You Are Not Alone(29)

I tried to make my appearance mirror theirs tonight.

But it’s much more powerful to know that the deeper, hidden parts of us match.





CHAPTER NINETEEN



CASSANDRA & JANE


Twenty years ago

“THIS IS YOUR ROOM, Cassandra,” their stepfather said, opening a door to reveal what looked like a page out of Teen magazine: The centerpiece was a white canopy bed with a frilly pink duvet and decorative pillows. There was also a glossy white dresser and matching desk. Seashell-colored paint—so fresh the scent still filled the air—covered the walls.

“And, Jane, yours is here.” He crossed the hall and opened another closed door to reveal an identical bedroom.

The sisters looked at each other before moving in separate directions, their socks gliding soundlessly over the thick carpeting. They’d never not shared a room.

But they knew what was expected of them even before they felt their mother’s sharp nudges: “Thank you!” they chorused.

“It’s so beautiful,” Jane added.

Their stepfather nodded—he was a man of few words—and turned to descend the stairs, which creaked heavily under his weight.

The fancy bedrooms were just the beginning of the changes that lay ahead: Their mother had already told them that new clothes, a transfer to their town’s private school, and piano lessons would soon follow.

“Why don’t you girls freshen up. Dinner is at six,” their mother instructed as she hurried to catch up with her new husband. “I’m making Dover sole and asparagus.”

Even their mother was different now—she used fancier words, and she’d stopped smoking. She’d begun going for manicures in town rather than painting her own nails. She gestured a lot more, too, with her left hand—the one with the big diamond on it.

Cassandra looked at Jane and shrugged. It was as if their mom had been replaced by Carol Brady. But their stepfather was no Mike Brady; his slightly bulging eyes and full lips reminded them of a frog.

“What’s Dover sole?” Jane whispered, and they both burst into giggles.

There was one other big change: They now had a stepbrother, a handsome, golden-haired, athletic teenager who came to spend every other weekend with them. Even his nickname—Trey, because he was the third male to inherit the same name after his grandfather and father—was cool.

The first time they saw him, the sisters were sitting on the edge of the pool in the backyard, dangling their feet into the cool chlorinated water. He raced through the yard and cannonballed into the deep end. When he broke the surface, the girls were laughing and shaking droplets from their hair.

“Hey,” he said, effortlessly treading water. “Want to see who can hold their breath underwater the longest?”

During those two weekends a month, Trey breathed life into the house that felt like a museum when their stepfather was around. Trey hoisted them up and carried them around on his shoulders and whispered secrets about his father—such as that he kept a bottle of Viagra in his nightstand. In the basement game room with the big wooden bar and giant TV, Trey taught them to play pool, leaning over them and adjusting the angle of their cues. “Don’t rush your stroke,” he’d say.

Trey snuck shots of Jack Daniel’s or tequila from the bar and handed them his glass, laughing as the sisters took the tiniest sips possible and crinkled up their noses.

He complimented their mother and always opened doors for her—winning her over instantly. He called his father “sir” without any trace of sarcasm. When Trey spotted the cleaning lady struggling to carry the heavy vacuum up the stairs, he leaped to his feet to help her. Adults adored him.

“Trey is a true gentleman,” their mother was fond of saying. “I couldn’t have asked for a better stepson.”

Then, a few months after the sisters moved in, Cassandra and Jane discovered a small sparrow lying stunned on the patio, having crashed into the glass doors.

“The poor little bird!” Jane cried.

Cassandra took charge. “It’s looking at us. We have to help it.”

They ran inside and found a sturdy shoebox—their mom had acquired quite a few by now—then began filling it with paper towels from the roll in the kitchen.

“We can feed it worms,” Cassandra said as their stepbrother sauntered into the kitchen in his lacrosse uniform from his Saturday-afternoon game.

“Feed what worms?” Trey grabbed the container of milk out of the refrigerator and drank it straight out of the carton.

“We found a bird,” Cassandra told him. “It’s hurt so we made it a nest.”

“His name is Tweety,” Jane added.

Trey put the milk down on the counter and followed them outside.

The bird was in the exact same position, its shiny dark eyes staring up at them. The girls squatted next to it.

“Should we just pick it up?” Jane asked.

But neither girl made a move to do so.

“You guys are so lame.” Trey laughed. “Want some help?”

“Could you put Tweety in the box?” Cassandra asked.

He’d stepped closer to the bird. He bent down and looked at it. “Hi, little guy.”

Then his foot—still in his lacrosse cleats—lifted high into the air and came down.