by Peg Kehret
“You let me know if you find your twin,” Connie said. “I always liked Loretta. She made the best banana bread.”
I rode back to the main part of town to get something to eat. While I ate, I marked the addresses for the two A. Andersons on my map. One was only eight blocks away; the other was a couple of miles east of town.
I tried the closer house first. When I rang the bell, a chorus of barking dogs erupted. They yipped and yapped so loudly that I didn’t hear the door click. A young man with purple spiked hair put his foot in the door to keep a pack of Chihuahuas from rushing out.
“Stay back!” he said. “No barking!” The dogs kept yapping.
The heavy silver chains around the man’s neck clinked as he edged out the door. He kept it cracked open, and the dogs pressed their noses to the crack, sniffing and barking.
“I’m looking for Al and Becky Anderson,” I said.
“Not here.”
“Are you Mr. Anderson?”
“I am, but my name isn’t Al. It’s Aaron.”
“Sorry to have bothered you,” I said.
He used his foot to shove the dogs back so that he could go inside. The door closed, but the barking continued.
I rode to the other address, hoping I was not nearing a dead end in my search. If this was not the right Anderson, what would I do next? How would I find Starr?
As I pedaled along, the homes I passed became bigger. Most had three-car garages and large lots. The address, when I found it, was a big white house with green shutters. Window boxes bloomed with pink geraniums and the lush green lawn made me want to walk barefoot on it. It was the kind of house you see on the cover of a magazine. While I sat on my bike, looking at the house, a young boy rode by on a scooter.
“Hi,” I said. “Do you live around here?”
He stopped. “I live on the corner.”
“I’m looking for the Anderson family,” I told him. “Do you know if this is where they live?”
“That’s it,” he said.
“Do they have any kids?”
“Nope. No kids.”
I tried to swallow my disappointment. This wasn’t the right Anderson, either.
“They have a teenager, though,” the boy said. “She babysits me sometimes.”
A teenager! My scalp tingled as I asked, “What’s her name?”
“Starr.”
I could barely breathe. This was Starr’s home. I had found her! I felt like shouting to the skies, I found her! I found my twin sister! but I tried to stay calm. I didn’t want this little kid to be the first to know who I was. I wanted Starr to be first.
The boy pushed off on his scooter, rode down the street, and turned into the driveway of the corner house.
Suddenly I was aware of how scruffy I looked. Maybe I should get cleaned up before I went to the door. I wanted Starr’s first impression of me to be favorable. I sat on my bike and debated. One part of me wanted to rush to the door and another part of me didn’t. I realized my hesitation had nothing to do with my appearance. I was frightened. I felt the way I had the one time I had been in a school play, just before I went on stage—nervous, afraid I’d make a mistake, scared the audience wouldn’t like me.
I had dreamed of my reunion with Starr for so long. In my dreams, it was always the same. I told her my name, she gasped and flung her arms around me. We cried tears of joy and swore we would never again be separated. Never!
Starr won’t care what I’m wearing, I told myself. She’ll be so glad to see me that nothing else will matter. I got off my bike and started up the curved brick path that led to Starr’s front door.
16
I approached the house slowly. A honeysuckle twined around a trellis near the door, and I paused to inhale the sweet scent. After imagining this moment for so many years, now that it was here I wanted to savor it. It was really happening at last; I was about to be reunited with Starr.
My heart beat faster as I rang the doorbell.
A girl my age opened it. My eyes swept over her, noting the similarities. She had the same oval face as I have, the same dimple in the left cheek. Her hair was the color mine had been until I dyed it. It was Starr!
I could barely speak over the lump in my throat. Finally I managed to whisper, “Hi, Starr. I’m Sunny.”
She raised her eyebrows, looking quizzical. “Who?” she said.
“I’m Sunny,” I repeated.
She still looked blank.
“Your twin sister.”
“You have the wrong house,” she replied. “I don’t have a sister.” She started to close the door.
“Wait!” I said. “You were born on April tenth, right? And your mom was killed in a car accident when you were three.”
A voice from behind Starr said, “Who is it, honey?”
“You’d better come,” she said. “It’s some girl claiming she’s my sister.”
A blond woman wearing a blue sweatsuit appeared behind Starr. She gasped when she saw me. Even with my dark hair, I could tell she saw the resemblance.
“Are you Becky Anderson?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Sunny Skyland,” I said. “I’m Starr’s twin sister.”
“I told her she has the wrong address, that I don’t have a sister,” Starr said. “You tell her, Mom. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”
The woman said, “I’m Starr’s mother. Her adoptive mother. Come in, Sunny. We need to talk.”
Starr gaped as her mother held the door for me.
Mrs. Anderson sat in an overstuffed chair, and motioned for me to sit, too. I chose the sofa. Starr remained standing.
“As you can see,” Mrs. Anderson said, “this is something of a shock to us.”
“Mother!” Starr said. “Are you saying I do have a sister? I’m a twin?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Anderson said. “When your mother was killed, you and Sunny were separated. We got you, and Sunny went to your grandmother’s sister.” She looked at me. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” I said. “She didn’t keep me, though.”
“She didn’t?” Mrs. Anderson seemed stunned by that news. “But she loved you! She loved both of you. She wept when she signed the document that allowed us to adopt Starr. She only did it because she knew she couldn’t possibly cope with two young children.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Starr said. She looked furious. Instead of being thrilled to find me again, she was angry at her mother for having kept me a secret.
“Your dad and I did not intend to deceive you,” Mrs. Anderson said. “At first we had planned to arrange visits so that you girls would remain close, but you never talked about your twin. You never wondered where Sunny was, or said you missed her. If you had asked about your sister we would have tried to contact her, but you never once mentioned Sunny. As the months went by, it seemed best for us not to bring up the subject, either. You were happy; you had adjusted well. You didn’t seem to miss your family, or your old life. We were afraid if we talked about your past, about your mother and your grandma and your sister, it would only stir up your grief.”
The words hurt terribly. During those times when I had cried myself to sleep every night, missing Starr, she had not even asked where I was.
Mrs. Anderson continued, “We never heard from your great-aunt Cora, so we assumed she had made the same decision about not keeping in touch. After your adoption was final, and your last name was the same as ours, we decided to let the past be forgotten.”
Starr sank into a chair, looking shocked.
Mrs. Anderson turned to me. “If your great-aunt didn’t keep you, Sunny, where have you been?” she asked. “Who raised you?”
“First I went to live with her son, but he abandoned me. Since then I’ve been in a series of foster homes.”
Starr stared at me as if I’d said I’d been living on Mars.
“Oh, my,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Oh, that’s terrible! We wanted both of you. At the time, I said it didn’t seem rig
ht to separate twins, but everyone felt you should stay with a blood relative, if possible, and Cora swore she wanted one of you but couldn’t handle both of you.” She stood suddenly and told Starr, “I need to call your father.”
“By all means,” Starr said. “Let’s hear what Daddy’s excuse is for not telling me the truth all these years.”
Mrs. Anderson clamped her lips together, clearly stung by her daughter’s words. Then, without replying, she went to the phone and dialed. “Al?” she said. “Can you come home? Starr’s sister just showed up.”
They talked briefly while I looked at Starr and she looked at the floor.
“He’s on his way,” Mrs. Anderson said, after she hung up. She returned to her chair. “You say you’ve been in foster care,” she said to me. “Here in Enumclaw?”
“In Nebraska.”
“Nebraska! You’ve been living in Nebraska?”
“Yes. Great-aunt Cora’s son took me along when he moved there.”
“Who brought you here?” She looked out the window, as if expecting to see a car waiting for me out front.
“I came alone. Mostly I took the bus. A cab driver helped me. I walked a lot.”
“Your foster parents let you take off across the country all by yourself?”
I hesitated. Should I tell the truth? I didn’t want to begin my new life with Starr by telling lies. “My foster mom didn’t know I was going,” I said. “She doesn’t know about my sister.”
“You ran away?” Starr said.
“I had to find you,” I said. “All these years, I’ve thought about you every day. When I finally had enough money to travel, I knew I had to look for you.”
“But how did you know where to look?” Mrs. Anderson asked. “Starr has our last name now, and we moved years ago.”
I handed her the picture. “It says Enumclaw, Washington, on the back,” I said, “and you can see a house number. I decided the best way to find Starr would be to come to Enumclaw and see if I could find the house that’s in the picture, so that’s what I did. I hoped some of the neighbors might remember Mama and Grandma and us. One neighbor did remember; she told me your name.”
“I’ll bet it was Mrs. Polson,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Connie Polson lives across the street from where you girls used to live. She is a big snoop, always watching everyone in the neighborhood. She’s lived in the same house for decades.”
“That’s right,” I said. “Connie Polson told me you took Starr, and I found your address in the telephone directory.”
“So some old woman knows I have a twin sister?” Starr stood and began pacing around the room. “She knew all this time, but I didn’t! She’s probably told half the town. Everyone knows my background except me!”
Before Mrs. Anderson could answer, a man in a business suit rushed in. He stopped when he saw me. “Hello, Sunny,” he said. “I’m Al Anderson, Starr’s dad.”
I stood, and we shook hands. Then he wrapped his arms around me and gave me a hug.
“Except for the hair color,” Mrs. Anderson said, “she’s a mirror image of Starr.”
“She is not!” Starr declared. “How can you say that? She doesn’t look anything at all like me. We probably aren’t even related. Where’s the proof?”
“She has a picture of the two of you, with your grandmother,” Mrs. Anderson pointed out.
“That doesn’t prove anything. Anyone could find an old photograph and pretend it was their own. She’s probably an imposter who wants to con you out of your money.”
“Calm down, Starr,” Mr. Anderson said.
I couldn’t believe how angry Starr was. I understood why she felt deceived at not knowing about me, but she must realize the secret had been kept with the best of intentions. If anyone had a right to be angry, it was me. Here were the Andersons, who seemed like nice people, telling me that they had wanted to adopt me. Instead of living with She-Who and the Boss of the World, I could have been here, with Starr. All these years, I could have been loved.
What bothered me the most, though, was that Starr apparently did not remember me. How could she forget the experiences that I cherished?
“If you’re my sister,” Starr said, “prove it.”
“Our grandma was Loretta Skyland,” I said, “and our mother’s name was Marie Skyland.”
“You could learn that from public records, or from an old obituary notice,” Starr said. “Tell us something that isn’t available in print or online.”
“We used to play house,” I told her. “We had white wicker doll buggies and we pretended that our dolls were twins, the same as we were.”
“I remember those buggies!” Mrs. Anderson said. “Loretta used to let you push them around the neighborhood, while she sat on the porch and watched.”
Starr’s expression changed. I suspected she did remember pushing our dolls in the wicker buggies.
“Do you remember our song?” I asked. I sang, “Twinkie, Twinkie, little star.”
“It’s twinkle, twinkle,” Starr said, “not Twinkie, Twinkie.”
“Not in our version.” I stared at her. “You don’t remember eating Twinkies and watching the stars come out?”
“No.”
“We were in lawn chairs in the backyard. I was in Grandma’s lap and you were in Mama’s. We had blankets tucked around us and I remember feeling snug and safe.” Again, I thought I saw a flicker of remembrance in Starr’s eyes.
“I ate my Twinkie,” I said, “while Mama sang, Twinkie, Twinkie, little star.”
“I don’t like Twinkies,” Starr said. “They’re too sweet.”
“You don’t remember any of it?” I asked.
“No, and I’m not convinced you do, either. Maybe you’re making all this up.”
I felt as if a dark shade had been pulled across the sky, blocking out the sun. Starr didn’t remember me. She didn’t remember the Twinkies, or the song, or playing together. She didn’t remember having a sister. What’s more, she didn’t want to remember.
“How can you forget your twin sister?” I whispered.
“I was only three,” Starr said.
“So was I.”
17
I looked down, twisting my hands in my lap. This reunion was nothing like the one I had envisioned. “Maybe I ought to leave,” I said.
“No!” said Mrs. Anderson. “Please don’t go yet. We want to know all about you, and what’s happened to you over the years.”
“It doesn’t sound as if you’ve had much stability,” Mr. Anderson said. “Not the life you would have had if they had let us take you both. I wonder why Cora didn’t call us if she couldn’t keep you herself. She knew we wanted you.”
“She probably still wanted Sunny to stay in her family,” Mrs. Anderson said. “And she hadn’t heard from us. Maybe we were wrong not to keep in touch.”
“That’s water over the dam,” Mr. Anderson said. “The important thing now is to find out what red tape we need to cut in order for Sunny to stay here for a while.”
“What?” Starr exploded. “You’re inviting her to live with us? We don’t even know her!”
“I can’t think of a better way to get acquainted,” Mr. Anderson said. “Sunny, could you stay with us for the summer? And then, come fall, we can all decide if you should stay permanently.”
“I’ve already decided,” Starr said.
No one asked what her decision was. We knew.
Mrs. Anderson said, “We should start by calling the foster mother. We must do that anyway, to let her know that Sunny is with us and that she’s safe.”
For the first time, calling Rita sounded like a good idea to me. I wanted to talk to her; I wanted to get her opinion about what I should do. “I’ll call her,” I said.
“I am going upstairs,” Starr announced, and she stomped out of the room. Her mother followed her.
I dialed Rita’s number. When she answered, I said, “Hi, Rita. It’s Sunny.”
“Sunny! Are you all right?”
&
nbsp; “I’m fine. I’m sorry I worried you, but . . .”
“Worried me? Do you have any idea how scared I’ve been?” I heard Rita pause and could tell she was trying to get herself centered, as she called it. “Where are you?”
“I’m in Enumclaw, Washington.”
“Washington! I thought you were in Florida. I got a call from someone telling me you were okay, and I had the call traced to Florida. What are you doing in Washington?”
“I found my twin sister.”
There was a stunned silence. Then Rita said, “You never told me you have a sister.”
“We were separated when we were three. I didn’t know where she was until today.”
“Have you seen her?”
“Yes. I’m at her house now.”
“How’s it going?” Leave it to Rita to cut right to the important part. It was as if she could tell from my voice that I was unhappy.
“Not exactly like I thought. Starr got adopted right after we were split up. Her parents want me to stay here with them for the summer.”
“I see. Is that what you want to do?”
“I—I don’t know. When I left, I thought I wanted to be with Starr more than anything in the world, but now that I’m here, I’m not sure. We haven’t had much time together yet. She—she doesn’t remember me.”
“Oh, Sunny, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“How did you get there? Where did you get enough money for such a trip?”
I told Rita about the bag of money I’d found and my efforts to locate the owner.
“Let me speak to one of Starr’s parents,” she said.
I held the receiver toward Mr. Anderson. “She wants to talk to you,” I said.
The two adults spoke for a few minutes. I heard Mr. Anderson give Rita his phone number. Then he gave the phone back to me.
“I told him you could stay for a week,” Rita said. “That’s if you want to stay that long. Do you?”
Did I? I wasn’t at all sure, but I’d gone through so much to get here, it seemed as if I should stay the week, no matter how unwelcoming Starr was. Once she got used to me, she’d probably warm up. “Yes,” I said.