The Silent Sister(21)

We sipped our weak coffee and talked about a few of the people who had checked in the night before. Then I put my cup on the plastic table next to me and reached into my purse for my key ring.

“I stopped by my father’s RV on my way here, and I wondered if you and Tom would like to have it,” I said. I worked the RV’s key free of the ring and set it on the table. “I know it’s not in the best shape, but I figured you could sell it or rent or…” I shrugged.

“You don’t want it?” she asked. “What about your brother?”

“He doesn’t want it,” I said. “I looked through it to be sure there wasn’t anything I should keep, and it seemed like my father hadn’t been inside it much in a while. Has someone else been using it, do you know?”

She shook her head. “Not that I know of. Your father was there a couple of times a month, I’d say. He liked to be close to the water, like Tom.”

“Speaking of Mr. Kyle,” I said, glad for the opening, “when I was going through my father’s checkbook, I realized he’s been paying Tom five hundred dollars a month and I don’t know what that’s for. I don’t know if my father owed him money or what.”

She stared at me blankly. I’d flummoxed her. “I have no idea,” she said. “Are you sure about that? Maybe it was for…” Her voice faded away as she shook her head. “Well, I have no earthly idea what it was for, actually. Every single month?”

I nodded, but wished I’d kept my mouth shut and waited to talk to her husband about it. I had a terrible feeling I’d told her something no one had wanted her to know.

“Maybe Tom would want my father’s fishing gear that’s in the RV,” I said, to change the subject.

“Sure.” She let me change it, but her eyes were still cloudy with confusion. “I’ll tell him to look it over and see what he wants,” she said.

We had a few more quiet sips of coffee.

“Did you remember who you had me mixed up with?” I asked after a while. “When you thought I was adopted?

“Oh, you’re not still thinking about that, are you?” she said. “I should have kept my fool mouth shut. And it doesn’t matter, does it, Riley?” she asked. “Adopted or not, you had wonderful parents and you turned out fine.”

“You sound like you still think I was?”

She looked toward the creek, breathing loudly enough for me to hear. “I’m going to tell you something, Riley,” she said, very slowly, as though her head and her mouth were not in agreement about what she had to say. “I don’t know what your parents would think of me telling you this, but I’m a firm believer in knowing the truth about where you come from. I like to think your father would have done it at some point, but then he waited too long.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“We told Luke right from the start that he was adopted,” she said. “He looked for his birth parents when he was nineteen, with our blessing. We felt we should be totally open with him about it. No secrets. I know your parents felt differently, but—”

“Verniece!” I said, exasperated. I was beginning to think Tom Kyle was right about her lost marbles.

She looked up at the sky through the canopy of trees and let out a long sigh. “Do you want to know the truth?” she asked.

I felt a chill run up my back. “Yes,” I said, “though I think I do know the truth. I mean, I still think you have my family mixed up with someone else.”

She scratched her cheek, slowly. Thoughtfully. She looked out toward the creek again. “I met Tom in 1980 when I was thirty-two years old,” she said. “I was a police dispatcher in Maryland back then. Now that was a job!” She gave me a rueful smile. “We were married a year later and immediately started trying to have a baby. It took a while for us to get pregnant and we were thrilled, but I miscarried right at twelve weeks.”

“I’m sorry.” I had no idea where she was going with this.

“I got pregnant again and miscarried again. Five times, Riley.” She looked at me, the pain of those miscarriages still in her eyes. “It was a nightmare. I finally carried a baby to term, only to have her be stillborn.”

“Oh, no,” I said, trying to imagine it. “What a terrible blow for you.”

“Terrible doesn’t begin to describe it,” she said. “I met your mother right after it happened. There was some function … your father and Tom worked together, did you know that?”

“No,” I said. “Tom worked for the U.S. Marshals Service?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn’t even know my father did until I met with his lawyer.”

“Really?” she said. “Your family…” She shook her head. “Not very open with one another, were they?”

I started to speak, but didn’t know what to say. It seemed she was right.

“Well, anyhow,” she continued, “Tom and your father worked together, and there was … I don’t remember exactly what it was—a big picnic or some outdoor get-together that was important for us to attend. Tom had trouble dragging me out of the house. I was extremely depressed after the stillbirth and could barely function. But for some reason, I went with him. Your father was his supervisor and I think there was some expectation everybody turn out for this”—she waved her hand through the air—“this picnic or whatever it was. Oh! It was a retirement party for one of the marshals. This would have been ’88. Or I guess ’89. Anyway, there were lawn chairs and I ended up sitting next to your mother, who I didn’t know very well at all, and all I could do was cry. She was a very kind woman, and when she saw how upset I was, she took my hand and walked me away from the crowd and we sat under a tree and I told her everything and sobbed and sobbed. And sobbed some more. She had a lot of sympathy. Empathy’s a better word for it. A lot of empathy. She held my hand while we talked. I was a stranger to her, but you know how women can sometimes get close very quickly.”