The Silent Sister(91)

I hugged him. “Tell Mom I love her,” I said.

I was sure now that he didn’t tell her. I was sure he didn’t mention my name at all when he returned to the room where my two mothers sat. I pictured them holding hands.

I remembered coming home that night. My mother seemed different to me. Lighter, somehow. She smiled when I came into her room to kiss her good night, and I thought, Daddy was right. They needed a day together, just the two of them. Now I knew it had been the visit with Lisa that had put the smile on her face. In spite of the fact that I felt hurt over being left out of that family reunion, I was grateful to Lisa for making it happen.

The very next morning, Mom was gone. Daddy and I ate a lonely, tasteless dinner that night. I told him how unfair I thought it was, that out of a family of five only three of us were left. “It’s just you, me, and Danny now, Daddy,” I’d said, and he’d turned his head away from me.

Back then, I thought he’d turned away because my words were too painful to hear, and I regretted them. Now I realized he’d turned away because he knew they were not the truth.

October 2, 2004

Mr. M (I’m not sure what to call you),

I wanted to let you know J’s in the hospital. She lost the baby yesterday morning. It was another boy and we are both brokenhearted. The doctor has no idea why this happened, but I’m sure I know—she’s so worried about Danny and it’s taken a toll on her. She hasn’t been the same since you let her know how badly he was hurt in the attack. She’s so afraid he won’t make it. The night after she got your note, she carried her fiddle out on our patio and played “Danny Boy.” It was so beautiful. Some neighbors who heard her play it told me they cried. Of course they didn’t know about Danny, but they knew something terrible must have happened for her to play so mournfully.

She thinks it’s her fault. She knows that’s irrational, but that doesn’t make any difference. She’s never been sure there’s a God, but now she suddenly is and she thinks He’s punishing her. First, her mother’s cancer diagnosis. Now Danny’s injuries. She’s paranoid that something bad will happen to R next. I wish you could actually talk to her. She really worships you and is so grateful for how you helped her. My family loves her so much, but all our love can’t make up for everything she’s lost—and of course, my family doesn’t actually know how much she’s lost.

She talks about R a lot now. I know you don’t want her to have a picture of her, but she could use it right now. She feels so lost. It doesn’t matter how many children we have, there will always be a place in her heart reserved for R. The other night, she put on that pendant that reminds her of R and said she’s never taking it off again.

If you think it would be safe, you could talk to her on my cell phone instead of hers. Or maybe you have another idea?

Love, Celia

That was the last e-mail from Celia. Or I guess it had really been the first. I was sorry to hear that Lisa had lost a baby, but I knew that one line from the e-mail would be swirling around in my head for days: “It doesn’t matter how many children we have, there will always be a place in her heart reserved for R.” Was there still a place for me in Lisa’s heart? Was there room? I needed to find out.





48.



Between searching the Internet for Lisa and reading Celia’s e-mails, I’d been up the entire night. I went to bed at seven in the morning, exhausted and excited. I lay there unable to sleep, knowing that I could no longer keep what I’d learned to myself. I had to share it with the one other person who’d understand how I felt. The one other person who had loved Lisa … and who—unlike my brother—I was certain would never cause her harm.

I waited until eight o’clock before dialing Jeannie’s number. I paced the living room floor, cell phone to my ear. “Please tell me I didn’t wake you,” I said when she answered.

“I’m up.” She sounded worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you home? Can I come over? I need to talk to you.” I hadn’t been to Jeannie’s house, but I knew exactly where it was.

“I’ll come there,” she said. “I’m dressed.”

“Could you?” I was glad for the offer. I didn’t trust myself to drive.

“I’ll be there in a few,” she said.

I brewed a pot of coffee and sat on the couch, so tired I felt as though I might be dreaming. I must have drifted off, because I didn’t hear Jeannie’s car pull into the driveway and I jumped at the sound of the doorbell. Morning light poured into the living room when I opened the front door.

“My God, honey, you look like hell.” Jeannie ran her hand down my arm as she came inside. Her touch was warm and concerned, and it made me want to trust her.

I shut the door, then stood with my back to it. “Lisa’s alive,” I said, nearly whispering as though I was afraid someone might be able to hear me.

She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t seem to find the words. I could tell she’d had no idea. My father’d kept her in the dark as well.

“I know,” I said. “It’s a shock.”

“It’s impossible,” she said finally.

“She faked her suicide.”

Her hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh, my God!”