The Silent Sister (8 page)

Harry shrugged like it was nothing. “He's my brother,” he said. “We all keep an eye on each other.”

I knew what he meant by
brother
—they'd served in the army together and that bond would always be there—and yet I felt envious that Harry seemed more sure of his relationship with Danny than I did.

“I wish I could get him to move closer to me,” I said.

He smiled. “How many times have we had this conversation, Riley?” he asked.

I laughed. “I know,” I said. “I just wish I could.”

“I've got to get rolling.” He pointed to my car. “You okay with backing up? We're a lot closer to the road here than the clearing.”

“Sure,” I said, not looking forward to driving in reverse through the woods. I waved at him as I got behind the wheel again. I put the car in reverse and slowly backed out through the tunnel of trees. Once on the road, he drove past me with a wave, and I headed down the trail toward the clearing again.

*   *   *

When I pulled into the clearing, I spotted Danny lounging in his hammock, one hand holding a book open on his stomach and, in the other hand, a bottle of beer, and I wondered if he might have the right idea about how to live after all. I was the one scrambling around in a panic as I tried to sort out all the things I needed to do, while—at least from a distance—he looked like a man without a worry in the world.

I got out of my car, a tote bag containing the old photographs and the key ring hanging from my shoulder. When he saw me, Danny swung his legs over the edge of the hammock until he was sitting up, his sandaled feet barely touching the ground.

“You're not answering your phone!” I called, walking toward him across the pine-needle-covered floor of the clearing.

“Forgot to turn it on,” he said.

“Why don't I believe you?” I aimed for a teasing tone in my voice, but wasn't sure I succeeded. “What are you reading?” I stopped walking a couple of yards from the hammock.

He glanced at the cover of the tattered-looking paperback and shrugged. “World War II fiction,” he said. “I take whatever Harry brings me.”

“I just saw him. We almost had a head-on collision on the trail.” I dug my hand into the tote bag and pulled out the key ring. “I think one of these is for Daddy's RV,” I said. “Do you want to check it out with me? Maybe you'd even like to have it?” I asked, hopeful. “It's not much bigger than yours, so you could move it here to your clearing and have two trailers. More space.”

“I'm fine with what I've got.” He pushed his feet into the ground so that the hammock swung a little.

“Should I sell it, then? His RV? Or I could see if the Kyles would like it.”

“Whatever you want to do with it is cool with me.” He held up his beer bottle. “Want one?” he asked.

“No, thanks.” My phone rang and I pulled it from my pocket and checked the caller ID, though I was already sure who was calling. Jeannie Lyons had been badgering me since our lunch the day before, anxious to get moving on the house. She was way too pushy for my comfort level. I hit ignore and slipped the phone into my pocket again.

“Jeannie Lyons,” I said to Danny. “She's going to help with the house. Did you know that she and Daddy were lovers?”

He stopped swaying the hammock, and the stunned look on his face told me he'd had no idea.

“Well, I wish you hadn't told me that,” he said. “Revolting images playing in my head right now.” He waved his hand in front of his eyes as if he could make the images go away.

I laughed. “It's just … weird, isn't it?” I asked. “
She's
weird. It's been going on for years.”

“Damn,”
he said. “I didn't know the old man had it in him.”

I reached into the tote and pulled out the framed photograph of Danny with Lisa and myself. “I found a whole bunch of pictures.” I stepped in front of him and held out the frame. “I love this one,” I said. “I love how I'm reaching toward you. Remember how close we were when we were kids?”

He barely glanced at the picture before lifting his eyes to mine again. “We were babies back then,” he said. “Fucking innocents.”

I lowered the frame to my side, disappointed. I could hardly bear how lonely his response made me feel. I had a box of treasures but no one to share them with. I wouldn't show him the others I'd brought with me.

“I found some VHS tapes of Lisa that I want to watch,” I said, “only I had to order a VHS player, so I can't see them until it arrives. I'm guessing you don't have any interest in watching them with—”

“You couldn't pay me enough,” he said. “I had to watch her perform thousands of times when I was a kid. That was enough.”

I felt defeated. “Why are you so …
disdainful
about her?” I asked.

“You were too little to remember what it was like,” he said. “Lisa was their princess. Their little violin goddess. Their
everything.
You and I could never measure up.”

“I never felt that way,” I said, defensive of our parents.

“Well, you were not even two when she died, so you lucked out.” He sounded bitter. “The world revolved around her. When she killed herself, she took our parents with her. She turned them into zombies and you and I were left to fend for ourselves.” He shook his head, looking down at the book where it rested next to him on the hammock. “This is pointless,” he said. “Talking about the past. Totally pointless.” He motioned toward the photograph, still clutched in my hand. “Why do you want to live in the past?” he asked.

“I don't.”

“You're looking through old pictures. What's the use?”

I looked away from him and into the forest. I could feel the carved wood of the frame beneath my fingers. “It's because I feel alone, Danny,” I said finally, turning toward him again. “I miss having a family, and I really wish you and I could be closer, but you won't even answer the phone when I call. I promise I won't call about helping with the house, okay? I get that you don't want to do that. But can we at least hang out a little while I'm here?”

“What would we do?”

“Anything,” I said, exasperated. “We could go to the movies or out to dinner or … you could take me to your favorite bar.” I remembered he'd been banned from his favorite bar and wished I hadn't added that. “Maybe we could go out with Harry and his wife some night. You could introduce me to your friends.”

“Most of my friends are online.”

“Well, then, you can tell me about them.”

He smiled at me, the sort of indulgent smile an older brother might give his little sister. “You want me to be someone I'm not, Riles,” he said.

“Maybe I do,” I admitted. “I'll work on that, but could we at least see each other? We can hang out on your terms. Whatever you want to do. Just include me while I'm here, okay? Not every minute. Just sometimes. What do you like to do?”

“Read. Walk in the forest. Fish. And I like to get shit-faced drunk.”

“I can do that.” I smiled, game for anything. “Or I could be your designated driver.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But we stick to the here and now, all right? No old photographs”—he motioned toward the frame in my hand—“or old tapes or stories about Dad's sex life. Deal?”

“Deal,” I said. And we shook on it.

 

9.

I drove away from Danny's trailer and turned right on the gravel road toward the RV park.
Okay,
I thought,
the way to deal with Danny is to focus on the here and now.
I felt some joy, as though I'd found a path into his troubled mind. I wouldn't bring up our family with him again. Though I bet he talked about the past with his online ex-military buddies. Wasn't that what those guys did? Relive everything that happened to them over there? Whatever. I'd leave the past in the past. I'd try to find a movie playing nearby that he might be interested in. I'd take him to dinner. We could talk about books. Some nice, safe topic. Maybe I
could
get him to move up to Durham, closer to me. There were more services for veterans up there.

But I was getting ahead of myself.

My father's small RV stood where it always had, in the first of the park's twelve sites. The old trailer had once been white with a green stripe down the side, but although the green was still in pretty good shape, the white had aged to a dingy yellow. I pulled up next to it on the concrete pad and was about to get out of my car when my phone rang again. Pulling the phone from my tote bag, I saw
Jean Lyons
on the caller ID. With a sigh, I lifted the phone to my ear. Might as well get it over with.

“Hi, Jeannie,” I said, opening my car door wide to let the air in.

“Listen, honey, I'm swamped the rest of today and tomorrow morning,” she said, “but I could come over tomorrow afternoon. Christine's dying to meet you, but she's tied up till next week, so I can get started on making an inventory of everything in the house. Then we can get cooking on—”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” I interrupted. “I have plans for tomorrow.” I was lying, but I needed one more day to myself without Jeannie in it. “The next day, maybe?”

“I have two showings that day.” She sounded frustrated. “And you need to get going on this or we'll be putting the house on the market too close to the schools opening. We're way too late as it is.”

“Tuesday?” I suggested.

“You know,” she said, “you don't really need to be there tomorrow. You can go on about your business and I'll come over in the afternoon and get to work. I have a key so I can let myself in.”

She had a key to the house? Well, of course she did, but for some reason, that creeped me out.

“I'd rather be there, Jeannie,” I said. “I want to go through everything, too. We'll just have to wait a few days.”

I heard her sigh. “All right,” she said. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

I hung up the phone and shoved it in the pocket of my shorts. Could she be any pushier? Picking up the ring of keys from the passenger seat, I got out of my car.

It took a few tries to get the key to turn in the rusty RV lock and the door creaked open on its hinges. I was nearly blown back by the heat and the scent of mold and mildew. I turned on the air-conditioning, relieved to find it still worked. In spite of the mustiness, the small space looked fairly neat. A threadbare navy blue spread was pulled over the narrow bed and the only thing on the built-in table was a small CD player, tucked close to the wall.

I went through the dresser and kitchen drawers and the one closet, but found little besides a few towels and some well-used rags. A couple of fishing poles stood upright against the wall next to the lavatory. The mini-refrigerator was empty except for three of cans of Pepsi and a nearly empty bottle of Chardonnay, and there was no food in any of the kitchen cabinets, although I did find evidence that mice had made the space their home sometime in the not-too-distant past.

A small TV sat at the far end of the kitchen counter, and a row of CDs, bookended by fist-sized rocks on the left and right, was lined up next to the small sink. No vinyl here, I thought. Taped to the wall above the CDs was a newspaper ad for a concert, and I recognized the picture of the four musicians from that postcard in the purple envelope, the one from the post office box in Pollocksville.
What a weird coincidence,
I thought. A child's stick-figure drawing of two smiling adults and two smiling children was taped next to the ad. Then there was a photograph of a couple of kids on a merry-go-round. I pulled it from the wall for a closer look. The girl was two at the most, the boy a few years older. Both redheads. They had to be brother and sister, but who were they? If Daddy had truly been close to Jeannie, maybe these were her grandkids?

As I retaped the picture to the wall, I saw the cover of the first CD in the row. Alison Krauss. My father listening to bluegrass? I pulled out a couple of the other CDs. Ricky Skaggs? Béla Fleck?

I was starting to feel like a trespasser. This couldn't be my father's trailer. I kept glancing out the dirty windows, expecting the real owner—or renter—of the RV to show up any minute, angry over my intrusion into his space. I replaced the CDs and had turned off the air-conditioning when I noticed the VHS player beneath the television. I stared at it for a moment in disbelief, then detached it from the TV, tucked it under my arm, and left the RV, locking the door behind me.

*   *   *

I put the VHS player in my car, then decided to walk rather than drive down to the Kyles' RV at the other end of the park. My feet crunched on the gravel as I headed east and it was a pretty walk along the winding lane through the trees. Though the park was short on amenities, it had a natural beauty that I guessed had drawn my father to it to begin with. Through the trees, I could see more RVs than the last time I'd stopped by. The park was filling up for the weekend. I heard voices as I passed a couple of the RV sites, and at one point I smelled bacon frying, the scent heady and delicious.

As near as I could figure, my father had been in his midforties when we moved to New Bern, too early for him to have retired from the U.S. Marshals Service. Maybe he'd burned out or just needed to get away from the pressure and rat race of Washington. Both he and my mother had inherited some family money. Not a lot, but it had probably been enough to allow him to get out early if he wanted to after Lisa died. They could get a fresh start somewhere else. I would never know. It was too late to ask him all the questions I had now.

I reached the Kyles' dented old motor home. Their car was gone and I was afraid they weren't home, but as I neared the RV, the door opened and Verniece Kyle stood beneath the striped awning.

“Hello, Riley!” she called. “How are you, love?”