The Sister Season (9 page)

“Soon you’ll only cry at night.”

M
aya awoke to the sound of her son’s snore. The room was still dark, but she knew daybreak was coming, even if the sky never lightened up enough to actually look like day.

She knew dawn was approaching because she knew her son. He slept so deeply during the night, scarcely moving a muscle, sweat brimming his bangs as if sleeping soundly was hard work, but come daybreak when he began to float to the top of his dreams, he snored. Always had, ever since he was a baby and slept in her arms.

Molly was curled into a ball in the cot next to him, her thumb poked into her perfect pink O of a mouth. She still sucked it like a newborn, busily and greedily, and Maya had worried over children’s advice books on how to make her stop. She didn’t want the girl to grow up with crooked teeth. Girls with crooked teeth went through a lot of hellish teasing. Maya didn’t like to think about it, but she and her friends had doled out that hellish teasing to many an imperfect girl in their time.

Maya lay on her side and stared at her children. She knew them. Everything about them. There was rarely a surprise when it came to her babies.

Unlike the twitching, snoring form at her back. After nine years of marriage, she felt as if she scarcely knew him at all.

He liked brunettes. She knew that. He preferred trim figures, which, God knew, was not an easy feat after having two eight-pound children and nearing forty to boot. He liked year-round tan skin under cream and eggshell and bone colors in clean-line fabrics and designer labels. He liked a well-spoken woman, but preferred she save that skill for things like PTA committee planning and homeowners’ association meetings. He had exacting standards on just what turned his head, and if she didn’t keep up . . . well, he never exactly said what would happen if she didn’t keep up, but she had her theories.

Of course one of her theories involved wiry blond hair and frumpy U of C sweatshirts and a filthy, opinionated mouth that would embarrass even the most clichéd construction worker, so go figure.

But Maya refused to think about Claire this morning. It was Christmas Eve, and she was sleeping in her satiny pajamas for the third night in a row, and everyone knew how satin could begin to smell after just a couple of days of sleep heat being trapped in it. She should have packed something more practical.

She would have to go shopping today. She couldn’t sleep in those things another night. And she couldn’t have her children waking up on Christmas morning to no Santa Claus. She knew it wasn’t her mother’s fault that the funeral got moved to after Christmas, but . . .

Well, Elise had seemed a little strange. Not that Maya could blame her. She supposed that when your husband died, you were going to have a few “off” days, no matter how much of a cruel shit he was when he was living. Maya had sympathy for her. She’d been off lately herself. Well, not so much “off” as scared for her life, but she was trying so hard not to dwell on that. Not over Christmas.

Maya sighed and pulled her trim body to a sitting position. She felt fat and bloated, eating the rich Missouri foods, drinking all that fattening Christmas wine and snacking on cookies, and with no morning Pilates workout. She really needed to stop napping and start hiking, but she still hadn’t gained back all her strength—the treatments, the stress just seemed to sap her energy—plus there was something about being in the same house with Claire again that brought back all those horrid old memories and, quite flatly, wore her out.

The last time she’d seen her sister had been after she’d taken Bradley’s car in for detailing as a surprise. They were newlyweds and were living that fabulous phase of life where there was so much promise and so few worries. No kids to grab the attention in the family. Just the two of them, and Maya loved how romantic they were—it was such a departure from the family she’d grown up in, the family Claire had still been growing up in, the poor thing.

They were living in an apartment just beyond the baseball diamond, maybe fifteen minutes from the farm. Saving money for their dream house. Making plans. Making love. Doing the things newlyweds do.

But the surprise had been on Maya, when she’d opened the ashtray and found a used condom nestled on a couple of wadded-up gum wrappers. Disgusted, she’d picked it up between her thumb and forefinger, her whole body going numb with disbelief. There was no way it could have been Bradley’s. He loved her. He’d married her. He’d made promises to her.

She tried to come up with alternative explanations. Maybe it was a friend’s. Maybe it had come with the car and they’d just never noticed. Maybe . . . But it was hopeless. Whose could it be if not Bradley’s?

She’d cried. Right there in the parking lot of the U-Clean Car Wash, she’d sat on the curb next to the trash bins and bawled like a lost child. She felt everything slipping away from her, her whole life loosing itself from her grasp before she’d even had a good hold on it. She’d worked so hard to win Bradley. She was the most perfect she could possibly be, all for him. If he didn’t love her, she was nothing. If he didn’t want her, she might as well be dead.

After a long while, spent from the sobbing, she felt the overwhelming grief give way to a sort of maniacal anger. Her fists clenched and her fingers nearly ached with the desire to be washed of the scum that had been on the outside of that condom. Scum that belonged inside another woman. How dare he!

Nearly blind with rage, she dove back behind the steering wheel and tore out of the car wash parking lot and sped toward the baseball field and to the roundabout that took her down by the railroad tracks and would eventually lead her to the only place she could think to go.

And that was where she’d found her husband, locked in an embrace with a woman. All Maya could see over his shoulder was the shock of curly blond hair, the tanned hands gripping the backs of his arms. But that was all she needed to see. She could recognize her sister from a mile away.

They denied it. Of course they did. Well, Claire did. Bradley never really said one way or another. Just stuck with some bullshit story about how it wasn’t his condom and he had no idea how it’d gotten into his car’s ashtray. As if some random stranger just went around breaking into people’s cars to hide their used condoms. As if she would believe that.

“Do you love her? Are you in love with her?” Maya had asked him time and time again.

“This isn’t necessary,” he would always answer, or, “She told you it wasn’t hers. I told you it wasn’t mine. Why don’t you drop it?” or, simply, “Maya, I told you on the day I married you that I loved you.”

It didn’t exactly take an expert to recognize that none of those answers was the “no” she’d been looking for.

So whether or not Claire was innocent, as she maintained, in Maya’s eyes she was guilty. Because whatever had transpired between them—and make no mistake, something had!—it had made Bradley fall in love with Claire. And as far as Maya was concerned, Bradley having sex with Claire was hurtful and destructive, but Bradley loving Claire was unforgivable.

She’d made a vow that she would never forgive her sister for what had happened. Had pushed Bradley into taking a job in another city. And had been thrilled when he got one in Chicago. Far away from her sister, who was nothing and at the same time everything that Bradley wanted in a woman.

And now she was back home at the farm where her marriage had taken such a dark and harrowing turn, a single floor’s distance from the woman who’d destroyed it. And how ironic was it that her life had recently taken an even darker and more harrowing turn, and no matter how far and how fast she tried to run, she could never get away from this new development.

Will’s snores got louder, and Maya thought she heard, in the distance, the drone of a chain saw, which meant somewhere out there people were up and at ’em. She slid out of bed, careful not to wake Bradley and the kids, and padded to the bathroom for her shower. Her hair needed straightening, her eyes were in desperate want of some firming cream, and how she was going to live for three more days without her teeth whitener she had no idea.

All she knew was it was Christmas Eve and she had to get up and moving. She had shopping to do.

Maya showered, dressed, and was in the process of throwing together a sour cream coffee cake when Julia shuffled in, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“You’re up early,” Julia said on a yawn.

“Is it? I can’t find a working clock anywhere in this place.”

Julia plunked into a chair at the table. “It’s about six now. Looks like you’ve been up for a while.”

“Is that all? Feels later. I couldn’t sleep,” Maya said, spooning batter into a pan.

“Too quiet? I forgot how quiet it is here.”

“Too loud in my head,” Maya answered. She fussed with the oven control, turning it to the preheat setting.

Julia seemed to not really know what to say, and for a beat the only sound in the kitchen was Maya’s fingernails against the plastic of the buttons on the oven as she beeped it awake.

“Is that a coffee cake? Where’d you get the recipe?” Julia finally asked.

“Know it by heart. I made it every Sunday morning when Bradley and I were first married. It was his favorite. I saw last night that Mom had some extra apples in a bushel downstairs and decided to throw one together. It’s been a long time.” She seemed to get lost in thought, then visibly shake it off. “Wait till you smell it. It’ll make the whole house smell incredible. Great way to wake up.”

Julia let out a breath. “Good. I can have a smoke.” She dug a pack of cigarettes out of her pajama pocket and lit one, leaning over to crack a window just a bit and angling her chair so her cigarette smoldered in the direction of the window. “It’s cold out by the garage. Too cold for first thing in the morning.”

Maya regarded her sister for a minute. Queenie, they’d all called her, because she was so put-together, so regal, so in control, in charge, like a little queen. She even had the strong jaw, the long face, the sharp cheekbones that suggested royalty. How Maya had envied her sister. Smart, educated, driven. Married the perfect guy right out of high school, and when he turned out to be not perfect at all, had simply shrugged him off and kept walking, like leaving a discarded and outgrown piece of clothing at her feet on the floor.

But something about Julia seemed different now. Was Maya imagining that? Being hopeful, maybe, that she was not the only sister struggling? No, there was definitely something off about Julia. She seemed nervous and unsure. Awkward around her own son, who, by the way, was the most angry and sullen teen Maya had ever seen. And now Queenie was a smoker too? When had that happened?

The oven beeped and Maya bent to slide the coffee cake inside, then set the timer. She turned, brushed her hands off, and slipped out of her mom’s apron. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice, got two glasses from the cupboard, then set them on the table and filled them, sliding one toward Julia and sitting down in front of the other one.

“Smoking gives you wrinkles,” she said, trying to sound light, but hearing in her own voice a tinge of judgment instead. Why did she always have to do that—sound so shrewy? No wonder Bradley constantly had his eye on other women. No wonder she was losing him, had lost him.

Julia took a drag, blew it out toward the window. “Don’t bother. I have the entire lecture memorized. I live with it. Wrinkles, heart attack, cancer, death, blah blah blah.”

Maya stiffened at the word
cancer
, but forced herself to shrug it off. “I wasn’t going to lecture. But when did you start doing that?”

“What? Smoking? The day I found our father’s stash in the barn.” Julia laughed. “Do you really not remember the first time he caught me? Spanked the shit out of me. I could barely walk afterwards.”

No, Maya didn’t remember. How could one spanking possibly stand out from all the rest? How could one lecture, one vile name-calling, one drunken beating possibly be memorable?

Well, there were memories. The day he got rid of Claire’s horse and she’d been so heartbroken she’d lain in bed sick for days. The day he knocked Julia’s head against the car window and a crack had snaked down the glass. The day he kicked Grandmother Ruby out of the house and told her to never come back, to never visit again. Those days, Maya was not likely to ever forget.

“Became a game after that,” Julia said. “I’d only take one or two per pack, would smoke them in little bits, to make them last longer. Would hide the butts, throw them in the pond, usually. See how many I could get away with before he’d notice. I think he always suspected, but he was never quite sure. It was the one thing I had the upper hand on with him.” She sighed. “Until I was in high school and could keep my own in Dusty’s car. So, yeah, I guess forever. But Tai and Eli are always after me about it. I’m trying, but this week is not a good week to quit.”

Maya chuckled. “It actually may be a good week to start.”

“You want one?”

Maya shook her head, rubbing the pads of her fingers along her cheeks. “No. I was serious about the wrinkles.” Again, the word
cancer
echoed in her mind, and she moved her fingers down into her armpit protectively.

A sweet apple scent began to waft out of the oven. Maya stood and filled the coffeemaker, which gurgled into life. Nothing smelled better with a sour cream apple coffee cake than a fresh pot of coffee.

“You know,” Julia said, finishing her cigarette and walking over to the sink to run water over the burning filter, “you are probably the only person in the world who gets up at five a.m. on Christmas Eve to make coffee cake in high heels.”

Maya bristled. “I doubt it,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with looking good.”

“I suppose,” Julia said, but Maya could have sworn the words were laced with an accusation she couldn’t quite put her finger on. That was the other thing that had been sticking in Maya’s craw about Julia—the one other thing that had changed about her. She no longer felt like an ally.

“So what’s up with you and Claire?” Maya asked, rounding on Julia suddenly.

“What do you mean?”