The Silent Sister (6 page)

Jeannie smiled at me as we waited for the waitress to leave our table, and once we had the room to ourselves again, she leaned over to touch my hands.

“I'm so happy I finally have the chance to really get to know you!” she said. “You've grown into a lovely young woman, Riley. Your father told me as much.”

“Thank you,” I said, wondering if my father had actually used the word
lovely
. He told me often I was pretty. All through my growing-up years, he'd fed my self-esteem, even though I knew I'd disappointed him with my lack of musical talent. I didn't know what Danny's issues were with him, but to me, he'd been a good dad.

“You remind me of your mother,” she said, tilting her head to study me.

“Do I?” So much for my adoption worries.

“Absolutely. I believe her memorial service was the last time I saw you? Seven long years ago. You were eighteen, right?”

“Right,” I said. “You came all the way from Asheville. I'd actually forgotten that you moved here.”

“Shortly after your mother's death,” she said.

“And I guess you stayed in touch with my father after she died?”

“Oh, of course.” She shook her head. “He was such a fine man, Riley. Your mother was lucky to have him.” She took a sip from her water glass. Set it down. “And so was I,” she added, her blue eyes watching for my reaction.

I didn't mask my surprise very well. “You … what do you mean?” She could mean only one thing, but I couldn't believe it.

She didn't answer. Just sat there staring at me, a small smile on her lips as she waited for me to state the obvious.

“So, were you … you were more than friends?” I squirmed. I was in utter disbelief over the idea of a romance between my father and
anyone.

She gave a little nod. “I hope you don't find that upsetting,” she said. “I like to think it would have pleased your mother. It was terrible for both your father and me when she passed away, and grief can really draw two people together. I miss both of them so much.”

“Wow.” I smoothed a wrinkle on the tablecloth, unable to look at her. “Why didn't he ever tell me?” I wanted to ask her how long it had been going on. How long after my mother's death had they started … seeing each other? “He never said a word about seeing someone,” I said.

“Did you ever ask him?”

“No. I mean, I never thought to.” I felt guilty, as though I should have known to ask him if he was dating. It never occurred to me.

“Well,” she said, “your father knew how close you were to your mother and was probably worried about upsetting you.”

I hadn't been all that close to my mother, actually. I loved her and I knew she loved me, but she'd never been the type to share her deepest thoughts with her daughter.

“She's been gone
years,
” I said. “I'm sad he felt like he had to keep a … relationship from me.”

The waitress arrived with our lunches. She set a bowl of lobster bisque and a glass of iced tea in front of Jeannie and the fish tacos in front of me. They looked delicious, but my appetite had taken a serious hit in the last few minutes.

“He had such a hard life,” Jeannie said once the waitress walked away. “Losing your sister and then your brother's injuries, and then Deb—your mother—passing away on top of it all. So hard.”

“I know.”

“People your age … they don't think to ask their parents about themselves,” she said, lifting a spoonful of soup toward her mouth. “It's all about ‘me, me, me.'”

She must have seen my stunned look at her insult because she rushed on, her free hand on mine. “I don't mean that as nastily as it sounds,” she said. “It's just your stage of life. It's normal. I was the same way in my twenties. My parents were nonpeople to me. I never realized they had full lives of their own. I didn't mean to lay a guilt trip on you.”

“He was never a ‘nonperson' to me,” I said, withdrawing my hand from beneath hers. “I loved him.”

“Of course. I'm sorry.”

She was right in a way, though, I thought as I took a bite of a taco. I'd adored my father, but I'd relegated him to a little box in my mind labeled “reclusive, old, eccentric,” hadn't I?

“And he loved you.” Jeannie dabbed her lips with her napkin. “He was very proud of you.”

“I wish he'd told me more about himself,” I said.

“Well, he was a reticent man. He loved to gather information from other people, but he never was very good at sharing his own thoughts and feelings, was he? Still, he adored his family. He loved to show me those pictures … you know, that big box of family photos he has? He liked to reminisce. I think that's one thing that drew us together, since I knew your family so—”

“What big box?” I interrupted her, setting down my taco.

“The one in his bedroom closet. Don't you know it? There's pictures of you when you were little. Pictures of your brother and sister and mother.”

“Oh, yes.” I remembered no such box, but didn't want to tell her there was yet one more thing I didn't know about my father.

“And I'd show him pictures of your mother from when she and I were kids, back in our teen years. I met Deb when we were in the eighth grade in Arlington, Virginia, and we became inseparable.”

“What was she like?” I asked. Suddenly, I felt terribly sad that I'd never asked my mother about her childhood. I'd never thought to ask either of my parents. Jeannie was right about the “me, me, me” part. And now I'd lost the chance.

“She was always the life of the party.” Jeannie smiled broadly.

“
My
mother?”

“Absolutely! She was always getting us into trouble. We'd hide other kids in our trunk to sneak them into the drive-in movie. We weren't allowed to be there with our boyfriends in the first place, because you know what went on in those cars.” She laughed. “No one watched the movie, that's for sure. And she was always talking me into cutting school with her.”

My mouth hung open. “This doesn't sound like my mother at all,” I said.

“No? How do you remember her?”

“Super-Catholic and really … I don't know. Law-abiding. And depressed.” And distant, I thought. You could be in the same room with my mother and barely feel her presence. “Antidepressants barely seemed to touch her sadness,” I added.

Jeannie nodded. “She changed after Lisa passed away,” she admitted. “That's very true.” She looked at her watch. “So, Riley,” she said abruptly, “why did you want to see me today?”

I would have liked to hear more about my mother but guessed Jeannie was pressed for time. “I saw Daddy's lawyer a couple of days ago,” I said. “My father left you ten thousand dollars and his piano.”

She sat back a bit from the table. “Oh,” she said, and I couldn't read the emotion behind the word. “Well, that's very sweet.” Her voice was strangely flat. “And I do love that piano. I have an upright, but I guess I can sell that and squeeze the baby grand into my living room.”

“You don't have to take it,” I said, trying to interpret her reaction. She was clearly not thrilled and that bothered me. He didn't
have
to leave her anything. “I'll be selling his things and I could sell the piano, too, and give you the money.”

“No, no,” she said quickly. “I'd love the piano. I don't mean to sound ungrateful.” Then she smiled a sad, sad smile. “It's just hard to say good-bye, you know? The piano will be a good way for me to remember him. I know some piano movers, and I'll arrange to have them pick it up whenever's convenient for you.”

“Perfect.” I pulled one of my business cards from my purse, crossed out the number for the school where I worked, and wrote my cell number in its place. I handed it to her across the table.

“So, I assume you'll be selling the house and RV park and all his collections?” she asked, glancing down at the card.

I nodded. “Well, I'll sell the house and park, at least, but he did leave one of his collections to someone. The pipes will go to Tom Kyle. Do you know him?”

“Really?” She wrinkled her nose. “How odd.”

“I thought so, too, at first,” I said. “But I think the Kyles were closer to him than I realized. They've lived at the park for as long as I can remember and I guess my father probably thought he should leave them something. I think they can use a little extra cash.”

She looked at my business card like it was the most interesting thing in the restaurant. “That was very generous of him,” she said.

Everything out of her mouth sounded as though it had a double meaning. I set down my taco, feeling impatient. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

“No, no.” She smiled. “Not at all. When did your father write that will?”

“Three years ago.”

She nodded absently. Sipped her soup. “Don't you wish you could talk to him?” she asked. “I mean, we have to guess why he did what he did. Why the pipes to the Kyles? That collection has to be worth at least ten thousand.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Your father knew what he was doing as a collector. I'm not sure he knew what he was doing when he wrote that will, though.” She pursed her lips. “He was not all that friendly with the Kyles. I always had the sense he disliked Tom Kyle, actually.”

And I'd gotten the sense from Tom Kyle that the feeling may have been mutual. I looked down at my barely touched tacos. “Yes, to answer your question. I'd love to be able to talk to my father. I suddenly feel like I didn't know him as well as I thought.”

“Have you been going through his things?” Her head was lowered toward her bowl, but her eyes were raised, watching me from beneath thickly mascaraed lashes. I wasn't sure what was behind her question, but it made me feel guilty. Again.

“Not really,” I said. “I haven't known where to begin.”

“Would you like help?” She looked excited all of a sudden, as though she'd been waiting for the opportunity to ask. “I'd be happy to do that.” She set down her spoon and used her hands to help her talk. “I can track down resources for you,” she said. “Appraisers for the collections. Then perhaps buyers. You really need to hold an estate sale and it so happens that my daughter, Christine, recently started an estate sale business, so she can help you set that up. She's very good.”

“That would be awesome,” I said sincerely, although I found myself leaning away from the table as though blown back by her sudden burst of energy. “I forgot you had a daughter.” I wasn't sure I'd ever known.

“She's considerably older than you, so you never really knew her. She's forty-two now, a couple of years older than Lisa would have been. They played together sometimes when they were little, before Christine and I moved to Asheville.” She rolled her eyes. “When Lisa wasn't practicing the violin, that is. Your sister was a driven—and very talented—little girl.”

“I know.”

“Let me come over and go through the house to see what's there,” Jeannie said. “When would be a good time? How long do you plan to be here?”

“I was hoping to be done in a couple of weeks, but I can see that's not going to happen. I have the summer off so—”

“Can your brother help?”

I shook my head, and it was clear I didn't need to explain.

“It's always a bigger job than you imagine,” she said. “And with that particular house … I can certainly help you get it ready to go on the market, if you like, but I don't want you to feel pressured to use me just because—”

“Please. I'm sure my father would have wanted you to be the one to sell it, and I don't know the first thing about how to do it.”

“You can let me take care of everything!” Her cheeks were flushed. “Christine and I will make it easy for you.” She pushed her bowl to the side of the table, clearly more interested in talking now than eating. “Now, because of how your father has everything set up in that house—all the built-in cabinets and the way he transformed the living room into an office and everything—I think we'll have to do some renovations to make it look like a comfortable family home,” she said. “Nothing huge. No tearing down walls or anything like that, but the cabinets need to go and his furniture is quite old and the kitchen and bathrooms are beyond dated. We should have the estate sale first to get everything we can out of there and then evaluate the need to do the kitchen and baths, because that would be an expense, though perhaps worth it in the long run.” She was off and running and I sank lower in my chair, drowning under the deluge of her ideas. “The house has great bones,” she continued, “but he let the outside get a bit rundown and with old houses like that, they can look haunted, don't you think?”

“Well, he spent so much time working on the RV park.” I felt defensive, although seriously, the RV park looked like it took care of itself. Trees. Creek. Concrete pads. What was there to do?

“How about I get someone over to the house to do the lawn and trim the shrubbery?” Jeannie asked. “Maybe plant something colorful in the front for a little curb appeal?”

“That would be awesome,” I said again. I didn't like her—she was pushy and hard to read and I felt resentful of all she knew about me and my family. But I was relieved to have someone to help me.

We settled up with the waitress—Jeannie paid for my barely touched tacos—and we walked out to the sidewalk. Standing in front of the entrance, I turned to face her.

“I'll call you in a day or two and figure out a time for you to come over,” I said.

“Don't wait too long,” she warned.

“No, I won't,” I said.

She lifted my hand and held it tightly as she stared hard into my eyes. I felt gooseflesh rise on the back of my neck.