Sweet Karoline (9 page)

Chapter
11

Although I'd been to the Toronto area several times over the years I'd always arrived with my parents leading the way. There'd been different purposes then. A different feel. The visits were about the birth of a child, a christening or a graduation. I attended ostensibly happy family occasions while half of me remained in California. They were an interruption of my real life, an obligation.

Often
Karoline would accompany us, turning the event into a gabfest for two best friends. I realized that this was the first time I'd ever visited my sister on my own. Usually I was on the periphery of my mother and my sister's duo, buzzing around them with Karoline or sauntering off by myself. Not really there. My thoughts ahead or behind. Back in Bell Canyon and later, L.A. Always afraid that if I were gone too long, my world would alter profoundly in my absence.

This
time I was fully present. I saw the Canadian skyline with wide-open eyes, navigated the broad roadways with rapt attention. I scrutinized the differences between here and there with a fully engaged mind. Perhaps influenced by my mother's preference for her homeland, and maybe some long-ago childhood memories of my own, I always saw this side of the border as cleaner, smarter, newer. Canadians appeared to either replace the old or scrub them up more often. In Los Angeles we revered the past with an obsession that made the present seem inferior.

Here
they used words like maximum speed rather than interstate limit, in that snooty Canadian style. Buckle up became fasten seat belts. Lodging was now accommodation. Of course miles were 'km', which referred to kilometers—with an re. No signs mentioned Chambers of Commerce. Instead there were lovely pieces of art on the roadside, announcing Lake Country with a flourish of blue and white and yellow. Lots of symbols became a kind of universal language telling me where to find gas or food. Though I admired the Canadian sensibility, I loved my American home, our unselfconscious manner, our brashness and assertiveness. Especially the egotistical cocky air of L.A.

I
carried California with me in a different way this time. There was no worrying about what I was missing, as though the currents of my life would navigate new territory without me. Move on to levels that I would no longer be able to reach. Switch channels. Those changes had already happened while I was present.

I
zipped past the Lester B. Pearson Airport and glimpsed the CN Tower pointing at the sky. Its sister buildings glinted in the distant sunlight. Along the highways, not freeways, I headed east and then north. The rental car was a sleek little grey thing, easy to manage, perfect for a city girl who usually drove a sporty vehicle that fit into any lurking parking spot however small.

At
first my heart pounded with the apprehension of so many shocks to my system, leaving my city, heading to unknown territory both physically and emotionally. Navigating customs, the airport, the suitcase and the rental all by myself. No Karoline buffer, no parental guides, no obvious reason to be here.

It
was a warm spring day, one of those perfect days that I thought of as Canadian. Fresh air scented with evergreen and burgeoning hay. None of the stifling but familiar smog of my city back home. Fields, miles of them, on either side of the highway. I knew I was traveling at a good time for traffic but I still thought of the road as somehow innocent of congestion. I slid the sunroof open, cranked the music and felt free.

It
wasn't until I'd reached the city of Barrie that the anxiety began. Elizabeth had no idea her younger sister was about to enter her contented sphere with questions that might be an earthquake with aftershocks. Would she even admit that she knew the answers? I hadn't warned her I was coming. I didn't want the walls to go up.

I
checked into a nice little hotel along Highway 400. The front hall was crowded with friendly people and the echo of children's voices as they romped in the pool. In my room I began to put my clothes away carefully, then suddenly realized that this was Karoline's routine. I took everything out of the drawers and folded them back into my suitcase.

I
strolled out into the sunshine in search of food. I had a couple of hours before Elizabeth would be home from work. I was determined not to arrive at her place hungry. Fortunately, I found a big Chinese food buffet restaurant at the top of the hill, where I feasted on salads, shrimp, crab and a myriad of desserts while I contemplated the fish swimming in colorful array behind a huge glass tank.

The
walk downhill was somewhat uncomfortable. I had eaten more in those few minutes than I had in months. When I got back to my room I lay down on the bed, undid my jean shorts and promptly fell asleep.

The
sun was waning when I awoke. Instead of the grizzly feeling I usually had after a nap, I felt invigorated. I brushed my teeth and set out in my zippy little vehicle once more.

Elizabeth
lives on the other side of the highway, just that much removed from the city and its environs. Her career as a surgical nurse is, from all accounts, satisfying and challenging. Right after her marriage at nineteen she had three children. All of them grew up adventurous despite their almost-country upbringing.

They
are spread around the world now, collecting memories, doing good works, teaching in foreign countries or going to school in distant languages. I don't know them any better than I know my sister and her husband. When I infrequently think of my two nieces and my nephew, I imagine them as crusading heroes armed with an absolute certainty about who they are and where they are headed.

My
brother-in-law, Samuel Cummings, is a tall handsome man who moves with confidence and sensuality. He's a far more outwardly affectionate and gregarious person than his wife. I like him. A computer software designer, his career has been somewhat of a rollercoaster. Though he appears to have hit his stride in his forties.

I
turned off Duckworth St. onto the side road that led to the home Sam and Liz have inhabited for over twenty years. Tucked on a hill opposite the Barrie side of Little Lake, the house overlooks a pristine body of water that kisses the air with the promise of cool swims and shiny fish. The long steep driveway leads to a massive two-storey that must echo without children's scampering footsteps. It's a house that combines brick and siding gracefully. A wide porch runs all across the front and along the right side, offering stunning views of the lake.

Bracketed
on both sides by forest, the neighbors a comfortable distance away, the Cummings residence has a rural aura, accentuated by the barn-like structure behind it. I say barn-like because it's far too flower-boxed and frilly to be taken seriously. On one visit long ago I'd glimpsed a hayloft, a play area for the kids and four snowmobiles stacked two-by-two inside. I think they even had a pony at one time.

As
I pulled up in front of the garage I could see lights in the open windows that graced the living room, though no sign of a living being. It struck me, for the first time, that Elizabeth's house was so familiar not due to past visits, but because it resembled, almost twinned, the house in Bell Canyon. My sister chose a home and a career exactly like our mother's.

The
apprehension flooded back. What if she wasn't home? What if she refused my request? By the time I had mounted the steps and pressed the bell, my mouth was dry.

I
looked around at the tasteful decorations. Flowerpots lush with red and white and yellow. A clay chipmunk. A stark white sculpture of a small child with a bright orange, plaster butterfly on its hand. Our mom must have approved wholeheartedly.

The
colorful wreath on the door announced gaily, "Welcome Friends". I wondered if that meant relatives, too.

I
heard the clicking of her heels on the wooden floor before she yanked the door open, so I had time to brace myself. She stood utterly still, staring at me, her face unemotional, not even registering surprise.

Elizabeth
is a lovely woman, though completely different from me. Her pigment is faint as though merely dusted by our black ancestry. Her hair forms a wild curly halo, cut fairly short these days I noted. Her eyes are a wide ordinary brown. A rounded face and pushed-up chin prevent her from being truly beautiful, but she always dresses to heighten her rather drab coloring. A splashy pastel scarf was tossed around her shoulders right now, highlighting the deep blue of her t-shirt, matching her snug jean shorts which showed off long, lean tanned legs.

"
Hi, Liz," I said to break the silence. "I'm sorry I didn't call, but…"

Wordlessly
she opened the door wide, gesturing with her hand as though I were a casual guest who often popped in for tea.

"
Come right in, Anne, for heaven's sake. I was just so startled to see you there. Very unexpected."

She
gave me a polite tentative hug, patting my back as she always did, like a baby being burped.

I
stepped into the hallway, automatically removing my shoes, placing them on the carpet where others were lined up, just as we'd both been taught. Elizabeth walked ahead of me into the living room, where she perched on the sofa. I sat across from her on a hard-seated chair the shape of a giant half shell.

"
Is everything all right with Mom and Dad?"

Elizabeth
wasn't truly worried. I knew she had more than likely spoken to our parents that day. It was her version of what the hell are you doing here?

"
Oh yes, they're fine. Absolutely fine. They still love it down there. They always have so much to do. And lots of friends. Mom sounds really happy and Dad, too. Whenever I see them, they seem…happy."

I
was babbling, while Elizabeth sat straight and stiff, a slight smile on her lips. She knew very well I'd only been sporadically in touch with our parents in the last few years.

"
I agree," she responded primly. "I do think they're happy. Would you like something to drink? Or eat?"

"
Oh, I'd love something to drink. Not to eat though. I had a huge lunch, so…"

"
Pop? I've got ginger ale, coke, root beer…or would you like wine or something?"

The
way she spoke the word wine, I knew it was not the proper choice, so I said, "I'd love a red wine if you have it."

Elizabeth
nodded and moved elegantly to a sideboard in the adjoining dining room. To my surprise, she poured two glasses, the scarlet liquid filling the bottoms of enormous bowls. Did she somehow intuit what I was going to ask her and needed fortification?

"
You didn't bring Karoline," she said, a statement with the upward lift of a question.

"
She's so busy with her work right now, doing a bunch of different things for her boss."

"
I know what that feels like. I've just moved into this surgical team coordinator position so I haven't had much time off."

I
took a sip of wine. "Do you like the new job?"

"
Love it. Very intense, a little too busy, but…well, with the kids gone and Sam's new position…"

She
didn't elaborate, so I asked and she answered, though I felt there was a tension in her voice when she said it.

"
GilTech has him traveling now. He's their main salesperson and he's all over the world. He even got to drop in on the kids in their various locations. Meanwhile, I signed up for this job that keeps me…" As she waved her hand around the room I noticed her glass was empty. "…here."

Elizabeth
got up and poured us more wine.

"
That must be lonely for you, Lizzy," I said, deliberately using the baby sister moniker. "I mean, you're so used to a house that's full of people. I always thought of your house as warm and friendly and busy."

My
sister sipped and stared as though I were a stranger whose face she was trying to memorize for future meetings. And perhaps I was.

"
Let's go into the kitchen," she said, standing up and walking through the massive dining room into the equally enormous kitchen.

She
situated herself on the counter side of the island so I perched on a stool on the other. She still hadn't asked me what I was doing there.

Elizabeth
hauled out a plate of cheese and some pepperoni from the fridge, daintily spread out as though perpetually ready for guests. Artfully she arranged crackers in a basket and slid a plate with a flowered napkin in front of each of us.

"
I know you said you're not hungry, but I really must eat, or…" She held up her glass and took a long swallow.

Obediently,
despite my full stomach, I nibbled on one of the crackers.

"
You look different somehow."

Her
voice was suddenly tender. I didn't remember that tone coming from this distant woman, the person I called my sister but didn't really know. I considered Karoline more of a sister, partly because Elizabeth always seemed to regard me from a chasm of indifference, partly because of the gap in our ages. Now I looked into her steady gaze and met warmth and interest. My reaction was instant. A gathering of tears slid down my cheeks.