by Marti Green
“We were already friends then, me and Sasha. At first, she didn’t tell me. She was too ashamed, but after a week, she did. My parents took them both in. We lived in a one-bedroom apartment ourselves. My father had turned the dining room into a small bedroom for me, and Sasha shared my bed. Millie slept on the couch.”
Tyler began squirming on my lap, and I hugged him tighter.
“When the cast finally came off and your grandmother could go back to cleaning houses, they stayed another month, so Millie could save enough money for her own apartment. She promised my mother that she’d clean our apartment for free every week for two years, and she kept her word, even though it meant turning down another job for that time period. So, you see, she just didn’t want that kind of life for her daughter. Living hand to mouth.”
“Kicking her out almost guaranteed that would happen to my mother.”
Lauren’s face took on a grave expression. “Millie thought that if she threw Sasha out, then she would learn that she couldn’t take care of herself, much less a child, and realize that she needed to give the baby up for adoption.”
“But that didn’t happen.”
“No. Instead, Sasha dropped out of school and fled Allentown. She arrived in Scranton with less than a hundred dollars that she’d saved over the years. She found a room for rent in someone’s home and then started doing the only thing she knew—cleaning houses, just like her mother. She saved every spare penny so that when she gave birth, she could stop working for a month.”
“Mommy, I sleepy.”
Tyler had finished his milk and held up his arms. Lauren picked him up from my lap. “I’ll just be a few minutes. He falls back asleep quickly.”
Lauren left to bring him to his bedroom while I digested everything I’d just learned. My mother had never told me any of this. I slumped down in my chair and stared at my hands. The ache in my chest deepened, and I struggled to hold back tears. After a minute or two, I realized that I still didn’t have an answer to the question I’d come here for.
When Lauren returned, I asked, “Do I have a twin sister?”
Lauren turned her head away from me, and she squeezed her lips together.
“Tell me.”
She looked back at me. “She never went to a doctor. She had no money. When she went into labor, I drove from Allentown and met her at the hospital. She hadn’t realized the stomach discomfort she’d been experiencing all day was actually labor pains, and so by the time I got there, they rushed her to the delivery room. They didn’t even have time to do a sonogram, and so she didn’t know she was having twins until your sister was born.”
So, it was true. I had a sister. A twin sister. I opened my mouth, but no words came out.
“Sasha never wanted to give her baby up. But she knew she couldn’t handle two. It was all too overwhelming for her. When the social worker came by, your mom agreed to let one be adopted. The social worker tried to convince her to give up both—they were identical twins; they should stay together, she said. Your mom was barely seventeen and lived in one room, but she was adamant. She wanted her baby.”
My head spun. I wondered if I should feel angry at my mother for giving away my sister, for never telling me about her, but all I felt was great sadness. Sadness for what my mother must have gone through in making that decision. What she must have gone through all those years not knowing where her other daughter was, and how she had fared. How every time she looked at me, she had to have been reminded of her other child. I thought of those times I’d catch my mother staring at me with an odd look, until I’d turn and demand, “What!” with an edge in my voice. I understood now that at those times, she was thinking about my sister.
“How did she choose me?”
“You were the first,” Lauren said. “Your sister was born two minutes later.”
Two minutes. That was the difference between a childhood spent in poverty or one lavished with wealth.
CHAPTER 10
Ben could barely contain his excitement after he’d hung up the phone. Mallory had discovered last night that her mother had given birth to identical twin girls and turned one over for adoption. He’d wait, of course, until the DNA results confirmed what he now knew was a certainty. His wife, Charlotte Gordon, had an identical twin sister no one else knew about. He’d put Mallory off contacting Charly right away, saying she was too absorbed with her father’s health right now. That was true, actually. The old man was going to croak—within the next few months, if his doctor was to be believed. Ben wished he could tap into some sympathy for the guy, but the truth was, he hated the man.
He turned back to his computer but had difficulty concentrating. Rick hadn’t been in the office since his diagnosis, and that was good. When he was around, it felt claustrophobic, as though Rick’s presence down the hall somehow crowded Ben’s own space. He’d taken off early last night to spend the evening with Lisa and hadn’t had to worry that his father-in-law would report it to Charly. That felt good, also. Charly had rearranged the gallery hours, closing early on Tuesdays now. Her assistant had agreed to cover for her on the Thursday and Friday late nights so Charly could spend each evening with her father.
When Mallory Holcolm had left his townhouse last week, the seed of a plan had begun to germinate. Over the past few days, he’d thought about almost nothing else. He was convinced it could work, but first, he’d have to persuade Mallory. That wouldn’t be easy, he realized. Without knowing very much about her, he suspected she’d be shocked by his proposal. Still, he could tell she was impressed by their home, by the money it represented. She’d grown up poor; that much he knew. That was the card he needed to play with her. That, and how her twin sister had been raised to become a cruel and unlikable person. An unworthy person. Yes, his plan could work. It had to work.
Ben looked once more at his computer screen. The numbers all seemed jumbled together. He rubbed the back of his neck, then stood up. I need some java to clear my head. He left his airless interior office, and as he walked to the coffee room, he passed Rick’s large, windowed corner office. He smiled to himself. If things went as planned, by next year that office would be his.
CHAPTER 11
I’d been in a daze ever since I’d learned I had a sister. Over the years, I’d read accounts of identical twins who shared such a strong bond that when one got hurt, the other felt it. Or twins who’d been separated at birth and always felt something was missing. None of that was true for me. I’d never had any inkling that there was someone in the world I’d shared a womb with, someone whose DNA matched mine.
Every few days, I checked in with Ben. “Do you think I can meet Charly now?” was always my opening question. Each time he’d answer, “Not yet.” This morning was the third time I’d called.
“Don’t you think she’d want to know she has a sister?” I asked, hoping he’d pick up on the frustration in my voice.
“Look, you don’t know Charly at all.”
“Of course I don’t. That’s the whole point of wanting to meet her.”
“She goes straight from the gallery to her father’s apartment each evening. Doesn’t get home until close to eleven.”
“What about at the gallery? I could stop in there?”
Ben laughed loudly. “Oh, that would be a treat. I’d pay to see that.”
“Why?”
“She’s generally tense all the time now, with her father dying. But ratchet that up ten times when she’s at work. Then her true colors come out. Unless she’s with a client.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, you’re going to discover this on your own, when you finally get to meet her. She’s not a very nice person.”
I was stunned. This was her husband, talking about his wife. They couldn’t have been married very long—certainly less than seven years. Shouldn’t they still be in the honeymoon phase? All goo-goo eyes and lovey-dovey with each other? Granted, I didn’t have much experience with married couples, having been raised by a si
ngle mother and without close friends whose parents I could observe. But certainly love had to last longer than seven years. Or had I been reading too many romance novels?
“We’re identical twins. Shouldn’t we be alike?”
“Maybe if you were raised together. But Charly was brought up as a princess whose every wish was granted. She means the world to her father. He always doted on her, but especially so after her mother died.”
“Her mother’s dead?”
“Yeah. When Charly was nine, her mother was hit by a drunk driver. Died instantly.”
“How awful.”
“Don’t pity her too much. She’s used to getting everything she wants, when she wants it, and has no patience for anything—or anyone—who doesn’t provide that. Her assistant at the gallery is terrified of her. She probably won’t last. None of them do. In the three years she’s had the gallery, she’s gone through four assistants.”
Is that what money does? I wondered. I knew what not having money did. It meant wearing clothes long after they were outgrown, never having enough to eat, always wanting what other kids had but never getting it. It meant having a mother who was never home when I returned from school and starting a part-time job as soon as I turned fourteen. It meant living in a roach-filled apartment that stopped me from ever getting out of my bed in the middle of the night for fear of what I might find crawling around in the dark. Despite those deprivations, I couldn’t imagine not being courteous to people I worked with. How could money change that?
“It’s hard for me to believe she’s like that.”
“You’ll find out soon enough.” He paused for a beat. “Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be rich?”
I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. Never once had I imagined that. My fantasy was for fame as an artist, and sufficient money to have my own apartment, one with enough space for a studio. That’s what luxury was for me. “No. Not once.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew that wasn’t entirely true. As a child, I’d often dreamed of what it would be like to own the clothes my schoolmates wore, to have the tech gadgets that they possessed, to be able to travel to the ocean, or Disney World. By the time I entered high school, I’d buried those dreams. They were for other people. Instead, I focused on what I hoped was achievable.
“That’s all Charly thinks about. Accumulating as much money as she possibly can. She loves her father, but she’s already talking about how much she’ll inherit when he’s gone.”
I shook my head. I hated the picture he was painting of my sister. But . . . she was still my blood. The only relative I had.
Two days later I called again, and was again put off from contacting Charly. I was starting to wonder if there was another reason Ben didn’t want me to see her, so I asked him.
“Of course not. I just don’t want to increase her stress level.”
“But wouldn’t she think it’s a good thing to find out about me?”
“I know my wife. Her first thought will be to wonder if you’ll try to get some of her money.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“But that’s what she’ll think. And then she’ll stress over it.”
It was almost funny. I had nothing, yet Ben painted such an unflattering picture of Charly that I began to feel sorry for him, who had so much more.
When I’d called Ben this morning, he’d said he had something important to tell me and suggested we meet for lunch. It was a Monday, and because I needed to be in the city for my art class, I offered to meet him somewhere near his office. Instead, he wanted to come out to Queens, so I met him at a diner near The Dump. It looked like every other diner in the Northeast—a long rectangle, with an extra room added toward the rear of one side forming an L shape. Its large and varied menu kept it busy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
Ben was already waiting for me when I arrived. Although I’d only met him in person once, I felt like I knew him after several phone conversations. “How’s my sister doing?” I asked as soon as I sat down.
“You’re not going to like this, Mallory. I finally told her last night about you. She doesn’t want to meet you.”
“What! What did you say about me?”
“Just that you’d recently discovered she was your twin and wanted to get to know her. She asked me what you were like, and I told her you seemed very nice and genuine. She wanted to know what your family was like, and, well, I had to be honest. I told her you’d grown up poor. Were still poor. Just as I’d feared, right away she started saying that you probably think you struck gold having a rich sister. I told her you weren’t like that, but she was adamant. I’m sorry.”
I was stunned. How could she not want to know her identical twin? I felt my chest tighten up and knew, if I spoke, my voice would be choked, and so said nothing.
“She’s a bitch!”
My mouth dropped open, shocked at Ben’s outburst.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt that out. It’s just . . . the poor guy’s not even dead yet, and she keeps talking about her inheritance. And then she shuts you out in case you wanted some of it. Frankly, if you were my sister and I had as much money as Charly, I’d want you to have some of it. Enough at least to make your life a little more comfortable.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just shook my head.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to burden you with this. It’s just . . . you seem so different from her. Softer, somehow. Charly’s always had a mean streak, but it’s gotten worse over the years. She’s not like you. She’s selfish and a bully. She takes pleasure in humiliating me in front of our friends. I can’t count the number of times she’s told them I would be a civil servant if her father hadn’t given me a job.” Ben’s face began to redden. “That’s so not true. I would have gone to law school. I would have had a career I enjoyed if she hadn’t pushed me into her father’s company.”
I put my hand on Ben’s arm. “I’m sorry. If she’s so terrible, why don’t you get a divorce?”
“Because her father would fire me, and I’d have nothing. I signed a prenup.”
I couldn’t help but think that his was the problem of the wealthy. When you don’t have money, you don’t care about prenuptial agreements. If the marriage goes sour, the parties split whatever they have and move on.
Just then, the waiter came to take our order. I was glad for the interruption. When he left, Ben bent forward on the table and leaned his chin into his hands. “Charly’s very smart, so you must be, too. It had to hurt you, not to go on with your education.”
Of course it hurt. I’d wanted desperately to study art. I’d watched my fellow high school seniors—even those who hadn’t had grades nearly as good as mine—head off to college while I stayed back home, working sixty hours a week. I’d tried not to be angry at my mother for her illness—most of the time, I understood the feeling was irrational—but sometimes it was too hard to hold back my resentment. At those moments, I’d snap at her and say, “You think I ruined your life? Well, you’re ruining mine!” Now, with the new information Lauren had given me about my mother’s life, I wished I could take those words back, tell her that I loved her, how she was more important than art. But that pain I now carried was mine. It wasn’t something to share with Ben.
“I care about art, about painting. I’m taking classes now. That’s what matters. Not the past.”
“Still, if you were the one who was born two minutes later, you could have had anything you wanted. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”
Did it? I’d thought about that a lot over the past few weeks. Our mother had chosen one of two identical babies to raise as her own. Growing up, I was often on my own while my mother worked to pay the bills. Other girls my age would go to each other’s houses after school, but I could never have someone back to my house, because no parent was there to supervise. And because of that, I didn’t go to their homes. Other girls would join clubs after school, or go to gymnastics or swimming or Girl Scouts or anything else they
wanted. I always had to head straight home. I was lonely growing up. But that experience helped me endure my current, self-imposed, solitary life.
If my mother had chosen Charly, I would have had two parents who loved me. I would have had friends and clubs and my choice of colleges. I would have my own art gallery and rub shoulders with the most accomplished artists. Maybe one would have taken me under her wing, mentored me. I would never have to worry about paying my bills. I wouldn’t be living in The Dump.
My reverie was broken by our waiter bringing our meals.
“So, anyway,” Ben said, “I also wanted to tell you the DNA results have come back. You and Charly are definitely identical twins.”
“That’s no surprise.” As soon as Lauren had shared my mother’s story, I’d known.
“Well, it’s clear you were twins. But sometimes same-gender fraternal twins can look very similar. So, the DNA confirms you’re identical.”
“Does Charly know that?”
“She does.”
“And she still doesn’t want to meet me?”
Ben just shook his head.
The sadness I’d felt just moments ago began to turn to anger. I folded my arms across my chest and tried to calm down.
We finished our lunch in relative silence. I kept thinking about Charly and what Ben had said about her. I knew that studies had shown some personality differences between identical twins, but how could they be so dramatic? I’d never thought much about money because I didn’t have any. Maybe it was different for someone who grew up wealthy. Maybe money was always on their minds. Much as I tried to square Ben’s description of Charly with my own sense of myself, it just didn’t add up. I couldn’t ever see myself caring about how much I would inherit from a parent I loved as he lay dying. And I would never cut off a sister because I feared she wanted my money. I wondered if that’s why Charly had never searched for her mother. Was she worried that her birth mother was poor and would look upon Charly’s wealth as a gold mine to tap?