The Silent Sister(63)

“Wow.” I stood in the doorway.

“Oh, great, you’re here,” Christine said. She waved her arm through the air to take in the mess she’d made. “So I’m in the middle of pricing everything in here,” she said, “and once I have all the kitchen stuff organized, I don’t want you moving things around. So you should probably get some paper plates and plastic silverware and, you know, plastic cups to use for the rest of the time you’re here. Unless there’s something you desperately need me to leave out for you.”

I stared at her in disbelief. “Christine! I’m going to be here at least a few more weeks.”

“Well, the sale’s set for July twentieth, regardless,” she said. “Are you really going to want to stay here when the house is emptied out?”

“Yes, I am going to want to stay here!” I spotted the Franciscan Ware plates that reminded me so much of my mother. The plates I loved and Danny hated. “Look,” I said to Christine. “I need you to leave out at least four of these plates and four glasses and four bowls and sets of silverware so I have things to use.”

Christine let out her breath in frustration. “I’ve asked you and asked you to let me know what you want to keep,” she said, “and you haven’t told me anything.”

I had to admit she was right. “I’m sorry about that,” I said, “but I need to be able to live here for a while after the sale, all right?”

She was looking behind me, and I turned to see Danny in the living room. He stood awkwardly, hands in his pockets, motioning me into the room with a nod of his head.

“I’ve got to go,” I said to Christine. “Leave me a medium-sized pot and a frying pan, too. Please.” I turned away from whatever else she might say and followed Danny out the front door to the porch.

I shut the door behind us. “That woman is making me crazy,” I said.

“I don’t like the way she looks at me.”

“She thinks you’re hot.”

He rolled his eyes as he sat down in one of the rockers.

“How come you’re here?” I asked, sitting down myself.

“I want to talk to Tom Kyle about this whole ‘two sets of footprints’ thing,” he said. “It’s bugging me. Something’s fishy and I want to find out how he knew. You should come with me.”

I didn’t answer right away. I wanted to talk to Tom again myself, but how would I explain knowing that the information about the footprints hadn’t been released to the media? And if I did find a way to talk to him, I didn’t want Danny there. I didn’t trust my brother’s motivation. I was afraid he’d run wild with anything he learned. “You haven’t talked to Harry about this, have you?” I asked.

“There’s nothing to talk to him about,” he said. “Not yet, anyhow.”

“How would you explain to Tom Kyle what you learned about the footprints?”

“I’ll figure it out.” The determination in his face was rare to see. Danny lived day to day. He hung out on his computer. He drank. He smoked. I remembered my father saying, “I wish he’d find some sort of project.” It seemed he’d found one now.

“You really want to punish her, don’t you,” I said.

He scowled as he got to his feet. “Leave the psychoanalysis out of this, okay?” He looked down at me. Crammed his hands into his pockets. “I’m going to talk to him with you or without you,” he said. “Do you want to go or not?”





AUGUST 1995

31.

Jade

“Hey, Charlie,” she said when the old man walked into Grady’s. She always loved seeing him. She loved all the regulars, but she’d never forget the connection she and Charlie had made when she found him the album he’d wanted for so long.

“Afternoon, Jade,” he said. “You must be gearing up for your senior year, aren’t you?”

She nodded. She’d worked a lot of hours this summer, trying to bulk up her bank account, but she was looking forward to getting back to school. She’d long ago figured out how to handle being a student at San Diego State—by keeping to herself, for the most part. She didn’t think her fellow students thought she was cold, exactly, but they saw her as a commuter with a busy life outside of school. At least she guessed that’s what they thought. She didn’t play her violin well enough to garner much attention or admiration, modeling herself after another student in her classes who was good but not great. She watched that student’s progress and followed her path, settling for “just good enough.” Yet, in her own cottage, she let Lisa MacPherson out for hours every night. She loved her old self. She needed her. She sometimes felt as though Jade and Lisa were two different people. In the daytime, though, she was often tired. It was exhausting, living two lives.

“So after this year, you’ll be able to teach?” Charlie asked.

“No, I have another year to get my credential. Then I’ll be able to teach.” She was actually looking forward to teaching. After three years of college, she was beginning to think she’d be pretty good at it. “Are you looking for anything special today?” she asked him.

“No, but my granddaughter is.” He looked over his shoulder toward the door. “She’s visiting from Portland, Oregon. She stopped in the bakery next door, but she’ll be here in a minute. I’ll look at the jazz till she gets here.”