The Geometry of Sisters (38 page)

“But you're here.”

“I know,” he said. “Because she brought me back to life.”

“She?”

“My daughter,” he said. “Carrie Shaw. She came all the way to Rhode Island from Lake Michigan, after going through the worst trauma you can think of….” He trailed off, then continued. “She stood by my bedside, and I saw her. I did. I was clinically dead—in a coma, my heart stopped.”

“But it started again,” Dell said, still holding the paper.

“Yeah,” he said. “Because she was there.”

“She saved you. That's what you believe.”

“That's what I know.”

Dell stared at him, holding the big container of food for the girls. She saw his eyes glittering in the streetlight. She'd left the Christmas lights on in the diner, even though it was closed, and they flashed red and green in the snow.

It was getting close to that time of year where Dell couldn't stand all the families being apart. She knew that people did awful things to each other. She'd heard about almost unimaginable cruelty done to her girls. She knew about betrayals, the most hurtful things you could think of. But she'd look at the young women, at the loneliness in their eyes, at the way they'd cradle their babies, as if wishing someone could hold them with such warmth and love, and she'd wish they all had homes to go to. And she'd seen something else in Carrie: a real and serious love for her family.

“Once a girl leaves Hawthorne House…” she said finally, “confidentiality doesn't really mean the same thing.”

“No,” he said.

“So I'm thinking,” she said. “That what you're saying here is that your daughter saved your life. And you want to help her get on with hers.”

“Yes,” he said. “That's exactly what I'm saying.”

Dell wrote down the address of the pink rooming house. She handed him the paper, along with his hospital record, and tried to take the cooler from him. He wouldn't let her. He insisted on carrying it to her car. That might have been absurd, but he had help— his driver came out of the van, the same husky guy she'd seen with him on Thanksgiving, when they'd shown up at the diner.

Carrie had hidden from them. That might have given Dell pause, to realize that the girl didn't want to be found. But Dell remembered the way Carrie had cried after they'd left, as if her heart was breaking all over again.

“Thanks,” Dell said, when the men had helped her load the groceries into her car.

“Thank you,” Carrie's father said.

“Take good care of her,” Dell said.

“We will,” he said. “Her mother and I.”

Dell nodded, and then she got into the car and started driving slowly through the storm across town to Hawthorne House, back to all the girls missing their families for Christmas.

Carrie sat in the rocking chair, holding Gracie. The heat clanked in the radiators, but wasn't making its way into her room. She felt freezing cold, tried to warm Gracie against her body. She held her daughter, smelling her hair, kissing the top of her head. She closed her eyes, thinking of those times by his hospital bed, when she'd thought he might die. But he hadn't.

Things turned around. She'd found her way to Rhode Island, to be near him, to figure out that piece of her life's puzzle. Logic had escaped her; she'd been steered by her heart. Once she'd learned of his existence, she'd had to find him. It was like a salmon making its way back to the river where it was born.

She came from Rhode Island. Her mother and father had been in love here. Now her family was here again; she shook, thinking of her mother, the way their eyes had locked. Carrie had seen wild love there—the kind that overcame anything, forgave everything. In that moment, she realized that she was wrong to stay away a minute longer. She had to go home.

She held Gracie tighter, closed her eyes. She'd been trying to push these thoughts away for so long. But it was as if she was stuck. The terrible snowstorm outside was nothing compared to the turmoil she felt. She needed her family, but she couldn't move. It was as if the gale outside was spinning her back to another storm. The one on the lake, the day she'd destroyed everything.

Her family vacation. Usually it was her favorite part of the year,
but that summer she'd dreaded it with everything she had. Going to the lake, being with her family, doing childhood things—those belonged to a different Carrie. The innocent girl she used to be, the one who had loved school, her family, nature. Her family thought she was perfect. She'd known that was silly, but deep down, it had made her proud, given her a lot to live up to.

That year it all fell apart. The week before vacation, she'd started throwing up. She'd already suspected. She'd missed her period; her breasts felt so tender. And her stomach kept flipping, lightly and constantly, in a way she'd never felt before. She went to the drugstore, bought a pregnancy test. She knew before she saw the blue line.

She and Justin had been on the verge of breaking up for months. Ever since the car accident, she had changed. He said she'd gotten too serious—not about him, but about life. And he was right: they could have been killed. She was in the hospital for weeks with internal injuries, and needed blood transfusions. Her parents had visited her every day, and she'd seen something shift between them. Her mother always looked so worried, and her father always looked so angry. For the longest time, Carrie had thought it was because of her—because of the accident. Well, it was because of her, but not in the way she'd imagined.

The day Carrie decided to tell Justin she was pregnant, he broke up with her. She had watched him after the accident—instead of getting more serious about life, he'd gone the other way. He got wilder, drove faster, stopped working hard in school. It was as if he wanted to dare death to come get him again.

They were behind the school, out by the athletic fields. Carrie's voice shook, telling him she had news. He'd stepped back, almost as if he could read her mind. He told her to stop, he had something to tell her first. He couldn't do it anymore; he needed to figure things out; he thought they should see other people. What killed her was
the sight of his eyes filling with tears as he said he hated himself for hurting her. She was struck silent, couldn't move as she watched him walk away.

So she brought all of that with her to the lake. Arriving at their cabin, her favorite place in the world, she gazed across the water. She saw the lighthouse, the one that had appeared as if by magic, and she let it soothe her. Both she and Beck had loved that lighthouse from the moment they had first seen it the previous summer. All winter they had looked forward to seeing it again, and had vowed they would visit it the next time they were at the lake. Made of brick, so tall and true, with a strong iron balustrade, it gave her strength.

She needed to clear her conscience, tell her parents about the secret she was keeping. She hadn't told her family any of it—not about the pregnancy, not about Justin. She'd thought she might, if she found the right chance, talk to her mother. But it was so hard, and her parents weren't getting along, and she couldn't make herself do it.

She and Beck were about to go out in the canoe, take a paddle around the lake. Carrie had thought it might relax her, help her put things into perspective. But then her father had come along, asked Beck if she'd let him go instead. Carrie hadn't wanted that, but he'd insisted.

They'd climbed into the canoe. Glancing over her shoulder, she'd waved goodbye to Beck. Blue sky, sparkling lake, every stroke propelling the canoe along. Her father sat behind her, breathing heavily as he paddled hard. She looked back at him and the look on his face shocked her. His cheeks were red, and she saw anger in his eyes. Did he know that she'd heard the tail end of the fight with her mother? The part about her accident and the blood.

“What's the matter?” she asked, willing him to break the tension.

“Are you having a good vacation?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. But her heart was breaking.

“I'm glad,” he said. “I try to make everything good for our family.”

“You do, Dad,” she said.

He let out a strange sound, a kind of snort, as if he didn't believe her.

“You do!” she said again.

“Thank you, Carrie,” he said. “I'm glad you think so.” A beat. Then: “This might be our last summer here.”

“Why?” she asked, nearly dropping her paddle. She turned all the way around to face him, and they stopped right there, way out on the lake.

“Things change,” he said. “So do people.”

Such a mysterious thing to say, and suddenly she knew—he was talking about
her
. Her chest ached as if he'd punched it. He
knew
. Somehow he had figured out that she was having a baby. First the accident, now this.

“I'm sorry,” she said, barely able to speak.

“Don't be,” he said.

“I didn't mean to hurt everyone.”

“Hurt everyone? Not you, Carrie. You never could….”

His voice was tender, and his words so loving; suddenly she felt everything well up, and she knew she couldn't hold it in any longer. She couldn't have her father go on thinking she was so good.

“Dad, I'm pregnant,” she said.

“You're what?” he asked, his voice sharp.

“I'm pregnant.”

“You're kidding.” And then, when she just stared at him without saying anything, his face flushed dark red.

“God, Carrie,” he finally ground out. “How could you be so stupid? What does Justin have to say about it?”

“He doesn't know.”

“He's the father, and you haven't told him?”

“No,” she said. “I can't. He…”

And for some reason, her father lost it.

“Jesus Christ, you are just like your mother. Exactly. She did the same thing you're doing.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, afraid of him for the first time in her life.

“She got pregnant, Carrie, with you, and she didn't tell your father.”

“But you knew!” she said nervously. Why was he saying this?

“I knew nothing!” he snapped.

“What are you talking about?”

He let out a low sound that was half sigh, half moan. “You might as well know,” he said. “You're going to find out anyway. Like mother, like daughter.”

She stared at him, terror rising in her throat, thinking she was going crazy. The canoe was drifting, and suddenly the wind picked up. It rocked them, but her father did nothing to steady the boat. She couldn't move. The sky began to darken fast, clouds billowing over the distant shore. She heard thunder.

“The summer your mother spent in Newport,” he said. “She got pregnant, just like you. And she didn't tell the father… Blackstone. A man named J. D. Blackstone.”

“You're my father!” Carrie screamed.

“No, I'm not,” he said, shaking his head hard. “I thought I was, all these years. I've loved you since before you were born. I'll love you till I die. But he's your father, Carrie.”

“I don't believe you!” she shrieked.

“That's why this is the last vacation,” he said, his eyes turning hard again, his voice as loud as the wind. “I told your mother this morning. I'm moving out. Do you know how much I've loved you? You were my baby!”

“I still am!” she cried. “You're just saying this because you're mad at me. I made a mistake, I'm not perfect…. Dad, I'm sorry! Please don't say these things, please don't go!” She jumped up,
lunged at him. All she wanted was to throw her arms around him, to make him know that she was
his
daughter, that she'd love him forever.

“Carrie!” he shouted as the canoe tipped.

And suddenly everything changed back—she was in his strong arms, his eyes softened, full of love, and he was her dad again. But the sky came down, black all around them, wind and rain and waves crashing into the rocking canoe, and they went over.

They were in the water. The lake was warm, and the rain felt cold. Carrie came up first, grabbed the overturned canoe, and held on, trying to keep her head above the churning waves. She looked around, shouting for her father. He was the only one, her only father, anything else was a mistake.

“Dad!” she screamed over and over.

He never came up. Lightning sliced the sky, and the thunder was so loud she thought it was pounding inside her head. She dove again and again, down through the black water, flailing wildly with her hands, searching for him. The waves whipped up harder, tossing the canoe, and the hardwood frame struck her temple. The impact made her dizzy, and she swallowed water.

And then she turned away. Above her, she saw a light sweeping through the inky clouds, and she half floated, half swam to shore. But not the mainland: the island where the lighthouse stood.

Crawling up the bank, she was in shock. Blood trickled from a cut in her head. Her thoughts were crazy. Her father was fine—he'd simply swum the other way, to her mother, to safety. He had been angry, but now he loved her again. That name, seared into her mind: J. D. Blackstone. He was no one, he meant nothing.

But lying on the wet ground, feeling needles of rain in her face, things began to fall into place: her blue eyes. The other women in her family had hazel eyes, but hers were blue, and not the same blue as her dad's or Travis's. Theirs were dark with a golden ring around the iris. And hers were light, clear, a different blue entirely.