Three Black Swans

by Caroline B. Cooney

  The Claire one was flapping her hands as if she’d touched a wall of spiderwebs. She backed into the little hall. She found the front door.

  Ned knew he should go after her, offer comfort, but he didn’t know where to start and then Missy held out her phone. “My mother wants to talk to you.”

  Ned was horrified.

  The Claire one was out the front door and running down the steps.

  Somehow he had Missy’s cell phone by his ear and he was saying, “Good afternoon.” Ned had seldom had a less good afternoon.

  “Mr. Candler? Oh, my. What a situation we’ve found ourselves in. I’m thrilled and terrified. But first, let me thank you for our beautiful daughter. We love her more than life. We’re so grateful. But right now, we don’t want our daughters on their own. Did you know that middle-aged sisters adopted your two girls? Well, my sister and I and our husbands started driving into the city the minute we found out you’re on Long Island. We’re on the Long Island Expressway, but we actually haven’t the faintest idea where you are. Would you please give us directions to your house?”

  * * *

  Genevieve ran after Claire.

  Genevieve was a good athlete. In fact, it looked as if she and Claire were exactly the same level of athlete. Genevieve figured they could run forever, with Claire fifty paces ahead. “Claire!” she shouted. “It’s okay. You don’t have to go back in. But this isn’t the way to the train station. Let me go with you. Let me be your sister.”

  * * *

  Missy was the only triplet still with the birth parents.

  It was scary being alone with two people who had treated their babies like extra kitchen appliances. She could sneak a quick look and then had to look away. Her parents were a million times better than Genevieve’s. What if that doctor had not found Missy’s mother and father? What if she had had to grow up here instead of with Matt and Kitty Vianello?

  Missy understood the phrases of adoption now. This man Ned was a biological parent, while Missy’s father was a father. This woman was a birth mother. It wasn’t such a bad phrase after all. It got the job done. And then the real mother and father could go on from there.

  Missy had planned to demand that these two fill out adoption papers on the spot. Now she realized it wouldn’t be that easy. Besides, it mattered less. It was a legal thing, not a real thing. She was less interested in these parents than she had expected, and far more unnerved. She could see herself in the woman’s features. She could see her own eyes in the father’s. She prayed she had not inherited their selfishness or coldness.

  She found herself backing toward the door, just as Claire had. Is it a twin thing? she wondered. I mean, a triplet thing?

  She didn’t want to turn her back on these two, as if they were dangerous. The danger was sixteen years ago, she thought. Now some lawyer can take it from here. “I’m glad we met,” she said, although she wasn’t sure if that was true. “I think the three of us will wait at the railroad station for my parents.”

  “Wait!” said the father. “Your parents will be here in half an hour. You don’t want to sit at the railroad station all that time.”

  Missy was already texting her mother. “We’ll be fine,” she told the father. “We have plenty to talk about.” She could not seem to smile at them. She waved instead, and her hand felt silly. The stare of the mother—the real, biological mother—was without welcome. Without depth.

  Missy felt a bolt of fear so intense that she stumbled into the wall. She flailed around for the door handle. A nightmare sequence of being trapped, helpless in some sticky snare, filled the tiny hall. Missy tried to be rational but nothing mattered except getting out of here. She heard herself whimper. She found the knob, turned it, yanked the door open and ran.

  * * *

  Claire had known that when grown-up adopted children wanted to meet, birth parents often refused contact. She had not known what it would feel like to enter, without permission, the house of people who do not want you in their lives. In the eyes of that beautiful birth mother had been horror. Then the handsome birth father—younger-looking than her dad; better kept, somehow—offered his hand for her to shake. It had been a mistake to touch him. Claire had been seized by some primitive fear. Like a little girl in an ancient twisted tale, she knew that the evil woodsman would close the door behind the wandering child and imprison her.

  Claire started to throw up. When she swallowed it down, the vomit seemed to enter her veins, and she felt its poison course through her body. She could taste the poison in her arms and legs and throat.

  She reached the little park. It was serene and silent. She felt safe but unclean. At least she could stop running. She let Genevieve catch up. How strange to watch herself running toward herself.

  All these years, she had not really seen much resemblance between herself and Missy. But between herself and Genevieve stood nothing. They were doubles. Claire flushed. “I’m sorry, Genevieve. I panicked. I know they’re your mother and father. I know you love them. But I had this awful sensation that if I stayed, I’d never get home.”

  “Let’s not cry,” said Genevieve, crying. “I’m sorry about my parents. I wish they were different, but they aren’t.”

  The girls walked on. They reached the train station. Signs said DEPARTURES and ARRIVALS. I’m both, thought Claire. I arrived at a truth I didn’t want; I’m departing with a sister I do want. She put her arms around Genevieve. “Thank you for running after me. Thank you for contacting us to start with. You said it was a matter of life and birth, but now that I’ve met you, I think maybe the real phrase fits. This really was a matter of life and death. We absolutely had to meet. Missy knew and I didn’t.”

  “I want to keep meeting. But my parents are who they are, Claire.”

  “Your parents gave me the best gift there is. I exist. And I ended up with the right parents for me. Missy has the right parents for her.” Claire did not pretend that Genevieve had the right parents. She was out of courteous closing statements. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to take a shower and wash those people away.

  * * *

  Ned sat down. Allegra sat down. They did not touch.

  “What do you call baby swans?” said Ned softly. “I forget the word. Anyway, the girls grew up without us. They’re swimming fine without us. They just live on another lake.”

  Allegra had no idea what he was talking about. “I’m not swimming. I’m drowning.”

  “Drowning in what?” he asked.

  She knew the answer Ned wanted: that she was drowning in regret. That she wished they had kept the other daughters. That the final daughter had not raced out of the house as if Ned and Allegra carried a communicable disease.

  But Allegra was drowning in wasted years. “We kept Vivi, Ned. But I didn’t love her enough or enjoy her enough or laugh with her enough or admire her enough. Ned, those other parents are coming. She’ll go with them. We’ll lose her. I can tell it’s going to happen. I deserve it. But I don’t want to lose her!”

  Ned jumped up. “Let’s go after Vivi.”

  “How can I face those other parents?”

  “Allegra, the adopting parents think you’re a goddess. You gave them each a beautiful daughter. We don’t have to worry about them. We have to worry about Vivi. Let’s hurry.”

  “We have nothing to offer!”

  “We can show up,” he said. “We haven’t done a whole lot of that.”

  What would she say to those parents? Because she couldn’t avoid them now. They had actually driven to Long Island already! She had said way too much to Vivi and it was impossible now to rewrite history. Allegra softened the edges of the decision in her mind, structuring phrases that would make it all ordinary and acceptable.

  She could pull it off with those parents. But what about Vivi? What could she say to Vivi?

  Hanging by the door to the garage was a photograph, enlarged, matted and framed, of little Genevieve with her beloved great-grandmother. The inherited traits o
f hair, eyes and chin were obvious. Vivi smiled at it whenever she entered the garage, which never failed to annoy Allegra. The photograph was a clue. “We’ll say what GeeGee always says. We’ll tell Vivi she’s our sweetness and light. Vivi loves that line.” I haven’t been paying attention to Vivi, Allegra thought. I’ve been going to parties. Fixing my face. Staring at my career. But Vivi is my sweetness and light.

  She flushed. Was she just mentally preparing a publicity release? Working on damage control?

  “Those girls and those parents will want Vivi to spend the rest of the weekend with them,” said Ned. “We have to be charming, and agree to it, and wave her off, and stay cheerful. That’s the kind of parent she needs.”

  For sixteen years, Allegra Candler had cheerfully waved good-bye and pretended this was the parent Vivi needed. “No,” she said to her husband. “We have to refuse. She can’t go.”

  “Are you crazy? What kind of strategy is that?”

  “We’ve thrown her away, as if we gave Vivi up for adoption, too. We have to bring her home, Ned.” And they’d have to talk. She knew that Vivi would prefer talking with her great-grandmother. Allegra dreaded telling old Genevieve about the decision she’d made years ago. Those terrible harsh eyes would judge her. When the older Genevieve showed her contempt, the younger Genevieve would follow suit. Allegra had to take the offensive. “We’ll drive to the nursing home. We’ll tell GeeGee everything. If we offer to visit GeeGee immediately, I think Vivi will stay with us instead of going with those others. At least for now.”

  Ned paled. “My grandmother will kill me when she finds out.”

  Allegra smiled at him. “She can’t move fast enough.” She took her husband’s hand. Their only hope in this scandal was their daughter. If Vivi stood by them, they might make it.

  In her car, she slid the keys into the ignition. She seriously considered driving away and starting a new life under a false name. I want to, she thought. But I can’t abandon Vivi. Although I have abandoned her. Year after year.

  How Allegra had resented GeeGee for taking Vivi’s heart.

  But I never offered my own, she thought. That’s all Vivi wants. My heart. My small, ungenerous heart.

  Allegra Candler prayed the first real prayer of her life. God, open my heart.

  * * *

  An immense SUV drew up at the New York–bound side of the train station. It was a big sprawling family car, the kind Genevieve’s parents sneered at. Doors flew open, and mothers and fathers leaped out. Missy and Claire received enough hugs and kisses from their parents that the girls might have been kidnapped and kept prisoner in a basement for weeks.

  And then Genevieve was lost in the embrace of Missy’s mother. Kitty Vianello enveloped her, saying how wonderful it was, what a miracle it was, how lucky that Genevieve’s friend had seen the video, how beautifully this was going to work out. How even though she was furious with Missy for the hoax, she was joyful that it had led to Genevieve.

  Genevieve had never been hugged like this. GeeGee was too frail and her own mother lacked enthusiasm.

  Missy’s mother traded her over to Claire’s. You would never have known that Kitty and Frannie were sisters. They didn’t act, look or sound alike.

  The dads weren’t as effusive. They didn’t hug as hard. They didn’t know where to look—at their own daughters, who were safe and sound, or at the other daughter. Not theirs, and yet the same.

  Then everybody had to take pictures. They posed like any family at any reunion. Then everybody had to laugh and hug again. Missy kept saying to her mother and father, “I’m so glad you’re my parents!” which Genevieve certainly understood. She yearned to be loyal and stand up for her own parents, but there was no defense for Ned and Allegra’s actions.

  It’s all about parents, thought Genevieve. Missy and Claire have learned a biological fact, but they’ll go on with their lives, which aren’t going to change. But I can’t unlearn what I’ve found out about my parents. My situation isn’t identical to theirs, even if my genes are. I don’t get another set of parents.

  “Can you come home with us for the rest of the weekend, Genevieve?” asked Claire’s mother, clapping with excitement and dancing in place. She must be the Jazzercise one, thought Genevieve. “We’d love to have you. There’s plenty of room for seven of us in the car.”

  “I’ll phone your mother and ask,” said Missy’s mother. “They’ll want to meet us before they let us take you away and I’m a little scared of meeting them, but of course I’m hoping to coax them to finish up the little eensy legalities we need. It won’t be any trouble for them. We’ll pay all the costs.”

  Genevieve felt as if she were standing in front of BB guns. Even though these grown-ups were throwing affection at her, it felt like steel pellets. It wounded her to see what her parents had done, to have to present excuses for them. “I think they might not be that eager to meet you. They’ve tried not to think about this for a long time. They won’t want to think about it anymore today.” Or ever, she thought. Missy and Claire will go home and talk and talk. I’ll go home and nobody will say a word.

  “If you want to spend the night,” said Missy, “you don’t even have to pack clothes.” Missy’s eyes were sparkling. “Everything I have will fit you perfectly.”

  “And be in the right colors,” said Claire.

  “Every Friday Claire and I have a sleepover,” said Missy. “We’ll have it tonight instead. I used to call them Claireovers.”

  “Have you girls eaten?” said Claire’s mother. “Let’s stop along the way and have a great meal to go with all this great news. Genevieve, are you a hamburger person? A spaghetti person? A salad person? Burrito? Help me out here.”

  The adoptive parents were adopting Genevieve. She could go back and forth, part of each family. Not only could she have another set of parents, she could have two more sets.

  “I want to have the first Gen-over,” said Claire. “My house is closer anyway.”

  The one who wasn’t even going to talk to me wants me to spend the night, thought Genevieve. She wants to name the sleepover for me. A Gen-over.

  It was like standing in front of a Thanksgiving buffet. All the best food, all the good china, all the gleaming silver—and you can eat all you want and come back for seconds, and dessert is yet to come. Six people, offering platters of love.

  “We’ll bring you home again on Sunday, of course, Genevieve,” added Claire’s father.

  Six people beamed at her. Two of the smiles were identical to her own. Genevieve felt a despair so great she thought she might collapse. To be loved the way Missy and Claire were loved—what would that be like?

  She felt the cool wind and the taste of autumn in the air. She smelled coffee from the kiosk down the platform. She felt tears burning the back of her eyes.

  If I go with these people, I will shred what’s left of my own family. When I come home after a weekend with my new sisters, my parents will have even thicker shells. I’ll be even more in their way. They’ll keep exchanging Dark Looks. We’ll speak in formal tones and they’ll dream of the day I leave for college.

  What do I want? The affection of excited strangers? Or the love of my parents? Not that I get a whole lot of love from them. I get a roof over my head and—

  Her mother’s car pulled up.

  Genevieve stared.

  Her mother got out of the driver’s seat. Her father, always the passenger, got out from the other side. They walked toward her. Her mother called, “Vivi?”

  Genevieve’s eyes blurred. To come here had taken courage and resolve. Ned and Allegra didn’t have much of those. This was huge. They had done it for her. They were going to meet the adoptive parents and admit the past. They weren’t going to hide.

  A sob escaped Genevieve.

  Her mother ran toward her. Genevieve could not remember when Mom had ever left Dad’s side to come to her. Genevieve held out her arms. It was extraordinary to comfort the woman who had never learned to give comfort.<
br />
  “Oh, Vivi, I got here in time,” said her mother. “You haven’t left yet.”

  Say it, Genevieve willed her. Say the three words. Say them out loud.

  But Allegra did not.

  Genevieve took the deepest breath of her life. It went from her toes to the sky. She would have to teach her parents. Could they learn? Did she have the energy? “I love you, Mom,” she said quietly.

  For a moment, Genevieve thought Allegra might ask for a definition. And then Allegra Candler swallowed and said, “I love you.”

  Her father took pictures of Genevieve and her mother. “We need pictures of everybody else, too,” he said. “I just called GeeGee. We’re going over there tonight. The three of us.”

  “You told her already?” Genevieve was aghast.

  “I told her we have something to celebrate,” said Ned. “I told her we’d be there shortly.”

  The three of them never visited GeeGee, no matter what there was to celebrate. GeeGee will think it’s a college discussion, thought Genevieve. She’ll expect them to ask for money. But they’ll ask for understanding and forgiveness. Way harder than money.

  What would the older Genevieve Candler do?

  All her life GeeGee had said to her, “It’s about choices, my darling girl. Every single moment is a choice. Will you be good or mediocre? Will you be kind or indifferent? Will you be generous or cold? Every choice is always yours. Never somebody else’s.”

  “Vivi,” whispered her mother, “the parents and the girls are waiting. I have to go up to them. I’m a little scared.”

  “It is scary. But they’re nice, Mom. And my sisters? They’re just like me.”

  Her mother struggled to smile. “They’re that wonderful?”

  The most uninvolved parents in New York State were trying to be involved at last? Ned and Allegra were weak. They were going to need a lot of help. Genevieve considered her choices. She could shut them out or take them in.

  Genevieve led her parents forward. She locked eyes with Claire and then with Missy. We’re about to find out, she thought, whether identical twin-triplet communication actually exists. Are we on the same wavelength? Will they know what I want? Will they give it to me?