Searching for Sylvie Lee (11 page)

“I know. She has been waiting here for you,” Grandma said, and my heart smote me again, because I knew Grandma was speaking of herself.

I set Tasha on the bedside table and arranged her in a sitting position. “For now, she shall watch over you and keep you company.”

“She is yours.”

“I know but there is time enough for that.” We all knew what I meant. I felt bereft at the thought of taking Tasha away from Grandma, after Grandma had kept her safe for me all these years.

Grandma quirked her lips into a smile. “Well, I must say I have gotten used to having your doll around. And now that you are back, I can depart in peace.”

“None of that kind of talk, Grandma.”

“No worries, Snow Jasmine. I will not pass on before I give you my treasure.”

O
nce we were outside and the bedroom door was closed, I turned to Lukas. “Is she truly getting home care?”

He hesitated, and said, “It is palliative care.”

I became very still. My blood felt like it had pooled in the bottom of my stomach. I had looked this up before I came. In the Netherlands, you only received palliative care if the doctor had issued a statement that you had less than three months to live.

Lukas went on, “We thought about moving her to a hospice. There is a beautiful one close by, almost completely volunteer-run, where they would cook her anything she wanted, wait on her day and night. But she prefers to stay here.”

“Of course. Did she make any other arrangements?” I knew from my many discussions with the Dutch students in college how different the options were here for the dying.

“She has been approved for euthanasia if she should request it.”

Euthanasia. Three months or less. My dear grandma, she had been invincible when I left her. I leaned my head against the wall for a moment and closed my eyes. I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. “Has all hope already sailed?”

He nodded. The deep lines around his mouth betrayed his grief. “She is too weak. Old age comes with defects. You know Grandma has swallowed high blood pressure pills for years and now her heart and lungs cannot keep up with the demands of her body.”

Then we heard the front door open and we exchanged a look. I rubbed my aching forehead and composed myself before going downstairs to greet Helena and Willem.

H
elena’s eyes, cold and calculating, watched as we descended the stairs. I felt dizzy; a sudden wave of jet lag, depression, and grief swept over me and I swayed for a moment, holding on to the railing to stay upright. I recovered and straightened, making sure I descended with the dignity of the former queen Beatrix. This woman before me was the Helena I had known, and she was not. She was older than I had expected. It was like I was seeing her for the first time. What was an adult to a child—a head in the distance, a voice, a force for kindness or cruelty. She had cut her hair, which used to lie halfway down her back. I had loved to hold it between my palms in the small moments of peace we had shared.

The years had begun to reveal the truth of her face, as they did to all of us. The superficial prettiness I remembered had yielded to something stiff and unrelenting in the set of her lips, the frown between her eyes. I had grown into a woman in the years I had been gone, and she—what had Helena become? Her fair skin had turned mask-like, and harsh grooves lined the sides of her nose. She wore an outdated Dolce & Gabbana tuxedo jacket that did her hips no favors over an ankle-length leopard-print fringe pencil skirt. Trying to look younger than she was and failing miserably with chunky Van Cleef & Arpels jewelry that only emphasized her short neck and arms. Even if an ape wore a golden ring, it was and remained an ugly thing.

I felt a surge of triumph that as she had grown less, I had come into my own. Her eyes drifted up my Loro Piana outfit, from the pressed cream slacks to the white cap-sleeve blouse to the silk floral-print stole knotted around my neck. Then she checked out the Hermès Kelly bag I had tossed onto the chair in the hallway, and eyed my reversible cashmere coat in pearl blue and silver myrtle, which hung from her coat rack. Ah, she spoke my language; I loved it. I had suspected she would. Finally, we were legible to each other. My designer clothing had always been invisible to Amy and Ma. Amy and I had often fought when we were younger because she did things like tromp around the room playing cowgirl in the three-hundred-dollar Yves Saint Laurent suede ankle boots I had found at a sample sale. Even paying discount prices, I had worked and scrimped for months for each purchase. Now I saw the silent assessment in Helena’s eyes, the hatred kindling once again.

As always, Helena eclipsed Willem, who was staring up at me with the secret affection he had always shown me that had turned into something hungrier over the years. As a child I’d needed it, but now I despised him for it, for his ravenous eyes, for his fear of Helena. His love for me had always bowed to her will, like a plant grown within the confines of a box. If he truly cared for me, he would have dared to stand up to her. He would not have hidden every caress of my hair, every tiny gift.

I felt the solid warmth of Lukas at my back.

Helena smiled and spoke to me in Dutch, probably hoping for me to stumble. As always, her accent was flawless. She had been born here. “Sylvie, you are exactly what I had expected.”

I replied fluently in the same language. “As are you, Cousin Helena.”

She blinked a moment, taken aback, and then we exchanged three empty air kisses, neither of us touching the other’s skin. I turned to Willem and we did the same, but I felt the urgency of his lips against my cheek, the way his hands clutched my arms. He whispered, his voice trembling with emotion, “I have missed you so, Sylvie.”

He had always loved me too much, albeit surreptitiously. I pulled away before Helena could notice but also knew it was too late. She had always seen us. I smiled at him and said nothing, only tossed my hair so the diamond studs he had given me glittered. By his quick intake of breath, I understood he recognized them.

“How is your ma?” he asked, with a furtive glance at Helena, as if trying to distract her.

“Fine.” I exhaled, relieved. I was glad to distance myself from this excess of emotion. “Ma and Pa are both in good health.”

Helena chattered as we all went into the kitchen. She was playing the gracious hostess. I had not noticed earlier that they were carrying bags of food from their restaurant, which smelled delicious. But as they were unpacking, Helena said, “This is a bit of a celebration lunch to have our Lukas return to us.”

I glanced at him. “When did you get back?”

“Last night. My project was coming to an end and this seemed like a good time not to take on anything else yet.” I heard the words he had not said:
since Grandma is dying.

“Anyway,” Helena said, stepping between us as she set the table with the traditional red glazed Chinese plates I still remembered, “we have brought back his favorite dishes—Szechuan prawns and sea bass braised in black bean sauce. I completely forgot that you are allergic to seafood. I hope you do not find it a difficulty, Sylvie?”

I stood there a moment, as if she had slapped me. This was the Helena I knew. So quickly did we shed the wisdom and kindness of accumulated years, how easily we reverted to our former selves in the company of those who had known us before. I had just arrived, jet-lagged and exhausted, to the house where I had been a member of this family for the first nine years of my life, and Helena wanted to remind me how much of an outsider I was, how much they did not need me. The ground sank away beneath my feet. The worst was seeing how Lukas’s head snapped up, his eyes widened in shock and cheeks reddened with shame. Willem too stared at Helena, aghast. He clearly had not known what they were bringing home and the message it would send.

“Mother, I am sure we have food for Sylvie in the refrigerator,” Lukas said, pulling open the fridge door with unnecessary force.

“Naturally,” said Willem, making an effort to smile at me. We all did such a good job of pretending we believed in Helena’s “accident.” “I can also cook something fresh for you, Sylvie.”

“Not a problem.” I knew how this game was played. When I was little, I would have slunk to my room and hidden in the blankets, willing myself not to cry. No more. “I am as full as an egg. The way they feed you in first class, it is like they think you are starving,” I lied. Fortunately, I had learned all about humble-bragging from my so-called friends. They often came up with statements like
Oh, we’re flying private to our vacation house on the island, not that we do that all the time—just when it’s more convenient
.

Lukas said, “Are you certain, Sylvie? We have—”

“Oh no,” I said, even though I was willing my stomach not to growl. Hunger makes raw beans sweet, but I smiled and sank with deliberate grace into the central chair at the table. “I could not eat another bite.”

Helena stared at me a moment. Then she continued setting out the food as Willem helped her. Lukas gave me a half smile. He understood exactly what I was doing, and poured me a glass of Spa red, bubbly mineral water with lemon. No ice, of course, unheard of in Dutch homes.

Helena said, “You go ahead upstairs to unpack and relax, Sylvie.”

“I have no haste.” I leaned back in my chair while they filled their plates, playing with my scarf between my fingers. Lukas kept glancing at me and hardly ate any of his own food. I could see he felt terrible, which I regretted, but I enjoyed making Helena aware of every bit of her rudeness to me. She had ensured that even the fried rice had shrimp in it. Despite my hunger, I smiled throughout the meal, so every time they passed the food or took a bite of fish, they could sense how un-Chinese this behavior was, to treat a guest in this way. Willem’s forehead held a ruddy glow and even Helena knocked her chopsticks onto the floor in an uncharacteristically clumsy move.

The home care nurse arrived midway through the meal, a sturdy young woman named Isa with red hair, a nose ring, and two large disc earrings that created one-centimeter holes in her lobes. She had a wide friendly smile and made up a plate for Grandma, which she then took upstairs.

“Make sure you take some for yourself too, Isa,” Helena said. This too I remembered, how everyone else thought she was so kind, lovely, and polite. In some ways, that warmth was real. I was the only one she disliked. What was it about me that brought out the worst in people? When Isa hesitated, Helena pressed a full plate into her hands and gave her a heaping scoop of fried prawn rolls to top it off.

After the awkward meal, Lukas carried my suitcase to the attic, which had been his room when we were little. Grandma’s door was shut and we heard Isa chatting away inside. We passed my old room too, so tiny that it had been turned into a closet, filled with odds and ends. We had always spent our time in Lukas’s room anyway. All of his things were gone but the lines of the rafters, the red checkered curtains by the small circular window were the same, as were the dormer windows that extended the length of the room. I could have navigated the space blindfolded.

“Do you remember how often we bumped our heads against the ceiling?” I asked.

“That was because you never looked when you launched yourself off the bed,” he said, grinning.

Suddenly, it was too much for me—the air in this house, so still and contained, smelling of Helena’s perfume and Grandma’s medicines. I felt like an animal caught in a trap. I tossed my suitcase on the desk and said, “I can unpack later. Show me where you are living now.”

L
ukas took me to the large separate garage. He had converted it into a living space with a second story built above the original area. The old garage door had been removed and now a neat red door sat in its place, beside wide curtained windows. As Lukas fumbled with the key, a little orange cat bolted into the garden and then skidded on her hind legs. She scampered back to his feet and batted at the shoelaces of his dusty hiking boots.

“Who is this?” I cried, scooping the cat into my arms.

Lukas shook his head. “She is incorrigible. Her name is Couscous. I found her half-starved in Turkey a while ago. I could not leave her there so I brought her home. She will get dirt all over your shirt.”

“Who cares about a stupid shirt when there is an incorrigible Couscous? You little heart-thief,” I crooned. The cat blinked at me with her amber eyes. The tip of her creamy snout was light apricot brown, as if she had been caught drinking chocolate milk. She was alternately white and orange like a candy cane and when I cradled her, she began to purr, her fur so dense and soft. “You have good taste to come here instead of the main house, Couscous. I wish I could take you home with me.”

“I know so little about your daily life,” Lukas said. “Do you have a house? A flat?”

“You should come. Jim and I live in an apartment.” I felt a pang. Jim was not there anymore. I had managed not to think about him for a few hours now. We stepped inside the dark converted garage and, for a moment, I was blinded by the change in lighting. Unlike most Dutch, Lukas had all his drapes closed, probably because of his photography equipment.

He closed the door behind him and the shadows wrapped around us. Couscous was a warm silky weight in my arms, her steady purr a comfort. I exhaled. Here I was with Lukas, who had known and loved me before I became somebody and before I lost it all too. Being with him was as natural as breathing. My cousin, my friend.