Secret Sister (13 page)

I laughed aloud, which must have been what she was going for. “I knew I could make you laugh. Isn’t this fun?” She wiped a trace of cherry juice off her chin. “A little bit like before, right?” There was a plea in those words.

“It is fun.” I held up my glass. “To you, Zoë. Have a wonderful year!”

With that, despite my earlier restlessness, the evening became a party. We dropped the alcohol talk and moved onto sports. Zoë and I were both rabid baseball fans, she of the Angels, me Dodger Blue.

Cathy had never cared much for baseball, but she encouraged this sibling rivalry, said it was a good thing to share with your sister. My wife was big on sharing things with family members. That was why she had instituted movie night with Zoë when she began showing interest in love stories.

“We’re bonding,” Cathy announced not long ago to explain why she was so late getting home. “I’m going to make her watch Shakespeare. Olivier, and crazy Mel Gibson and the old coots. And DeCaprio as Romeo. And that
Hamlet
with Uma Thurman’s ex who doesn’t wash his hair, Ethan Hawke. They are so dramatic about romance. Zoë will love it and ace all the honors English classes her school can throw at her.”

With a pang, I thought again of the poster in the closet at home.
I’ll give it to Zoë later
. She’d treasure anything from Cathy.

The waiter cleared the salad plates, reassuring us our entrees would be right out. Zoë launched into a little history of how long she’d been coming to Simone’s, and I realized this was a politic time to leave her with the dashing waiter for a moment.

“I’ll be back in a sec, Zoë. And I’ll take another club soda when you have a chance,” I added, subtly reminding Eduardo that he did have real work to do.

When I crossed the foyer, I spotted Jen in the main dining hall, bent over in discussion with a man whose face I couldn’t see, but something about him was familiar. Not wanting to have to make small talk with any acquaintance, I hurried to the men’s room.

As I was washing up, I began sweating again, and loosened my tie. Despite getting into the party spirit for Zoë, my heart ached at being in this place where I’d shared so many happy times with Cathy. I turned off the water and dried my hands. Stood at the door for a moment. And imagined Cathy’s voice again.

“Nick,” she called. “Nick.”

Breathing fast, I pushed at the door and walked into the narrow hallway. A few feet away, the door to the ladies’ room opened and a woman appeared. She wore a silky summer dress and high heels, her dark hair pulled into a bun with a ribbon.

Like Cathy wore it.

The woman turned toward me, and in a voice too much like my wife’s to bear, said, “Nick?”

I stepped back and banged my elbow against the wall. “Roxanne.” My voice ricocheted around the small space.

She came closer. Her eyes were full of tears, and I felt her trembling when she laid her hand on my arm. “Nick, I don’t know how to tell you this, but . . .”

“What are you doing here?”

At my harsh question, she looked sadder than any person I’d ever seen. She dropped her hand. “I’m, I’m having dinner with Bradley.” A dangling earring glimmered in the light. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

I stretched my hand toward her face and touched the single turquoise earring in her left ear. She grasped my fingers as I did this, sending a shock of emotion through me that threatened to overcome all restraint.

“That belongs to my wife.” I pulled my hand away. “What the hell, Roxanne. What are you doing wearing it?”

For a moment she stared at me, tears running down her perfect face. Carefully she took off the earring and held it out. “I was keeping it until I could return it to you personally. Here.”

I turned and hurried into the dining room. Zoë was sitting with a man.

“Nick!”

It was Bradley. He smiled. “Jen just said you and Zoë were here, so I came by to say hello.”

“Let’s go, Zoë. Now.” I put my hands on the back of her chair.

“Nick, hold on.” Bradley struggled to his feet, his voice unsteady.

He’d had a lot to drink, I realized with envy. “Bradley, this has nothing to do with you. But we’re going. I’m not ready for any of this shit.”

“Wait. I didn’t know you two would be here. If I did, I never would have brought Roxanne.”

“Roxanne is here?” Zoë pushed away from the table and stood next to me. “Where?”

“I just saw her in the hallway and I have no intention of chatting with her. Or with you, Bradley,” I shot back. “Jesus Christ, how could you bring her to Simone’s
?
”

“Nick, I told you, I had no idea you guys would be here.”

“Don’t yell at Bradley, Nick.” Zoë’s eyes darted around the restaurant.

I took my sister’s hand. “Come on, Zoë, we’ll go someplace else.”

“Let’s just go home.” Her voice was mournful. She grabbed her purse and then looked as if she saw a ghost over my shoulder.

“Bradley,” Roxanne said behind me. “We should leave. It’s Zoë’s birthday and I’m sure they want to celebrate.”

“Don’t bother. We’re going.” I glared at Roxanne and threw money on the table, knocking over the club soda. The glass shattered when it hit the wood floor and the women at the corner table looked up.

I was hyperventilating. I felt the way I used to when I would get drunk, right before I blacked out, enveloped by twin sensations of anger and relief. I grasped Zoë’s hand tighter and without looking again at Roxanne, we headed for the exit.

A few minutes later, sitting in the car with Zoë silent beside me, I didn’t even try to apologize to her. Instead, I kept thinking about what happened after Cathy’s memorial service.

She was cremated. There were carpets of flowers and child singers and everyone who mattered to her was there and they cried and mourned,
except her very, very best friend who’d killed her.
Despite the
sunny skies above, I shivered like I had the flu during the entire service.

At the end, when everyone but my family had gone, the minister handed me the golden urn with Cathy’s ashes. But I wouldn’t let them scatter them off the cliff and out over the ocean, as they planned. I took the urn and ran with it down the slope from the chapel in Palos Verdes, sliding on the damp grass, oblivious to the cries of Mom and Zoë and the relatives from New Hampshire who’d trekked out to the land of fruit and nuts to lend support.

When I got to the limo, I yelled at the chauffeur to drive away quick, like we were leaving the scene of a crime. He took me home without asking a single question. I sat in the front seat beside him, clutching the cold, smooth repository.

When he pulled up to the house I fumbled for my wallet, as if he were a taxi driver. He wouldn’t take any money, just hugged me and said, “Take it easy, man.”

I hid the urn under my bed.

That night I told my mother and Zoë I took care of the ashes privately, but the truth was I couldn’t part with them. Dust to dust, they were all I had left. Except for my love for her, which seemed to take a bigger part of my heart every day.

I prayed to a God I didn’t believe in as we pulled out of the driveway of the restaurant; prayed that this cruel flame of devotion would consume me, and that I could be with Cathy, wherever she was.

I don’t remember driving home, but I do know my sister didn’t speak, just cried silently and stared into the darkening summer night.

Chapter 12

Wednesday, July 27, 9 p.m.

Cathy

“Bradley, we have to leave. Right now!”

He stared at me, his concern over Nick’s reaction to my presence plain to see. “Okay. Yes, of course.”

We hurried to our table and Bradley asked the waiter to bag our dinners. Five minutes later we were in his car, headed out of the parking lot. The air inside the car filled with the fragrance of roast chicken, but I felt sick. All I wanted to do was talk to Nick, and explain that it was all a nightmare, that I was alive.

And that I loved him.

“I’m assuming we’re going back to your apartment?” Bradley asked softly.

“No. No. Get on the freeway. I want to go to Sierra Monte.” I nearly blurted out, ‘I want to go home,’ but I swallowed those alarming words. “I want to see Nick.”

Bradley braked at the corner and peered at me in the growing darkness. “Roxanne, I don’t think that’s a good idea. We can’t just show up unannounced, especially after what just happened.”

“It’s because of what just happened that I need to see him,” I said. “You saw how upset he was. And poor Zoë. I need to talk to them both.”

“And I need you to slow down a minute and think. I mean, have you even spoken to Nick since the wreck?”

“No, this was the first time.” My eyes filled with tears. “God, he looks terrible, doesn’t he? Thin, and like he hasn’t slept.”

“He didn’t call you in the hospital?”

“No.”

“Well, don’t you think we need to back off, then? I mean, I know it hurts, Roxanne. But it was clear Nick wasn’t happy to see you. Or me.” Bradley put the car in gear and crossed the intersection. “I can’t believe I totally forgot about it being Zoë’s birthday today.”

“Me, too.” I burst into tears.

“I’m taking you home right now, Roxanne.” Bradley patted my arm. “I’ve never, ever seen you cry, much less come apart like you’re doing now. I’m sure if you think about it you’ll agree no one would benefit from you trying to talk to Nick and Zoë again tonight.”

My heartbeat raced as the headlights on the passing cars glowed ominously. Outside I heard a loud bang.

Suddenly the car accident replayed again inside my brain. I shut my eyes and tried to stop the memory but it only got worse. I was lying in the street and could smell smoke and grease and hear sirens screaming. Nearby a tire spun round and around on its axle as the car it belonged to lay crushed on its side.

I opened my eyes and the memory dissolved, leaving me weak and breathless. I had only one thought. I wanted to be with Nick. I wanted him to hold me tight in his arms and tell me it was all going to be okay.

“Roxanne?” Bradley sounded frightened.

I must have been moaning aloud. “I’m okay, Bradley.” I swallowed and steadied my voice. “And you’re right. This isn’t the time to talk to Nick. But could you just drive past the house?” I clutched his arm as if it were a life preserver. “Please.”

Bradley kept his eyes on the traffic. “Okay. We can do that. It’s not too far.” He glanced at me. “But you won’t try and jump out of the car and run to the door or anything crazy and dramatic, will you?”

“No.” I folded my hands in my lap. “No, Bradley. I’ll be good. I promise.”

Forty minutes later Bradley parked his car at Roxanne’s apartment and held the door for me. “Let’s get you upstairs.” He gave me his hand, and I stood unsteadily.

“Here’s your purse. I’ll carry dinner.” He grabbed the bags and took my arm.

We walked up the stairs in silence. Bradley had humored me and driven past my house. There were lights on inside, and Nick’s car was parked in the driveway.

Pitty the cat was sitting on the front porch, staring into the street. I had cried again, but Bradley had not stopped the car or commented on my reaction to being on my old street where Nick still lived.

But I could hear questions recycling inside his head as we walked through the summer night. I couldn’t think of anything to say to him without telling him
everything
, which of course was impossible.

Almost as impossible as figuring out a logical way to announce to my husband that, despite my appearance, I was his wife. I was the dead woman whose memorial service he had attended two weeks ago.

When we arrived at Roxanne’s front door, my mind was spinning like a pinwheel in a hurricane. Memories overflowed inside my head. An image of my dress from the high school prom was replaced by one of my mother in her coffin, followed by several from a Memorial Day weekend when Nick and I burned everyone’s hamburgers and ordered pizza instead.

There were also millions of blank spots. I put my hand to my hair and realized I couldn’t remember who cut it. Or where I went to elementary school. But then new images, faces, sounds carried me off into another gluttony of reliving the past. I made no attempt to stop them, just let them run through my brain like a TV set with no ‘off’ button.

“Let me have your keys,” Bradley said.

I concentrated on this task, fishing them out and handing them over so we could go into my best friend’s home and have coffee.

My
dead
best friend’s home.

I moaned again, and Bradley’s frown deepened. We went inside and he turned on lights and took the food to the kitchen. I sat on the sofa and tried to keep from exploding into a million pieces of grief. Front and center was the fact that Roxanne was gone, was dead. My friend, my dearest friend, was lost to me forever.

“Can I get you some water? Or make some tea?” Bradley called out.

“No. I think I’m going to go to bed, try to sleep.”

He sat across from me, looking about ten years older than he had two hours ago. “Do you want me to stay tonight? Or call your mom to come over?”

“No. I’ll be okay.” I grasped his hand. “I’m sorry. It was just so sad, so terrible, to see Nick and Zoë.”

“I know. I know, honey.” Tears filled his eyes. “It brought the reality of Cathy’s death to all of us, I think. It was shocking that she wasn’t there with us, that she’d never be there with us again.”

“Yes. And Nick hates Roxanne for that. He blames her for Cathy’s death. I’ve never seen him so angry at anyone.”

“He
is
angry.” Bradley paused. “But Rox, you really need to work on not referring to yourself in the third person. People are going to think you’re crazy.”

“I am a little crazy now, Bradley.” Right then, I thought of blurting out the truth, but I knew he wouldn’t believe me. I let several moments pass while I got control of my emotions. “Give me some time. I’ll pull myself together.”

“I know you will.” He got up. “Are you, are you remembering things, even a little now? I should have realized going to Simone’s might bring too much back too quickly.”

“It’s not that, it’s just that I’m beyond tired. Overwrought.” I hugged him. “Thank you so much for dinner. We had an awful lot of wine, are you sure you’re okay to drive? You’ve got what, ten miles to go?”

Bradley moved his lips into a caricature of a smile. “Aha. So you do remember where I live?”

“I know you live in Eagle Rock. But only because Betty told me.” My face reddened as I added to this growing string of lies. “You’re sure you’re sober?”

“Stone sober. More’s the pity. But again, I’m so sorry that all this happened tonight, Roxanne. I wanted this to be a special night for you.”

“It was.” I kissed his cheek, realizing I never used to have to get on my tiptoes to reach his neck. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“You sure you don’t need to talk more tonight? I can stay. You could go to bed, but I would be here when you got up.”

“No, Bradley. Just go home.”

“Okay. But you go straight to bed, girlfriend. No trips to Sierra Monte, right?”

“Promise.”

Bradley looked hard at me. “For the record, I think Nick has acted like a dick since the accident. There’s no reason to ignore you, or treat you like he did tonight. We all miss Cathy. But we all accept what happened was a wicked twist of fate. Nick needs to understand that.”

“I can’t fault Nick. He’s in a lot of pain. I’ll think it through more, what I need to do to reach out to him.”

“That’s charitable of you.” Bradley cocked his head. “You know, since the accident you seem really different.”

“I am different.”

“How?”

My heart seemed to stop. “No one can go through something like this and not be changed. Even if I can’t remember everything, I understand what an enormous loss everyone has suffered.” I thought of Roxanne and pinched the back of my hand to keep from crying. “Me included.”

“Poor girl. She was your best friend.”

“Yes.” It didn’t matter that Bradley was wrong on
who
I was mourning. He understood what I felt.

He left, and I locked the door behind him. In the silence, I leaned against it and closed my eyes. What now?

The phone in the kitchen rang. I let the answering machine handle the call. I prayed it wasn’t Betty again. Her daughter, her only child, was dead and she didn’t even know it. I was the only soul who knew it was Roxanne we should all be mourning.

As the phone rang for the third time, I walked toward it and thought about Roxanne.

She wasn’t always easy for some people to like. Some were just jealous, and to others she could act the cold, aloof beauty. But to me she was always supportive. When we were teenagers, she was perfect and sought after, while I was gawky and lonely and insecure. Despite that, she chose me to be her best friend.

I remembered one day in particular. It was after school and we stood staring at our reflections in the mirror in her bedroom, looking at zits. Well, my zits. Her complexion was silky tan, not a blemish on her heart-shaped face. My plain, pale skin was marked with pimples and dark circles.

Suddenly Roxanne pointed out that we had an identical gold fleck in the iris of our left eyes. “My God. That does it, we’re secret sisters!” she announced. “That gold fleck is a sign from God. Fate has brought us together. What do you think?” She stared at my eyes in the mirror, and I felt a bigger question in hers, but I was too overwhelmed to imagine what it was.

“I’ve always wanted a sister,” I’d whispered.

“Well, you’ve got one now,” she said. We hugged and danced around and I felt like I was golden, and no longer alone in the world.

As the answering machine clicked, I collapsed in the chair beside it and realized with the impact of a blow to the head that Betty was going to have to hear the truth someday.

God almighty, if I could only go back a couple of weeks. I would let Roxanne turn the car around and not go to Seth’s. If I had, we’d both be in our rightful bodies, and none of this mess would be confronting me.

A male voice floated out of the speaker. “Roxanne. Pick up. It’s me, Michael.”

My mind lurched from the day of the accident to last night, roiling with the memory of Michael’s touch.

How would I ever explain last night to Nick?
Or that one other time . . .

Another incident in Cathy’s life,
my life,
dissolved like time-speed photography inside my brain. This past spring, a few months ago on a beach, I was there. With Michael Cimino.

It was a chilly, damp night when Nick was away in New York on business, and Rox was asleep on the backseat of Michael’s Jaguar, knocked out by the bottles of wine we’d shared at dinner. Michael and I sat on a blanket at Corona del Mar. We were drunk. Then naked. I saw his penis, pulsing and hard. I remembered wanting him to push it inside of me as we embraced on the dark beach.

Did he?
Like several other memories that had bombarded me, this one wasn’t complete. I couldn’t remember what happened next. I bit my thumb. What kind of person was I then?
What kind of person am I now?
My face burned with shame for what may have taken place on a night when I’d known exactly who I was.

“. . . guess you’re not home yet.” Michael’s voice continued, disembodied and pissed-off, as it billowed from the speaker. “Call me. I’ll come by and tuck you in, like last night. Call me when you get this, Roxanne. You’ve got the number.”

The answering machine clicked off. Outside I heard a police siren, and a car door slammed in the parking lot.

I couldn’t move. For a painful few moments I confronted several less than flattering attributes of Cathy Chance. My failings loomed from all corners of my mind.

I was frivolous. I told white lies whenever they suited me. I was envious.
Bossy.
Arrogant with people I thought weren’t as well-read as me on various topics. Music. Politics. Movies. I always ate a piece of the fruit I was buying before I paid at the grocery store.

And I might be a slut. And a cheat.

“Shit,” I said. Maybe I should keep quiet and pretend to be Roxanne forever.
I’ll cut Michael loose and make Nick fall in love with me, the new me
.

I shook my head at the ridiculousness of that thought. It wouldn’t work, not on any level of karma I could come up with. Inside my head, I heard my mother’s voice. “Oh what a dangerous web we weave when first we practice to deceive.”

She had often warned me about lying when I was little. I should have listened to her.

I walked into Roxanne’s bedroom and pulled off my clothes, kicked them away, then flopped onto the bed and buried my head in the pillows. What was I going to do first?

Convince Nick.

I’d need help with this. I thought of people I might turn to. Bradley? Betty? No, they both would take too much convincing.

Dr. Patel? I had an appointment with him next Monday. No, I couldn’t wait that long and besides, Dr. Patel struck me as exceedingly logical. Not one to entertain my inexplicable, supernatural, logic-defying reality.

Althea? Jen? The tennis coach, who had called for the fourth time, Fred Apodaca? I didn’t even know that Rox had been friends with him. And Nick thought he was a jerk, so Fred was out.