The Silent Sister (36 page)

Jumping to my feet, I raced up the stairs to his office, where the computer still sat on his desk—I'd never gotten around to cleaning the drive on that thing. I turned the computer on and typed
newbern
in the password field, nearly holding my breath as I waited for the old machine to chunk to life. It took me a few minutes to find Daddy's e-mail and a few more minutes to search for messages signed
Celia
. There weren't many e-mails from her, and I read them the way they came up in the search, in reverse chronological order, spread over many years.

May 18, 2012

That is the best birthday card ever. You are amazing! Love you, Celia.

I looked in his sent file to see if he'd sent the birthday card via e-mail, but he didn't seem to keep much of the mail he'd sent. The next e-mail from Celia was from four years earlier.

February 7, 2008

F, it was so kind of you to send that note. I know you didn't know Charlie, but he meant so much to J and me—including the fact that he introduced us. It hurt J that she couldn't go to the service in San Diego, but it was way too risky. We are fine. Love you, Celia.

I remembered that name: Charlie. Grady had mentioned him. He was Celia's grandfather. Daddy must have been in very close contact with Lisa to know about him and to know that he had died. I searched, but I couldn't find a single e-mail that appeared to be from Lisa. I had the feeling he'd deleted hers but was less concerned about these few from Celia.

July 26, 2006

F,

J made her plane. She has to change in Charlotte. She's very upset. Take care of her, please.

Love you, Celia

I stared at that one for a long time. My mother died on July 28, 2006. Suddenly, an incident that had always mystified me made sense.

I'd stayed home with my mother every single day after my high school graduation, turning down a waitressing job because I didn't want to leave her side. Hospice was involved by then and I knew she didn't have long.

The day before my mother died—the twenty-seventh—my friend Grace asked me to go with her to the beach. I told her I couldn't; I needed to stay with Mom. Grace actually cried, nearly hysterical. She said she needed to get away for a few hours. She needed to talk about a problem she was having with her boyfriend. My father said it wasn't good for me to be cooped up at my mother's bedside every day and he insisted I go with Grace.

Grace and I lay on the beach for a couple of hours while she told me about a truly ridiculous fight she'd had with her boyfriend. She didn't sound all that upset about it and I was annoyed that she'd talked me into leaving my mother because she wanted someone to hang out with at the beach. I confronted her about it, angry. I called her selfish, and she finally said, “Don't blame me! Blame your father! He called me last night and told me you needed a break and I should make up some excuse to get you out of the house for the day.”

I panicked. Was today the day my mother would die? Did he somehow know that and not want me there? I grabbed my towel from the sand. “We're going home!” I said to Grace, and started for my car at a run.

An hour later, we were back in New Bern. I dropped Grace off at her house, then drove to mine. There was a strange car in our driveway. I parked at the curb and was crossing the yard when Daddy came rushing down the porch steps toward me.

“What are you doing home?” he asked. He was pale, his face drawn as though he'd lost weight overnight.

“Grace told me the beach was your idea!” I said. “Why did you want me gone? What's going on?” I started to walk past him, but he stepped in front of me, grabbing my shoulders.

“You need a break, Riley,” he said. “It's not good for you to be here, day in and day out.”

“Who's here?” I asked, nodding to the car in the driveway. I looked up at my mother's window and saw a face that disappeared so quickly I might have imagined it. “Who's that?” I asked.

“Just one of the hospice nurses.” His voice shook. That terrified me.

“Is Mom dying right now?” I asked. Then a fresh fear ran through me. “Is she
dead
?”

“No, no, honey.” He pulled me close to him. He smelled of sweat. The scent made me think of exhaustion more than exertion.

“I don't care about taking a break, Daddy,” I said. “I want to be with Mom.”

He looked me straight in the eye. “Listen, sweetheart. You've been wonderful with her. You've been such a help and she knows how much you love her. But you've been here every minute since school ended, and the truth is, your mom and I need a day together. Just the two of us. Please don't be hurt by that. We just—”

“Oh.” I felt embarrassed that I hadn't thought of that myself. “I wish you'd told me. I would have understood.”

“I was afraid—”

“It's okay. I'll just…” I looked toward my car, pondering my next move. “I'll go over to Grace's. What time … when can I come home?”

He pulled his wallet from his pants pocket, took out a couple of twenties, and pressed them into my hand. “You and Grace go out on the town tonight.” He nodded toward the house. “Give Mom and me till ten or eleven. Okay?” He smiled, and I was relieved to see his pallor disappear.

I hugged him. “Tell Mom I love her,” I said.

I was sure now that he didn't tell her. I was sure he didn't mention my name at all when he returned to the room where my two mothers sat. I pictured them holding hands.

I remembered coming home that night. My mother seemed different to me. Lighter, somehow. She smiled when I came into her room to kiss her good night, and I thought,
Daddy was right. They needed a day together, just the two of them.
Now I knew it had been the visit with Lisa that had put the smile on her face. In spite of the fact that I felt hurt over being left out of that family reunion, I was grateful to Lisa for making it happen.

The very next morning, Mom was gone. Daddy and I ate a lonely, tasteless dinner that night. I told him how unfair I thought it was, that out of a family of five only three of us were left. “It's just you, me, and Danny now, Daddy,” I'd said, and he'd turned his head away from me.

Back then, I thought he'd turned away because my words were too painful to hear, and I regretted them. Now I realized he'd turned away because he knew they were not the truth.

October 2, 2004

Mr. M (I'm not sure what to call you),

I wanted to let you know J's in the hospital. She lost the baby yesterday morning. It was another boy and we are both brokenhearted. The doctor has no idea why this happened, but I'm sure I know—she's so worried about Danny and it's taken a toll on her. She hasn't been the same since you let her know how badly he was hurt in the attack. She's so afraid he won't make it. The night after she got your note, she carried her fiddle out on our patio and played “Danny Boy.” It was so beautiful. Some neighbors who heard her play it told me they cried. Of course they didn't know about Danny, but they knew something terrible must have happened for her to play so mournfully.

She thinks it's her fault. She knows that's irrational, but that doesn't make any difference. She's never been sure there's a God, but now she suddenly is and she thinks He's punishing her. First, her mother's cancer diagnosis. Now Danny's injuries. She's paranoid that something bad will happen to R next. I wish you could actually
talk
to her. She really worships you and is so grateful for how you helped her. My family loves her so much, but all our love can't make up for everything she's lost—and of course, my family doesn't actually
know
how much she's lost.

She talks about R a lot now. I know you don't want her to have a picture of her, but she could use it right now. She feels so lost. It doesn't matter how many children we have, there will always be a place in her heart reserved for R. The other night, she put on that pendant that reminds her of R and said she's never taking it off again.

If you think it would be safe, you could talk to her on my cell phone instead of hers. Or maybe you have another idea?

Love, Celia

That was the last e-mail from Celia. Or I guess it had really been the first. I was sorry to hear that Lisa had lost a baby, but I knew that one line from the e-mail would be swirling around in my head for days: “It doesn't matter how many children we have, there will always be a place in her heart reserved for R.” Was there still a place for me in Lisa's heart? Was there room? I needed to find out.

 

48.

Between searching the Internet for Lisa and reading Celia's e-mails, I'd been up the entire night. I went to bed at seven in the morning, exhausted and excited. I lay there unable to sleep, knowing that I could no longer keep what I'd learned to myself. I had to share it with the one other person who'd understand how I felt. The one other person who had loved Lisa … and who—unlike my brother—I was certain would never cause her harm.

I waited until eight o'clock before dialing Jeannie's number. I paced the living room floor, cell phone to my ear. “Please tell me I didn't wake you,” I said when she answered.

“I'm up.” She sounded worried. “What's wrong?”

“Are you home? Can I come over? I need to talk to you.” I hadn't been to Jeannie's house, but I knew exactly where it was.

“I'll come there,” she said. “I'm dressed.”

“Could you?” I was glad for the offer. I didn't trust myself to drive.

“I'll be there in a few,” she said.

I brewed a pot of coffee and sat on the couch, so tired I felt as though I might be dreaming. I must have drifted off, because I didn't hear Jeannie's car pull into the driveway and I jumped at the sound of the doorbell. Morning light poured into the living room when I opened the front door.

“My God, honey, you look like hell.” Jeannie ran her hand down my arm as she came inside. Her touch was warm and concerned, and it made me want to trust her.

I shut the door, then stood with my back to it. “Lisa's alive,” I said, nearly whispering as though I was afraid someone might be able to hear me.

She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to find the words. I could tell she'd had no idea. My father'd kept her in the dark as well.

“I know,” I said. “It's a shock.”

“It's
impossible,
” she said finally.

“She faked her suicide.”

Her hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh, my God!”

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but I was afraid. I didn't know who to trust.”

Jeannie sank onto my couch as though her legs had turned to liquid. “I just can't believe it,” she said. “Your poor parents! Your poor
father
! All these years, he grieved and—”

“He knew,” I said. “He helped her.”

She stared at me and I saw the hurt work its way into her face. I knew how she felt. We'd both been duped. “How do you know?” she asked finally. “How was he involved?”

I started at the beginning, holding nothing back as I told her how my father and Tom Kyle had helped Lisa escape. How she'd changed her name to Jade and lived in San Diego and met Celia. I told her what I'd learned about her current life from Celia's e-mails and about their two children.

“This is…” She kept shaking her head. “It's just so crazy.”

I sat next to her with my laptop and pulled up the Jasha Trace Web site. When the photograph of the band appeared on the screen, Jeannie gently touched the pendant at Lisa's throat.

“Unbelievable.” She shook her head. “Just … extraordinary.”

“Check this out, Jeannie,” I said, clicking on the link to their tour schedule. I handed the computer to her, resting it on her lap. “They're coming to New Bern Saturday night.”

Her eyes were huge blue marbles in the light from the computer screen. She looked at the schedule, then at me. “Why would they do that?” she asked. “Isn't it risky?”

“I'm sure they planned it so they could see Daddy,” I said. “Lisa may not know he's dead.” I went to the Google Web site, holding my laptop so she could see all the links that popped up for Jasha Trace. “I guess they're well-known in bluegrass circles.”

“Wow.” Jeannie looked at the list of links. She pointed to one of them.

“What's this page?” she asked.

“That's a site where you can share photographs, I think,” I said, clicking on the link.

A page of tiny images popped up, and when I clicked on the first photo, I knew right away where the pictures had been taken: Lisa and Celia's December wedding.

“Oh, my,” Jeannie said as we scrolled through the pictures. “I can't get over the fact that she's gay. I guess Matty was just an aberration. She looks so happy, doesn't she?”

She did. I wanted to be glad for Lisa as I scrolled through the pictures of her dancing with Celia, laughing with friends, hugging her son and daughter, but with every new photograph, I fought the gut-roiling sense of being forgotten.

“Oh, my
God
!” Jeannie said suddenly as a new image appeared on the screen. “Look!”

I saw what she was referring to even before she pointed to the top right-hand corner of the photograph: my father, sitting at a table, chatting with an elderly woman.

“He was
there
?” I sounded as though I was asking a question, although there was no doubt about it. Daddy had been at the wedding.

Jeannie scrolled through more images, leaning hungrily over my computer. My father was in a few of the photographs, usually off to the side talking with someone. In one picture, though, he laughed with Lisa. In another, he danced with a woman I was sure was Celia's mother, and in yet another, he was on the keyboard with the band, a wide grin on his face. I shook my head in hurt wonder over my father's secret life.