The Sweetness of Salt(15)

I nodded, trying to push down the fear rising inside my chest. My heart beat unsteadily with a lopsided kind of rhythm: ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum. I rubbed my hands up and down my arms again, trying to get warm. Dad cleared his throat.

Mom looked up. “You have to start at the beginning, John.” Her voice was as faint as fog. The clock in the kitchen ticked slowly. My insides were churning.

“Dad?” I pressed.

He swallowed. “There was another…”

“Woman?” I said softly. “There was another woman?”


His head snapped up. “No! Of course not.” He ran his hand down the length of his neck. “A child. Another child.”

Mom pressed her fingers against her mouth. Her nails, which she had gotten painted at the salon, were chipped and worn at the edges.

“What are you talking about?” I demanded.

“Your sister,” Dad said. “Maggie.”

Mom shut her eyes at the mention of the name.

“Maggie?” I echoed.

Dad nodded. “She was born three years after Sophie. In Milford.” He paused. “She died when she was four.”

Wait. Was I imagining this? Was this really happening? “But why…haven’t you ever told me about her?”

“That was a decision your mother and I made a long time ago,” Dad answered quietly. “We were trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?” I repeated. “From what?”

Mom opened her eyes. They were dull and glassy looking, as if a thin film had descended over the iris. She reached up behind her ear and fingered the cord attached to her hearing aid. “Oh honey, Maggie died so…tragically. It wasn’t something we ever wanted to revisit, let alone make you part of.”

My legs folded themselves beneath me until I was sitting on the floor. “How did she die?”

Neither of them answered.

“Dad?” The worst possible scenarios began to unfold behind my eyes: She was murdered. Kidnapped. Killed in a terrible, unspeakable way. “What happened to her? Tell me.”

“She had asthma,” Dad said. His face contorted, as if something beneath it was pulling strings in opposite directions. “She couldn’t breathe…”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Mom said. “She got worked up one day, and couldn’t stop crying, and…”

“Oh my God.” My hand flew involuntarily to my chest, as if to steady the violent beat of my heart. “She suffocated? When she was four? Goober’s age?”

A muscle flexed in Dad’s cheek. He nodded.

“And Sophie?” I asked. “She was there? She knew about it? She saw…?”

Dad nodded again. “She saw everything, Julia. And she’s never gotten over it. She was only seven when it happened.” He raised his head again. “We thought maybe if we just didn’t talk about it, if we put it behind us, that Sophie would be able to do the same thing. And when you came along…” He caught the tiny noise that escaped from between his lips with the edge of his fist. “It was like we’d been given another chance, another shot at life. At…starting over.”

“We didn’t want to involve you in any part of that time,” Mom said. Her eyes were rimmed with tears. “Of all that terrible sadness, honey. We wanted it to be different for you. The best it could possibly be.”

“You should’ve told me,” I whispered.

“Julia…,” Dad started.

“You should have told me!” My voice was rising. “I can’t believe you’ve kept all of this—my sister!—a secret from me. For seventeen years!”

“Julia,” Mom said, wiping her eyes. “Honey, we just told you…”

“You told me what? That you were trying to protect me? From your sadness? What does that even mean? What about my sadness? What about the sadness I feel now, knowing that you’ve kept my own sister hidden away in some drawer all my life?”

Dad stood up. “Do you want to see a picture of her?” he asked. “Is that what you want? We have…”

“I don’t want you to do anything! Just leave me alone. I mean it! Do not talk to me!”

“Julia,” Mom cried. “Please!”

“No!” I screamed, running up the stairs. “There is nothing you could say right now that would fix this. Nothing! Just leave me alone!”





chapter


10


Inside my bedroom, I held on to the wall and tried to envision breathing slowly, but the strangling sensation became even worse. It was as if all the air in my room had been sucked out by some enormous vacuum. Beneath my shirt, I could feel my heart hammering, rapid as a woodpecker, and the palms of my hands grew slick with sweat.

I stumbled over to my dresser, balancing myself against the top of it with the flats of my palms. “no one, not even the rain, has such small hands.” I repeated the phrase over and over again, waiting for the usual warmth to settle my trembling, but nothing happened. Instead, a coldness unlike any I had ever felt before began to sway and then move, little seaweed fingers pushing up through my stomach and along my arms. I began to cry, pushing my head under my pillow so Mom and Dad wouldn’t hear.

“Julia?” Mom’s voice sounded distorted, as if she were calling to me underwater. “Julia? Let us in!”