The Silent Sister(96)

Jeannie leaned forward to rest her laptop on the coffee table. “Come with me,” she said, getting to her feet.

I followed her through the dining room to a small sunroom. A large desk stood at one end of the room, and a love seat and two chairs, upholstered with palm trees and monkeys, sat at the other. Beneath the windows along one wall was a row of white built-in cabinets, similar to those in my father’s living room.

She turned on a floor lamp, then squatted in front of one of the cabinets. She rooted around for a moment, finally pulling out a small album. “Have a seat.” She nodded in the direction of the love seat as she stood up again. I sat down on the love seat and she pulled one of the chairs close to me and opened the album.

“I used to be good about putting pictures in albums, before everything went digital,” she said, holding the album so the floor lamp illuminated the pages. “Now I’ve gotten lazy.” She gave a small laugh. “Anyway, these are mostly from a trip I took to California.” She turned the pages without stopping to look closely at the photographs. “But I remember there are a couple from the year Lisa stayed with me, and there’s one in particular I want you to see.”

She turned a page and I spotted a picture of Lisa, her hair as pale as her skin, decorating a Christmas tree. She wore black leggings and an oversized blue sweater. I pulled the album closer to me. She was clearly pregnant.

“She was about six months there,” Jeannie said.

“Oh,” I whispered. Lisa smiled at the camera. It wasn’t a full-blown smile of joy, but it was an expression that told me she was at ease with the photographer. With Jeannie.

“Unfortunately, that was the only picture I kept of her from when she was pregnant,” Jeannie said. “She was camera shy then, for obvious reasons. But this is the one I wanted you to see.” She turned the page and I saw Lisa in a hospital bed, the requisite blue and white hospital gown slipping off one shoulder, a dark-haired baby in her arms.

“That’s you,” Jeannie said.

Lisa’s eyes were closed, her face at peace, her head turned so that her cheek rested on my temple. The gesture spoke volumes. She’d loved me. She’d treasured me.

Jeannie lifted my chin with her fingertips until I was looking at her through my damp, blurry vision. “She’s not going to turn you away, Riley,” she said gently. “I am completely sure of that.”





51.



I tried listening to an audiobook as I drove the two and a half hours to Chapel Hill the following day, but at least two thirds of the novel was lost on me. If Jeannie hadn’t been with a client today, I would have called her to help steady my nerves. She told me to call tonight after I saw Lisa, no matter what time it was. “I’m not going to be able to sleep till I hear from you anyway,” she said.

I couldn’t believe it: tonight I would see Lisa. I’d gone over and over my plan in my mind, but it depended on so many things working to my advantage. Mostly, it depended on Lisa being willing to see me, and that was a huge unknown.

The traffic bogged down when I reached the Beltline around Raleigh. I passed the turnoff I used to take to go to Bryan’s apartment, and for the first time since our breakup, the memory of him didn’t tear me in two. I’d barely thought of him in days, I realized. The two years I’d spent waiting for him to officially end his marriage suddenly seemed like a colossal waste of my time.

A car on my right honked at something or someone, and I hoped it wasn’t at me. I brought my attention back to the road. I was very early. I’d be in Chapel Hill by a little after five and the doors at Dulcimer wouldn’t open until seven. I could spend the extra time finding someplace to have dinner, though the way I felt right now, I doubted I’d be able to eat. I’d sit in my car and wait, instead, thinking through every possible scenario that might come up as I waited to see Lisa.

* * *

The rush hour traffic clogged the streets of Chapel Hill, yet I managed to find a parking place only a block from Dulcimer. I turned off the ignition and wondered what to do next. It was five-twenty. My plan was to see the concert and then find Lisa backstage … but maybe I could track her down now, since I was so early? Bad idea, I thought. How could she perform after meeting up with me? Besides, I wasn’t ready yet. I wondered if I would ever be ready. Once Lisa’s world and mine collided, there’d be no going back.

With the air-conditioning off, my car quickly grew intolerably hot and I lowered all four windows. Chapel Hill was a college town and the sidewalk was filled with students, their chatter loud and lively as they passed by my car. They looked and sounded so much younger than me. In the last couple of months, I felt like I’d aged a decade.

In the distance, I saw some people in front of Dulcimer and suddenly wondered if the show might be sold out. Even though I’d never heard of Jasha Trace, it was clear from their Web site that they had quite a following. I began to perspire, from both the heat as well as from that new, unsettling thought. I raised my windows, then reached into the backseat for Violet’s case. Bringing her along had been a last-minute impulse. I got out of the car, my purse over my shoulder and Violet in my arms as I headed in the direction of the club.

It was a little after six and the box office was open. I bought a ticket easily—so easily that I felt sort of hurt for Lisa that Jasha Trace wasn’t going to have a sold-out performance after all. Stepping away from the box office, I looked up and down the street to determine my next move. There was a small music store a few shops away from where I stood and I ducked inside, hoping to find something to occupy my mind until the doors of the club opened.