Three Black Swans

by Caroline B. Cooney

  Genevieve told them about Jimmy Fleming and Ray Feingold and the library where she’d watched Rick’s video. She explained that Claire was legally adopted and Missy was not. “I guess we’ll never really know why they didn’t handle your adoption legally, Missy, but maybe even they felt shame. Even they couldn’t face what they were doing and pretended it would go away.”

  It, thought Claire. Meaning us.

  “Do you want to meet them?” asked Genevieve.

  “Do you want us to meet them, Genevieve?” asked Missy. “Because I do want to, but only if it’s okay with you.”

  “Not me,” said Claire. “I have parents. In fact, I have parents who are worried.” Claire picked up her cell and speed dialed. Her mother answered on the first ring. Frannie Linnehan’s voice was not just loud. It was lunatic.

  “Where are you?” shrieked Claire’s mother. “Are you all right? How could you vanish at a time like this? I know it’s mostly our fault, but you shouldn’t just vanish! You should answer your phone! I am so mad at you, Claire!” Frannie Linnehan’s voice seemed to cross state lines. Missy and Genevieve didn’t have to lean close to hear.

  “Hi, Mom,” said Claire happily. It was fine to be yelled at. The people in the doorway down the street hadn’t cared enough to keep Claire, never mind worry about her.

  “Clairedy, that video!” Her mother’s voice cracked. “I can’t stand it when you cry on the video. It makes me cry. I’m crying now. Claire, where are you? I need you. Come home. We’ll come get you. We’re all getting in the car right now. We just need you to tell us where to drive. Is Missy with you? Tell me she’s with you.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom,” said Claire. “I am so totally coming home. Things developed fast, and actually Missy and I took the train to New York and another train out to Long Island. When I explain, I want you and Daddy to remember that you are my mother and father. You were my mother and father from the minute you got me, you’ll always be my mother and father, and no other person counts.”

  “Oh, my God. You’ve met your birth mother!” screamed Frannie Linnehan.

  “No, Mom. I never want to meet her. I’m not going to meet her. But I have met somebody. You know that Missy and I are not just twins, but identical twins, right?”

  “We didn’t know, Clairedy. We didn’t guess for years. You were both in elementary school before we started to grasp the situation. Even then, we were guessing. The doctor who arranged the adoptions never told us much. I don’t see how you could have any facts either.”

  “We didn’t need facts. People forwarded the video. A boy who saw it thought he had met one of us. He made sure that the video was seen by the girl he had met. But that girl wasn’t me and she wasn’t Missy. There weren’t two of us up for adoption, Mom. There were three of us. Identical triplets. Our identical sister saw the video. She saw herself. She knew instantly, even though she hadn’t known before. She got in touch. We couldn’t wait to meet her. Actually, Missy couldn’t wait and I dragged myself after her. We’re with her right now. Our third sister.”

  Their faces were so close over the tiny phone that the hot tears inching down Genevieve’s face slid onto Claire’s cheek.

  Frannie Linnehan screamed. “A third sister! What’s her name? Let me talk to her! I have to meet her! I have to hug her! I have to know her! What could be more wonderful than another girl like you, Clairedy! Is she there? Will she talk to me? This is so fabulous! This is almost as exciting as when we got you at the hospital! Another daughter! What’s her name? You have a decent cell phone! Is she there? Film her! Let me see her! Let me see all three of you! But first let me talk to Missy,” she said sternly.

  “She can hear you, Mom.”

  “Missy, your parents are mental! They are right here with me, of course, we are having a family conference. In fact, we are piling into the car to set out for Long Island, but you call them this instant, do you hear?”

  * * *

  Genevieve tried to imagine parents who had family conferences. Who were thrilled to hear about her. Who shrieked joyfully, “Another daughter!”

  Missy obeyed and called her parents that instant. Her mother was furious. Genevieve listened while the mother yelled, “I shouldn’t yell! Your father and I should have talked to you long ago. Still and all, Melissa Vianello! That video was horrible. Vanishing today was horrible. Not telling us what you were doing was horrible. Not being able to reach you was horrible!”

  Genevieve sopped up her tears with the hem of her long flowing shirt. What would it be like to live with parents who were so emotional? So … so parental?

  “I wanted it in the open, Mom,” said Missy. “I wanted to stop guessing. I wanted to know.”

  “Then you should have asked!”

  Missy’s father took over. His voice was deep and raspy. Genevieve pictured somebody big and broad. “Missy, we couldn’t tell you that you were adopted. First of all, in our hearts, you weren’t. You were ours. It’s impossible to describe how fierce the desire is to have babies. Your arms ache, your house is empty, your future is dull. You want your own kid. And when Dr. Russo said you were ours, they let us go to Newborn Intensive Care long before you were ready to come home and you were ours. Every minute, every crisis, every IV. But mainly, we couldn’t tell you because the birth mother never surrendered her parental rights. She never tried to get you back, but she never signed anything either. You’re ours, honey, but not in the eyes of the law. It’s scary, we’ve always been scared. Sixteen years we’ve been scared.”

  My parents did that to them, thought Genevieve. All to avoid a few hours of social workers and judges glaring at them. I don’t think anybody would have glared. It was just in a day’s work. And maybe the authorities would have been relieved that baby Missy was getting a better mother than the one she’d been born to.

  Oh, Mom! thought Genevieve.

  Pain sliced her like surgery without anesthesia. She had never been first on her parents’ list. Everything—cars, watches, travel, fashion, eating out—came ahead of Genevieve. She suddenly, desperately wanted to be with her great-grandmother. Nobody but GeeGee could comfort her now. GeeGee would not be surprised by this story. She had no use for her grandson Ned and less use for the woman he had married.

  And then Genevieve knew something else: her great-grandmother was staying alive for her. Staying active, staying alert. Staying. Because little Genevieve needed all the love she could get.

  “Don’t be scared, Dad,” said Missy. “I don’t feel adopted either. I’m yours. I’ll be home tonight. I don’t want any other home. But I do want Genevieve.” She whispered to Genevieve, “I’m definitely going to meet your parents. I have to give your mother—I mean, my mother—a piece of my mind. Imagine scaring my parents like that!”

  Genevieve had never given her parents a piece of her mind. How docile I’ve been, she thought. I always try to appease them.

  Missy’s mother took back the phone. The yelling was over. The fear was gone. The voice of Kitty Vianello was filled with excitement. “Will Genevieve talk to me?”

  Missy transferred her cell phone to Genevieve’s hand. Genevieve felt as if she were not familiar with this technology. I’ll be on the phone with the mother of my sister, she thought crazily. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Then she said softly, “Hello, Mrs. Vianello. This is Genevieve Candler.”

  “Genevieve! Oh, Genevieve! That’s the prettiest name in the world! Oh! I can see you! Claire forwarded a picture of the three of you! You’re in the middle, thank God I can tell. Am I telling just from clothing? Because I know what Missy and Claire own? I don’t think so. I think I actually know. Genevieve, I’m having a heart attack from joy. Are you all right? We’re already on I-95, heading south. Are your parents okay? Should I talk to them?”

  “My parents are okay,” said Genevieve, and it might be true. They would be planning how to contain this, how to spin it. They would come up with a way to protect themselves. They might even enjoy exposure, if they could n
ot prevent it. They might relish being on some shiny talk show with some shiny host.

  No, thought Genevieve. That is a deal breaker. We are not letting the media own us. I will set my parents straight on that.

  “How far out on Long Island are you?” asked Missy’s mother. “Which bridge do we take?”

  Genevieve was appalled at the thought of six parents crossing paths. “Maybe Missy and Claire can still take the train home,” she said. “Maybe we can all meet some other time. Right now I’m just enjoying your voice. You sound happy.”

  “I’m delirious, Genevieve. Two were perfect, but three! It’s incredible! I love you already. I have to meet you and hug you. Genevieve, have you met your birth parents?”

  “Yes,” said Genevieve. “I’ve met my birth parents.”

  * * *

  “My turn,” said Claire’s father. “Clairedy, I’ve been at work all morning. I haven’t even seen the famous video yet.”

  “It’s okay,” Claire assured him. “You can skip it.”

  “Good, because I’m totally blown away by this cell phone picture of the three of you.” Phil Linnehan raised his voice. “Hey, Genevieve!” he bellowed. “Hi! Welcome! I guess I’m your dad, too. Well—not exactly. Do we know who the dad is? Are we doing dads yet? What stage are we at? Triplets. Wow. My heart is flopping around.”

  The phone calls ended. The girls were left trembling in the aftershock of this family earthquake. There were a million things to talk about. Claire let Missy and Genevieve do the talking. Already the two of them seemed closer to each other than to her.

  How did real triplets behave? Did two have more power and more fun than the third? Did they rotate last position? Did everybody get a chance to be first? Or did they stay equal thirds, like a geometry problem?

  I don’t want a problem with Genevieve and Missy, thought Claire. I want it to be perfect.

  It seemed impossible to Claire that the supposed parents had not come to find their three daughters. What could Ned and Allegra Candler be talking about in their sweet little white house? She cut them a little slack. After all, she hadn’t been brave enough to cross the street.

  “Let’s go meet your parents, Genevieve,” said Missy. “It’s time.”

  Even now, even here, Claire had forgotten how closely her thoughts tracked with Missy’s.

  Genevieve looked dubious. “They’re not going to be like your mothers and fathers. They’re not going to dance and sing for joy. But they’re civilized. They’ll be courteous.”

  “Did they ever hold us?” asked Missy suddenly.

  Genevieve withdrew. In some palpable way, she became a stranger. Genevieve had been places where Claire had never been and Claire did not envy her. “No,” said Genevieve finally. “They never held you.”

  “Ugh,” said Claire. “I don’t want any part of them.” The whole story—those awful people—their awful decisions—well, maybe not that awful; after all, they didn’t have to have the babies. They could have gotten rid of them early on, and then Claire wouldn’t even exist—she had to give them credit for that—but not so much credit that she wanted to be part of this.

  “You are part of them,” Genevieve pointed out.

  “Technically. Biologically. Nothing else. If you’re going to meet them, Missy, I’ll wait at the train station.” She pointed to the intersection. “I get there by walking the rest of the way up this street, right? And cutting to the left about three blocks? And that will be the main street? And the station is there?”

  Genevieve was frantic. “I can’t take just one of you to meet my parents. And it’s too soon to split up. We aren’t really sisters yet. We’ve hardly started.”

  Claire looked at her watch. “Actually, we’ve been talking for ages.” All that time, she thought, that man and that woman have been hunkered down inside their house. Or maybe not. The rain has stopped. Maybe they went out. Errands to do. Could there be an errand more important than meeting your daughters?

  Genevieve’s control was breaking. “Now that I’ve found you, I don’t want to be apart.”

  Genevieve has to go home to those people, thought Claire. She lives with them. They really are her parents. Am I going to abandon her to that? Is it abandonment if it’s your own parents?

  My own parents, she corrected herself, and wanted to run.

  Missy put her hands on Claire’s shoulders. “I’ll do what you want, Clairedy. I’ll leave with you if that’s what you have to do. But if we don’t meet these people, they’ll haunt us.”

  Genevieve flinched, jerking her hand up as if she’d just gotten a splinter.

  If Missy and I leave together, thought Claire, then Genevieve is the leftover one. The one without a companion. Missy and I become twins, while she’s just an extra. “Don’t move,” she ordered Missy and Genevieve. “Just let me solidify.”

  They didn’t laugh. They knew what she was feeling. They knew the time it would take. They knew.

  “Okay,” said Claire. “We’re triplets. But you two go first. You do the talking. I don’t want to touch them or anything.”

  * * *

  Ned had fixed coffee. Allegra was not drinking it. She couldn’t pace, sit or think.

  “They even look like black swans,” said Ned, watching the video for the hundredth time.

  Allegra stared blankly at the screen.

  “The Journal article. I showed it to you. It’s still on the counter.” He read it out loud again, but Allegra didn’t listen this time either. How had those girls gotten here? There was no car parked. The high school where the video had been made was in Connecticut. The girls must have taken the train.

  Should she and Ned go after them? Where would Vivi take those girls? Vivi’s place and person of refuge was her great-grandmother. Vivi walked there all the time. Would she bring the girls to the nursing home? Or had they parked their car someplace else and Vivi was planning to go home with them?

  Allegra just wanted this to end.

  The front door opened.

  Genevieve walked in. How beautiful she was. The black hair clouded around her, and strange soft excitement bloomed on her face. “Hello, Mother,” she said. “Hello, Dad. I’d like you to meet Claire Linnehan and Missy Vianello.”

  And there they were.

  Two more Genevieves.

  One of them must be the tiny red spider who had come second. The other was the third baby, for whom Allegra had not even opened her eyes. Allegra closed her eyes now too. They’ll never leave, she thought. They’ll tell their parents, we’ll have to meet, Genevieve will want them to visit. We’ll have to get to know them.

  She opened her eyes. One of the clones was smiling at her. Genevieve’s smile. It was too eerie. “It’s okay, Mrs. Candler,” said the girl. “It really is.”

  The other one stayed back, looking sober, as if in judgment. The smiling clone walked right up to Allegra, as if it wanted to be hugged, but Allegra could not reach out. “Don’t be upset,” said this apparition. Genevieve’s voice, but not Genevieve. Allegra gave herself points for realizing which one was her own daughter.

  Then she thought, They’re all my own daughters.

  “I have the best parents,” said the girl. “I have a great life. You were so generous to do what you did.” The stranger Genevieve went ahead and hugged her. Was it the Missy one or the Claire one? Who would name a child Missy? It wasn’t even a name, it was just stuff. And “Claire” was as stodgy as “Genevieve.” Allegra would never have named her daughter Genevieve, but Ned had thought it would clinch the inheritance. The nickname Vivi was perfect, but Genevieve herself never used it.

  She glanced at her actual daughter and saw sadness etched on Vivi’s face. Every person I know is going to look at me like that. They all expected more of me.

  The clones moved close together. It seemed to Allegra that they might merge and turn into one girl. Maybe they were an optical illusion anyway.

  * * *

  Ned Candler had spent his life shaking hands and
greeting people, being friendly and sociable and remembering names. Laughing and chatting, asking after spouses and children, being warm and likeable. He called upon all those years of experience now, but they didn’t help. The sight of three Genevieves was staggering. He knew his own daughter only because she stood slightly in front of the others, holding out her hand to guide him forward.

  For Vivi, he told himself. Do everything now for Vivi. “I’m your father,” he began. The admission floored him. “I’m—” He couldn’t think. What was he? Other than worthless? “Stunned,” he finished. “I never knew.”

  Of course he had known. He just hadn’t known that the three were identical. He walked toward them. It was too hard. He stopped at Vivi. “I’m sorry for all our mistakes, Vivi. I love you.” He was amazed, even honored, that his daughter hugged him. It gave him the courage to turn to the triplet on Genevieve’s left.

  She didn’t smile. She didn’t speak. Ned put out a hand, although it was hard to know the proper etiquette for meeting one’s own daughter.

  She studied his hand.

  He left it up in the air.

  She took it, moved it fractionally upward and dropped it. Then she took her hand back, but kept it away from her body, as if it needed scrubbing.

  “That was Claire,” Genevieve told him. “And this is Missy.”

  How bizarre: his daughter’s smile on some other daughter’s face. Missy’s cell phone rang before he could attempt to shake hands with her. Ned was not surprised that even though she was meeting her real father for the first time, the teenager’s first priority was her phone. “It’s my mother,” said Missy, lifting the cell phone to her ear. “Hi, Mom. Well, we’re kind of okay. We kind of decided to meet—I guess you’d say—Genevieve’s parents. Well, that’s not the actual positive truth. Actually, they’re the real ones. The parents. Genevieve’s mom and dad kind of thought that one kid was enough so—well—that’s where you came in.”