I turn and face him. “I’m sorry Norah ruined everything.”
“No more mention of that, okay?” His tone is conclusive, but there’s something in his eyes that tells me he has more to say. Something even to ask me. But he doesn’t. Instead, he takes another pull of his cigar.
An hour later, I lie awake in bed struggling to sleep, trying not to think about what happened. I hear Vaughn clear his throat. “You’re still up?”
He rolls onto his side to face me. It’s dark and although I can barely see his face, I recognize the contours of a pained expression.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I wasn’t going to say anything…”
“Anything about what?”
“Your sister.”
“What about her? What else did she do?” I hold my breath. I can only imagine the scene she caused on her way out.
“Not what she did, it’s what she said.”
“What did she say?”
“When Cliff and I were putting her in the car…”
“What? What did she say? Tell me.”
“That you’re not who I think you are.”
My heart is in my throat. “Wha … what? She said that to you?”
He nods.
“What else? What else did she say?”
“That was it.”
He’s lying. There’s more. “That’s all she said?”
“Yeah, she was babbling a lot of mess, cursing me and Cliff for kicking her out and whatnot.”
“And what did you say?”
“Didn’t say anything. Just put her in the backseat and sent her on her way.”
I pray that the darkness is masking my distress. “You know I’m really starting to wonder if she has a drinking problem, I mean, who knows how much she’s drinking when she’s home alone. Ever since Ashley left for college, she’s been different. Sort of detached from reality.”
Vaughn doesn’t respond, instead stares at me as if he’s expecting a better explanation.
“I’m sorry you had to deal with her,” is all I can think to say.
After an uncomfortably long silence he sighs and rolls onto his back. He squeezes my thigh. “Let’s get some sleep. Love you.”
“Love you too. Goodnight,” I say, but it’s anything but a good night. My mind races non-stop until a sliver of sunlight finds its way through the blinds.
I know several things. The first is that Norah knows nothing. She doesn’t even know about Dylan, so there’s absolutely no way she can know about Morgan. I also know that Norah, for all of her faults, has never been malicious. Jealous yes, but not malicious. She’s often hinted that I wasn’t good enough for him but never said it out loud and definitely not to his face. I’ve always taken her shit, never allowed it to come between us because a part of me felt sorry for her but that pity is gone. What she said tonight was purposeful and hateful and sought to do exactly what it’s done. Cast a shadow of doubt on me, enough to cause Vaughn to lie awake and wonder.
FIVE
The rest of the weekend passed without incident. Vaughn made no further mention of Norah’s comment. In fact, we made no mention of her or the party again. It wasn’t until I returned home that I answered what was at least the fifth call from my mother.
The conversation went as expected. She shared her first-born’s version of the event. According to Norah, I’d called her a whore in front of everyone then shoved her into the bathroom while Vaughn assaulted her friend. (Sometime over the past few days Ari had been promoted from a party-crashing loser to her “friend”) I can tell my mother doesn’t believe Norah’s account, but she hesitates to admit my sister is a liar, then reminds me that we’re sisters, that we only have each other and need to make an effort to move past this. She goes on to say how fighting, regardless of who started it, is both unbecoming and beneath us, and if she had still been there would have been shamed into an early grave. I sit, removing my nail polish and flipping through a magazine as I listen to her theatrics. Her soft spot for Norah won’t allow her to admit she believes me. I make it clear, in no uncertain terms, that I’m done with Norah and nothing, short of a heartfelt, nearly groveling apology, will let me even consider forgiving her. It’s an apology I know I’ll never get, which makes it all the better, because now I won’t have to explain to my mother, or anyone else who has the nerve to ask, why I’m estranged from my only sister. In response to this, my mother breaks into crocodile tears. This too, I’ve seen and heard more times than I’d like to remember. What I want to ask her is if she ever told Norah anything about Dylan. She’s the only one who could have.
In a moment of weakness, I’d admitted my affair to my mother, hoping she would support what I was doing, tell me I wasn’t wrong and maybe even give me the push I needed back then to leave Vaughn. But what I got was a lecture on the sanctity of marriage. A speech I found ironic considering she was never married to my father. Not that he could have married her. According to the snippets I overheard as a child, my father left her shortly after Norah was born, and then married another woman. I’m guessing I’m the product of her attempt to win him back, or of her allowing him to dip in and out at his leisure. Whichever the case, I can’t help but look at my mother sideways. She told me that no marriage was perfect (as if she knew), that men were weak, and I needed to weigh the good verses the bad. And in my case, the good (the money and comfort) outweighed the bad (the infidelity) so I should stay and work through our issues. I tried to remind her that they weren’t our issues, they were Vaughn’s, and until he got that memo things would never change. I left her house deflated that day. More torn and at odds with my conscience than I was before. I knew I was taking a chance in telling her about Dylan. I’d hoped the light that flickered in my eyes when I spoke his name would supersede her self-serving opinions. And that for once she’d support a decision that made me happy. But she didn’t. And I was twice the fool, because not only did she call me an idiot for ruining the best thing that ever happened to me, but now she knew my secret. We never spoke of Dylan again. Only once did she ask me, months later, if I’d handled what she referred to as, “that situation.” I told her that I had, but what she didn't know was that by then I was carrying her grandchild—Dylan’s daughter.
My chance meeting with Dylan, a college professor I met at work, changed everything. It sent my life reeling; first I reveled in the knowledge that I was beating Vaughn at his own game, even if he didn’t know. Then it became more. I fell in love. I’d been just about to ready to leave Vaughn. To walk away from the only life I’d known since I was nineteen, so that I could be with Dylan. That was until Vaughn had a change of heart. He revealed things about his childhood that I hadn’t known. He showed me a vulnerable side of himself that I’d never seen, and I agreed to give my marriage a second chance.
The delicate issue of my pregnancy complicated matters, but I knew two things for certain. One—after all of my previous miscarriages, nothing was going to prevent me from moving forward with my pregnancy, and two—Vaughn would never accept my infidelity, let alone a child resulting from it. So, armed with this knowledge I made the only decision I could. I allowed Vaughn to believe Morgan was his.
I won’t ask my mother now, on the phone, if she told Norah. It’s best we discuss it in person, so I can read her eyes. I tell her I’ll bring Morgan by on the weekend, which satisfies her enough to drop all talk of the fight.
*****
It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m holding Morgan’s hand as she negotiates the flagstone pathway leading to my mother’s front door. My attempt to carry her was rebuffed. We both stumble a bit. She, because she’s got wobbly baby legs, and I, because my heels keep slipping between the grooves of the stones. My mom swings the front door open and comes bounding down her front three steps in a pair of slippers. She swoops Morgan up in her arms and plasters her tiny face with kisses.
“My grandbaby. Look at you! Oh my, you’re getting so heavy.”
I trail behind them and p
lant both Morgan’s and my bags on an armchair in the foyer. After all the pleasantries have been exchanged and Morgan has sampled her grandma’s famous cookies-and-cream cupcakes, I slide on my game face. I urge my daughter into the family room stocked with an armful of toys and the company of my mom’s cock-a-poo.
She and I are standing on opposite sides of the kitchen island. “Mom, I need to talk to you.”
“Mm hmm.” She grabs a short stack of envelopes and starts shuffling through them.
“Mom.”
“This is ridiculous,” she says. “How do they expect people to live. Every year, they want more and more.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This.” She tosses her electricity bill on the counter. “And you should see my heating bill. This winter’s been so cold, it’s killing me. Plus my property taxes are going up.”
She’s waiting for me to ask how much, but I won’t. I have trouble sympathizing with her financial woes seeing as how this house is paid for. A mother’s day gift from Vaughn six years ago. All she has to do is pay the taxes, maintain the property and pay utilities. Not a bad deal if you ask me.
“Well, maybe it was that extension you built.”
“No. That little thing? That can’t be it.”
The little thing she’s referring to is the twelve-by-twelve room she added to the side of her house to accommodate the latest hobby of her boyfriend, Kenny. He insisted that he didn’t have enough space in his apartment for his model train collection, so she had the room built. Three months later he lost interest and began trading baseball cards. The room is now storage.
“I think that’s the way it works, Mom. When you add onto your property, they increase your taxes.”
She flicks her hand, dismissing my theory. “Anyway, what is it you wanted to talk about?”
I recollect my thoughts as she shuffles through more papers.
“Can you sit down, please?”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Can you just stop that for a second?”
She stacks the envelopes then rests them down. “Is this about you and your sister? If it is, I said it before and I’ll say it again—”
“It’s not about that.”
“Then what? What’s wrong?”
“You remember a couple of years ago … before I had Morgan? When I came over here upset…”
She looks at me blankly.
“… to talk to you about me and Vaughn?”
She smirks. “Which time? There were so many.”
“The last time.” That was, in fact, the last time I ever discussed my marital issues with her.
She looks up and away as if the answer is woven into the pattern of her fancy wallpaper. “What are you getting at, Blair?”
“Remember when I told you about … that man I’d met?”
She sighs. “Yes. Yes, I remember. What about it?”
“Did you ever tell anyone about our conversation? Ever repeat what I told you?”
“Never. I can’t believe you even have to ask me that.”
“Are you sure?”
“What do you mean, ‘Am I sure?’ I’m not senile—not yet anyway. Why are you asking me this?”
I study her face. Her brown eyes dart from side to side before she steadies them and stares directly at me. “Are you accusing me of telling people your personal business? I’m your mother.” Her hand is planted over her heart for added effect. “I would never betray one of my children. How could you think I would?”
“It was just a question.”
“It’s not just a question. It was an accusation.”
“It was just a question.”
“Did you sleep with that man?”
“No.”
“Blair?”
“I said, no. We had dinner a few times, that’s all.”
“Just dinner?”
“Yes.”
She squints at me. “And nothing else?”
“No.”
“You’re lying. I can tell. What else?”
“A kiss, that’s it.”
“That’s it? That’s enough.”
“Mom, it was nothing. Vaughn and I were going through a rough patch. It was nothing. Look, forget I said anything.”
“So, why are you bringing this up now?” Horror flashes across her face. “Did Vaughn find out? God, Blair, I told you that you were playing with fire!”
“No. No, he hasn’t. I just needed to know if you repeated it to anyone.”
“Are you sure he doesn’t know?”
I nod.
“How do you know for sure? ‘Cause if he ever did—”
“Mom, Vaughn and I are fine. Our marriage is fine. Don’t you worry. Everything is just fine.”
She stares at me cautiously. I can tell she has a list of questions and concerns but decides against pushing the matter. This will keep her up at night, that’s for sure. I change the subject, but it does little to remove the line creasing across her forehead.
SIX
“Good afternoon. Welcome. My name is Mindy, and I’ll be your server.”
My mother and I smile warmly at the petite brunette as she lays out two oversized menus before us. She reaches for the third place setting. “I’ll just get these out of your way.”
“Oh, no. We’re expecting one more,” my mother says.
One more? “Just who are we expecting?” I ask, hoping she didn’t invite Kenny to join us.
A sheepish grin crosses her face.
“Who?” I repeat.
But she need not answer. I look up towards the entrance, and there is my sister. I watch Norah scan the dining room then approach our table. She silently slides into the booth beside my mother without so much as a word to me.
I feel the heat rising in my chest. When my mom invited me to brunch I should have known there was an ulterior motive, especially when she gently suggested I leave Morgan at home. My first thought was that it had something to do with our last conversation. She’s been calling the house a lot lately and even dropped by unannounced saying she had some new clothes for Morgan. Then she offered to babysit so Vaughn and I could have a “date night.” She didn’t believe me when I told her that we were fine. She needed to see for herself. A small part of me was hopeful that today’s invitation had more to do with us spending some quality time together. But I push aside my disappointment. I should have known better.
Norah removes her jacket revealing her purple scrubs.
My mother hands her a menu. “Didn’t know you were working today.”
“The new LPN starts today. Dr. Wallach needs me to train her.”
I’m still awed at Norah’s dual personas. There’s the responsible daytime her, who practically runs the pathology office she works at. Then there’s the after-hours party girl, who spends her evenings on the bar scene—the quintessential “old chick at the club.”
My mother lays a cloth napkin across her lap. “And why are you shaking your head like that?”
Norah studies her menu, avoiding my eyes.
“Because,” I say. “I don’t appreciate being ambushed.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” my mother says. “Nobody’s ambushing you.”
“I already told you. I told you specifically that I’m done with her.”
“You don’t mean that. She’s your sister.”
“Sisters don’t attack each other. Sisters don’t embarrass each other and ruin each other’s birthdays. That’s not what “sisters” do.” I direct my last statement at Norah, who still won’t look at me.
My mother goes on, “Blair, we’re family. Family has its ups and downs but—”
“But nothing!”
“Lower your voice. Now, she was wrong. She never should have put her hands on you. Neither of you should have, but we can’t go back in time.”
“She slapped me first!” Norah exclaims.
“Oh, now you remember shit?”
“Girls!” My mother looks from Norah to
me and back to Norah. “All we can do is move forward from here.”
“And that’s exactly what I plan to do,” I say then bury my nose in my menu.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” my mother asks. “Don’t blow this out of proportion.”
“Out of proportion? Do you see my face?” I sweep aside my bangs revealing a tiny scar on my forehead. Then I push aside my collar to show the scratches on my shoulder. “Do you see what your daughter did?”
Norah slides up her sunglasses. “And do you see what you did to my face?” A purple-tinged ring lines the bottom half of her eye.
Our server returns. Both Norah and I rattle off simple orders. My mother takes her sweet time to reopen her menu and ask Mindy if she recommends the spinach frittatas. As soon as Mindy leaves, my mother casually turns back to us as if we’d just been swapping recipes. “Now, where were we?”
“Listen, I’m going to sit here and eat my breakfast, but let it be known that this is the last time the three of us are going to be in the same space.”
“You’re being irrational and you know it,” my mother says.
“Do you really think some orange juice and french toast is going to make everything okay?”
“Blair, how can you be so rigid? You have so much to be happy about. So much good in your life, and Norah’s always had it hard. Be a little sensitive.”
“Sensitive? You want me to be sensitive?” I can’t believe I’m here again, pleading my case to my mother. Only this time we’re not arguing over the remote control or a missing earring. “When does it end, Mom? When does Norah start becoming accountable for Norah? We all have our crosses to bear, but somehow when it comes to her, the rules don’t apply. I’m sick of this shit.”
“Watch your mouth. Your sister wants to apologize…”
“Then why doesn’t she apologize? Better yet, why hasn’t she apologized yet?”
“Blair, I wanted to call you but…”
“But what? C’mon man. You’re full of excuses. You’re only saying it now because of her. You don’t mean it.”
A Delicate Truth Page 4