained. “So I won’t feel guilty.”
“Guilty? Why would you feel guilty?” It was a legitimate question. But how could Lacey explain something she didn’t quite understand herself? Kelly told Lacey she could sometimes feel her left leg, years after it was gone. That was the only way she could describe how she felt about Monica now, as if she were a part of her that, despite being severed, Lacey could still feel. Suddenly everything Monica felt, Lacey did too. And vice versa. Lacey assumed if she was hungry, Monica must be hungry. They slept the same hours. Lacey checked Monica’s pockets constantly for pills. To her relief, she had yet to find any, but instead of calming her down, Lacey’s anxiety ratcheted up. More than anything, Monica was now Lacey’s responsibility.
“When are you going to call your parents?” Alan asked. The flirtatious mood was gone; now they were just two dirty faces sitting near a pot.
“Monica doesn’t want to talk to them,” Lacey said. Lacey didn’t know what to make of Alan’s about-face. First he’d wanted her to forge a relationship with her sister, now he wanted her gone.
“She doesn’t want to talk to them,” Alan said. “Or you don’t?”
“What?” Lacey asked.
“Haven’t you noticed? Monica doesn’t seem to think or feel anything for herself when you two are together. It’s like she’s trying to be you.”
“She needs to relax,” Lacey said. “Don’t be so hard on her.”
“Just be careful.”
“Of what?”
“She tried to kill herself. She needs professional help.”
Lacey shoved her hands back into the bag of dirt and threw it into the pot. Alan jerked back.
“Watch my eyes,” he said.
“She doesn’t need professional help,” Lacey said. She gave up on the hand-scoop method, picked up the bag of dirt, and poured it straight into the pot. “She needs me, she needs flowers, and she needs to get laid,” Lacey said.
“I have to take a shower and hit the road,” Alan said.
“I’m sorry,” Lacey said. Alan was back in a jiffy. He grabbed Lacey and pulled her down to the grassy floor. He kissed her hard; she gave in and wrapped her hands around him.
“No more ‘sorry,’ ” Alan said, pulling away just enough to sign. “I’m proud of you.”
“I just want her to be okay,” Lacey said.
“I know,” Alan said. “I do too. But she’s a grown woman. It’s not your fault. It’s not your responsibility.”
“She spray painted
go home
on the walls. What I told her. Then she tried to kill herself. It is my fault.”
go home
on the walls. What I told her. Then she tried to kill herself. It is my fault.”
“No. She’s responsible for herself,” Alan said. “You were right, I was wrong. She is kind of stalking you. She moved in with us. Who does that?”
“Stop it.”
“I’m not using my voice. She can’t hear me.”
“She might be able to feel you.”
“Feel me?”
“I can feel her. I can feel her thoughts.”
“I think you’re the one who needs to get laid,” Alan said. He moved his hand down to her zipper. Lacey pushed him away.
“Next time,” she said.
When my sister is okay,
she added silently.
Only when my sister is okay.
When my sister is okay,
she added silently.
Only when my sister is okay.
Lacey and Monica strolled through the Philadelphia Museum of Art and imitated the poses of nearby statues, exaggerating the shapes and faces to make each other laugh. It had been Monica’s idea to dress alike, then Lacey came up with the idea of one walking slightly behind the other at a delay, just to make people think the same woman had passed them twice—watch them scratch their heads and try to figure out how this was possible. Despite Alan’s warnings, Lacey had never had so much fun with someone in her entire life. She knew anything she said or did would be immediately accepted by Monica, and it wasn’t just because Monica was desperate to keep her attention, was it? It wasn’t unhealthy like Alan suggested; it couldn’t be, they were sisters, they were twins. Yes, she’d resisted her in the past, but now, now there was no turning back. Separate, they were missing part of themselves, but together they were a force to be reckoned with. And sure, Lacey noticed how Monica was growing her hair out, how she was always wearing Lacey’s clothes, how she was now wearing contacts instead of her glasses—but that was normal bonding, nothing more. Once Monica felt confident Lacey always planned on having a relationship with her, she would probably go back to Boston, back to her old haircut and glasses, back to being her.
Lacey knew she could ask Monica to rob a bank with her right now and Monica would do it; luckily, Lacey had no such desire. She wouldn’t even let Monica ride her motorcycle, even though Monica had been out-and-out begging her. Everything would get better, they just needed some time. The past few nights, Lacey had woken up in a cold sweat, heavy with dreams. In one she was all grown up but Monica was a child and she’d lost her. In the next she was standing at her parents’ cabin, about to meet them for the first time, wondering how she was going to break it to them that she had lost Monica.
In another dream she’d forgotten who she was. It was as if someone had burrowed inside her, snatched her soul—
She didn’t share any of her dreams with Monica. In the first place, even though Monica’s ability to read and express sign language was improving, she wasn’t quite at the stage where they could have in-depth talks about their dreams. For another, she didn’t want to worry or frighten her sister. They were doing so well together.
Often, strangers wanted to take their picture. And they didn’t even know their dramatic story! They’d be a media sensation if anyone ever got wind of the details, but neither of them wanted that. It was too public, they wanted to bond in public. But that didn’t stop them from posing for pictures. It was as if they were trying to make up for lost time, for all the childhood pictures that should have been. Sometimes, Monica pretended that she was Deaf too, other times she did her best to interpret.
“Your paintings should be in here,” Monica said, gesturing toward the walls. “Your horses.” Lacey shook her head.
“I mean it,” Monica said. “You’re very good.”
“You’re a good writer.”
“I hated that book.”
“Me too. I’m not talking about the book. I’m talking about the writing. When you go home, you should write something you want to write.”
“When I go home?” Monica looked stricken. Lacey grabbed Monica’s hand and held it.
“I’m not telling you to go home. I just meant—”
“It’s okay.”
“I want you to stay.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it. I don’t want you to leave.”
“I won’t. Don’t cry. Lacey, Lacey, Lacey, don’t cry.”
Was she crying? What was this? When she was with her sister, she thought of Alan and felt guilty for wanting to be with him; when she was with him, she felt guilty for wanting to be with her sister. Maybe she was the one who needed professional help, the one who was about to crack up. Or maybe, like she’d been saying all along, she just needed to get her sister laid.
“Are you going to see Mike?” Lacey asked. Monica shrugged and looked away. Lacey tapped her on the shoulder.
“You don’t fool me,” she said. “I know you like him.”
“I’m sorry. I know you two—”
“Please,” Lacey said. “I love Alan. I’d be really happy if the two of you were dating.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. We should invite him over, do something just the four of us.”
“Wouldn’t that—I don’t mean—but—Wouldn’t that be weird for Alan?” Monica asked.
“Sometimes I think you can read my mind,” Lacey said. Monica beamed. “We’ll figure it out later,” Lacey added. They moved away from the statues and over to abstract paintings. Lacey hesitated at the entrance, waiting to see which way Monica would turn. But Monica held back and didn’t budge until Lacey picked a direction. Then, she followed.
It’s normal,
Lacey told herself as she tried to concentrate on the paintings.
She’s just a little insecure right now. But she’ll get better. In no time she’ll get better.
It’s normal,
Lacey told herself as she tried to concentrate on the paintings.
She’s just a little insecure right now. But she’ll get better. In no time she’ll get better.
“I have a brilliant idea,” Lacey said an hour later, when they’d had enough culture for one day.
“I can’t wait,” Monica said.
“Let’s go mess with the guy at Benjamin Books,” Lacey said.
“The one who thinks I’m rude?”
“That’s the one.”
“Oh my God,” Monica said. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”
As soon as they walked into Benjamin Books, Lacey spotted the manager who hated her, and she waved. At first he put his hand up to wave back. And then recognition dawned. He shook his head. He whipped around to walk the other way and plowed right into Monica. He gave a half scream, took a few steps back, and plunged into Lacey. His head swiveled back and forth between the girls. They broke into raucous laughter. It was too much, even for him. He laughed along with them.
“You got me,” he said. “You got me.”
“You have no idea,” Monica said.
“We could write a book,” Lacey said.
Chapter 34
I
t wasn’t a well-thought-out plan. It wasn’t a plan at all, it just happened. Monica’s phone buzzed and when Lacey swiped it up, it flipped open. She hadn’t intended on reading the text, it just happened.
t wasn’t a well-thought-out plan. It wasn’t a plan at all, it just happened. Monica’s phone buzzed and when Lacey swiped it up, it flipped open. She hadn’t intended on reading the text, it just happened.
You’re not answering your phone. Lunch? Please? I’m coming to Boston. Mother.
Great,
Lacey texted back.
When? Where?
Lacey texted back.
When? Where?
Wed? Harry’s Grill. One p.m.
It was Monday. There was plenty of time to get to Boston. Lacey had always wanted to go. How would she dress, wear her hair? What if she got it cut like Monica’s? What if she wore one of Monica’s skirts and blouses? Monica certainly wasn’t using them. What if she brought the green glasses Monica had all but abandoned?
The switch wouldn’t last long, just as long as it took for their mother to realize this daughter was the spare. But it didn’t matter. The surprise, the shock, would be worth it. Lacey confirmed the details, then quickly pocketed the cell phone. Monica could do without it for a few days. Who didn’t lose their cell phone from time to time? Monica had been ignoring all her calls anyway; she probably wouldn’t even notice it was gone.
Lacey was going to meet her mother. Would there be tears? Screaming? Excuses? Maybe she would be aloof, make polite conversation, pay for lunch, and leave with her head held high.
Despite you, I’ve grown into a mature adult. I did it all on my own.
Despite you, I’ve grown into a mature adult. I did it all on my own.
Maybe she would make a scene. Maybe she would tell her Monica never wanted to see her again. Maybe she would tell her Monica tried to kill herself and it was all her fault.
“You’re leaving for a couple of days?” Monica asked.
“My client lives a little too far out,” Lacey said. “So it’s just easier to spend the night. I’ll finish the portrait faster that way.”
“Why don’t I come with you?” Monica said. “We can get a hotel room.”
“You promised Robert you’d go to the Deaf picnic,” Lacey said. “You need the practice.”
“You’re right,” Monica said. “I just hate the thought of being separated again.”
“Text me anytime,” Lacey said. Then she picked up her duffel bag and hustled out before Monica could search for her phone.
From her stool at the bar, Lacey watched Katherine Bowman enter the restaurant. She was right on time, and just as Monica described her. Tall with dark hair, like them. Lacey waited until Katherine was seated. She watched her adjust herself. She tucked her purse into the empty chair beside her, fiddled with her hair, which was swept into a bun. She spoke to the waiter using her index finger as punctuation as she talked. He nodded and hurried off. She smoothed the tablecloth in front of her and took a sip of her water. She smoothed her hair again, looked around the restaurant. Lacey slid off the stool and walked over, trying not to wobble in Monica’s straight skirt and heels.
Katherine looked up and met her eyes. Then she smiled, and stood as Lacey neared. Her napkin fell to the floor. She opened her arms, and then Lacey was allowing herself to be wrapped in a hug. Lacey pulled away as soon as she could and picked up the napkin. Her mother was talking a mile a minute. As soon as Lacey sat down, Katherine thrust a newspaper article at her. Lacey glanced at it; it was something about working women molested by food vendors in big cities, trading free fruit for a free feel.
I’ll give you a free banana if I can touch your melons,
Lacey imagined the vendor saying. She tried not to laugh. Instead, she held the article up with a studious nod of her head, then tucked it into her purse. She sipped her own water, smiled, and nodded as Katherine spoke. The transition happened rather quickly. Katherine stopped talking mid-sentence. She frowned.
I’ll give you a free banana if I can touch your melons,
Lacey imagined the vendor saying. She tried not to laugh. Instead, she held the article up with a studious nod of her head, then tucked it into her purse. She sipped her own water, smiled, and nodded as Katherine spoke. The transition happened rather quickly. Katherine stopped talking mid-sentence. She frowned.
“You haven’t said a word,” she said. Lacey could read her lips perfectly.
“Hello, Mother,” she said. Katherine’s eyes widened and she grabbed on to the table like it was a life raft. She must have let out a cry, for the waiter hurried over.
“Are you all right?” he asked with a glance at Lacey. Lacey’s eyes never wavered from her mother’s face.
I’ll never remember you young,
she thought.
I’ll never remember you young,
she thought.
“No, no, no, no,” Katherine Bowman said. With each “no” her head dropped lower, until she was sobbing on the table. The waiter was visibly upset. Lacey was not.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “What can I do?”
“Go away, go away,” Katherine said. The waiter threw another bewildered look to Lacey before hurrying off. Lacey shrugged and did the gesture for “crazy” that hearing people liked to use, index finger twirling in circles near the head. Katherine Bowman wiped her eyes, then took a deep breath, like a scuba diver preparing to descend into the murky depths. Only her quivering lips and shaking hands gave away her earlier collapse.
“Lacey,” she said. She reached across the table, hands and eyes pleading. Lacey stuck up her middle finger. “You don’t understand,” she said. “You don’t understand.”
If there was anything Lacey Gears understood, it was the phrase “You don’t understand.” That and “I’ll tell you later” she’d heard often. Conversations around dinner tables that she tried to grasp, only to be told, “I’ll tell you later.”
It’s not important.
Decisions made for her, around her, about her. It was Katherine Bowman who didn’t understand. A long list of misunderstandings, years of bad decisions, an endless well of wrong.
It’s not important.
Decisions made for her, around her, about her. It was Katherine Bowman who didn’t understand. A long list of misunderstandings, years of bad decisions, an endless well of wrong.
Lacey reached into her purse and pulled out the first note card. All of her questions were written in black marker, thick, tall letters asking the unanswerable. She held it up like a game show host.
Was it because I was Deaf?
“No, no, no.” Katherine was moaning, Lacey knew by the drop of her head as she spoke, the shake of her head. Katherine reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. Lacey snatched it away, removing her mother’s safety net like a burglar cutting the phone wires. Lacey slammed the first card facedown on the table and held up the second question.
Did you pay for my school?
Katherine nodded.
My private speech lessons?
Another nod.
Another nod.
My art teacher?
Katherine frowned, shook her head. Lacey thought for sure the answer to that would be yes. She was glad. She loved Miss Lee; thank God she didn’t owe that one to the parents who abandoned her.
Katherine frowned, shook her head. Lacey thought for sure the answer to that would be yes. She was glad. She loved Miss Lee; thank God she didn’t owe that one to the parents who abandoned her.
My college tuition?
Another nod.
Another nod.
Margaret knew? You paid her off too?
Lacey was pleased to note the shame that crossed over her mother’s face like a rain shadow as she nodded yes to that one.
Lacey was pleased to note the shame that crossed over her mother’s face like a rain shadow as she nodded yes to that one.
“You can’t tell Monica,” Katherine said. Lacey reached into her purse again and pulled out a Polaroid picture. She slid it across the table. It was one of Lacey and Monica taken at Benjamin Books by their new best friend, Benjamin. The girls were smiling, their arms thrown around each other, their mouths open in identical smiles. Katherine let a sob break loose.
“My girls, my girls, my girls.”
A man in a suit hurried over, trailed by the waiter. “Ma’am,” he said. “Is everything all right?”
“They said it was for the best,” Katherine said to Lacey. Then she dove into her purse. Lacey suspected her mother was looking for a piece of paper and a pen. Her own were tucked in her purse; she didn’t offer them. Her mother came up with a tube of lipstick. She uncapped it and tipped it toward the tablecloth.
“Ma’am?” the manager said again.
Katherine tipped the lipstick down and wrote on the tablecloth.
I love you.
Lacey crossed her arms and shook her head. She took her fingers and smeared the lipstick message until it was nothing more than a blur. Perhaps sensing a second act, the manager reached for the lipstick tube. Her mother pushed his hand away, then slid the bread basket out of the way. She stood up, leaned over the table, and wrote:
THE DOCTOR ! ! !
As quick as she could, Lacey snatched a bottle of ketchup from a nearby table, opened it, and upended it all over the table, trying to obscure the messages. Both the waiter and manager ran away, no doubt preparing to call the police.
I love you.
Lacey crossed her arms and shook her head. She took her fingers and smeared the lipstick message until it was nothing more than a blur. Perhaps sensing a second act, the manager reached for the lipstick tube. Her mother pushed his hand away, then slid the bread basket out of the way. She stood up, leaned over the table, and wrote:
THE DOCTOR ! ! !
As quick as she could, Lacey snatched a bottle of ketchup from a nearby table, opened it, and upended it all over the table, trying to obscure the messages. Both the waiter and manager ran away, no doubt preparing to call the police.
Katherine scraped the ketchup away with a knife and wrote
I’m sorry
in the remainder of the sweet, sticky red. Lacey stuck her finger in the spicy mustard, found a clean, white spot.
Too late.
A few lookie loos were leaning over in their seats to see what was going on; others were eyeing their own condiments with renewed interest.
I’m sorry
in the remainder of the sweet, sticky red. Lacey stuck her finger in the spicy mustard, found a clean, white spot.
Too late.
A few lookie loos were leaning over in their seats to see what was going on; others were eyeing their own condiments with renewed interest.
Giant cards, ketchup, lipstick, spicy mustard—who knew communication could be so hard, so messy?
“Lacey, Lacey, Lacey,” Katherine said. Lacey knew just the thing to shut her up. She reached into her purse and pulled out her half of the severed blue horse. All color drained from her mother’s face.
“You were wrong,” Lacey said using her voice, drawing upon every speech lesson she’d ever taken to be heard. “Not the doctor. You.” Lacey pointed at her mother. “You were wrong.”
Then, Lacey threw down the bill from the Hotel Chelsea, the three-thousand-dollar agreement they’d come to for the damage Lacey Gears had done to room 812, and made her exit. She knew her mother was still causing a scene behind her: She could see it in the faces of those she passed by, she could feel it in the back of her head. She picked up speed, as if she could outrun the pounding of her heart, her clenched stomach, and the tears, the damn uninvited tears that were pouring down both cheeks. She burst out of the restaurant and there was Monica, standing, waiting. The shock of it dried Lacey’s tears instantly. Monica smiled, opened her arms, and without hesitation Lacey fell into them. It felt good. For the first time in her life, she really knew what it felt like to have a sister.
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