The Sometime Sister

by Katherine Nichols

  At Gran’s funeral, the drug of choice was Valium. I barely remember being there.

  Vincent and I joined the rest of our group in the kitchen. Rita pressed a pill in my palm as soon as she saw me. Mom was sipping a clear drink with lime—and probably a kick—in it. Lesroy stared out the window with a dazed look on his face. And poor Mike was trying to corral everyone to get coats.

  I dry-swallowed Xanax and helped Vincent get my cousin into his jacket while Mike led the sisters to his car. Vincent assisted me into the back seat, and we were off. The church was only a few miles away, but Lesroy was dozing before we pulled into the lot. Vincent had to go around to the passenger side to shake him awake and pull him out of the car. I was trying to get out of the back without flashing passersby when Justin appeared. He took my arm and hoisted me to my feet, where I yanked my dress down and smoothed my hair.

  He held me tight before asking how everyone was doing.

  “Except for Mike, we’re all high as kites,” I confessed. “I’m not sure Lesroy’s even fully conscious.”

  “Oh boy.” He sighed and steered me into the building.

  The minister was younger than I expected, not much older than me, I guessed. I imagined he hadn’t conducted too many funeral services and would have bet he hadn’t done any with a group like us. Thanks to the miracles of modern pharmaceuticals, we were all amiable when he sat us down to explain how we would proceed down the aisle to take our seats on the first two rows.

  It wasn’t until he lined us up to enter the church that things got a little dicey. Mom and Mike were supposed to go first, but she had a slight problem with balance and required extra support. So, she requested Lesroy take her other arm. Justin and I were to follow. Rita grumbled about wanting to walk with her son before taking Vincent’s arm and bringing up the rear.

  Pictures of Stella were scattered on one end of a table by the pulpit. Birthdays, graduation, Christmases—it was a tableau of her life. The gold and bronze urn with her ashes dominated the other end.

  The minister had never met Stella and didn’t seem too familiar with my mother. He gave it his best shot, though, speaking about the joys of living a Godly life as a sister and a daughter and the comfort of knowing we would all be together again someday. And everyone was invited to the fellowship hall for a reception.

  Justin stood beside me in the receiving line where people filed by expressing condolences. Cara was there, and I vaguely recalled seeing several college and a few high school friends. The comfort their appearance brought caught me off guard. Even Alisha Beaumont gave me a warm feeling despite her inability to wrinkle her forehead when she cried. Stella would have appreciated her friend’s Botoxing up for the occasion.

  The memorial was harder than I expected. After the shock of losing my sister and the horror of her actual death, I hadn’t thought something as tame as a farewell tribute could be so devastating. Maybe it was because it marked the official end of Stella’s time on earth. Or maybe it was because our family seemed so small without her.

  Chapter 37

  The night of the funeral and many nights after, I woke in the middle of the night sobbing. Justin stayed with me. Whenever he had to leave, it was with the unspoken understanding he would soon return.

  A few weeks after the service on one of our off-nights, I received a box from Ecuador. The return address was a general post office number. Inside were baggies filled with jewelry on top of folded clothes. There was a note taped to a baggy.

  Dear Señorita Grace,

  I am sorry we did not get another chance to talk, but one day I will explain.

  I could not meet with you before you left. When your sister came to stay with my family, there was not time for her to pack much. She collected only a few valuables and pieces of clothing. I am enclosing them for you. I, too, loved your sister, and I share the pain of your loss.

  Eva

  When it came to expensive jewelry, I didn’t have a clue. But Stella did. The pile of rings, earrings, bracelets, and necklaces on the bed most likely came to an impressive total. But the gold locket from Gran wasn’t among them. Had Stella stopped wearing it and tossed it aside in a drawer? Or lost it? Then I remembered Alisha’s album.

  I stacked it on top of the one from Gran and shoved them both under the bed before leaving for Ecuador. I spotted the pink edge of the book, pulled it out, and blew off the dust bunnies.

  Flipping to the page of party photos, I stopped at the one of Ben and Adelmo standing with my sister between them. It transported me to another world. It was a happy time, one where Stella glowed next to her lover, even though her husband also stood beside her. And then I saw it: the locket. She was wearing it the night of the party. I thumbed through the pages, and in all but the shots of Stella in a bathing suit, she was wearing the locket. My sister hadn’t stopped wearing hers, so where was it now?

  The most likely explanation was she had it on the night of her murder. She and Prez struggled, and he ripped it off while strangling her. But wouldn’t such a violent effort have scratched her delicate neck? Justin had given me copies of the horrible pictures taken by the seaside. Now I needed to examine them. My hands shook as I removed them from my desk drawer. Scarlett stood beside me, whining.

  “Me, too, sweet girl. But I’ve got to look.”

  The close-up was as gruesome as I remembered. Purple outlines of Prez’s fingers looped around her throat. But those were the only marks on her slender neck. This didn’t prove she hadn’t been wearing the locket, but it increased the possibility the locket might still be out there somewhere. It made no sense, but finding it had become important to me.

  . . . . .

  Although we made it home in time for the holidays, no one felt like celebrating. Even though Stella hadn’t spent the past three Christmases at home, the knowledge she would never be there again was agonizing. Another reminder of how different our world was without her.

  Our grandmother always gave me, Stella, and Lesroy matching pajamas on Christmas Eve. When Stella wasn’t home for the holiday, Gran mailed the pjs to her. After Gran’s death, my mother kept up the tradition.

  This year Mom broke down a few days before Christmas, confessing she tried to pick out matching pajamas, but just couldn’t do it. I assured her it was okay, but it wasn’t.

  When we gathered at her house for Christmas Eve dinner, there were four packages under the tree marked “Open Xmas Eve” and labeled: Grace, Justin, Lesroy, and Vincent. They were flannel pajamas Mike had picked out.

  After the winter holidays, Lesroy’s graphics business took off, which meant more work for me. I discovered Justin didn’t just work for a security firm; he owned it. He, too, had more than he could manage.

  With our busy schedules, we agreed it was silly for us to live apart. So, we moved in together, neither of us acknowledging the significance of the decision. We might have downplayed the direction our relationship was taking, but Lesroy most certainly did not. Thrilled that I had found Mr. Right, he admonished me not to screw it up.

  The prospect I would not end up a withered old maid excited Mom and Rita, too. To my amazement, however, they played it cool around Justin, most likely out of fear they would spook him.

  Winter melted into spring, and Justin planted a tea-rose bush in our backyard for Stella. He screened in the back patio, creating the perfect space for Scarlett to watch squirrels and catch the afternoon sun.

  He kept in touch with Harry, who hadn’t heard from Eva. Even Eduardo had gone MIA. Harry had, however, been in contact with the lawyers in charge of probating Ben’s and Stella’s wills. The situation was complicated, but he promised he’d stay on it.

  Mild, breezy spring days evolved into steamy, hot summer weather well befor
e the middle of May. Scarlett spent her afternoons lounging on the sofa near the air vent. Justin and I spent our evenings in bed with the ceiling fan whirling on high.

  No day passed without a reminder of Stella. The sight of a slender, blonde woman ahead of me in a crowd. The return of bluebirds to the house we watched Mom and Gran put in the backyard. A song with the power to buoy me up or break me down or both.

  She continued to float through my dreams. Sometimes it was the peaceful Stella, smiling with the sun on her face. Other times, it was my sister lying broken on the beach. Once, she came to me open-handed, the missing locket in her palm. Adelmo showed up occasionally but never in the same dream as Stella. Even in the realm of my subconscious, they were forever separated. Whether I woke whimpering or stifling a scream, Justin was there to hold me.

  On the last day of May, my phone rang at a little after nine in the morning. For a few seconds, I couldn’t place the familiar voice, soft and sibilant.

  “I hope I am not disturbing you. This is Luis Cordoza, Harry’s friend from Guayaquil. I am in Atlanta on business and hoped we might get together. I wish to share some important information about your sister.”

  “Information?” What could he have to share? Unless he had news about Adelmo, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to learn the fate of the man who had loved Stella enough to kill for her.

  “The kind best delivered in person. I am staying at the Ritz Carlton, but I’m only in town through tomorrow evening. Could you drop by around lunchtime today? I am sorry for the late notice, but I assure you, your time will be well spent. And I would ask that you come alone, please.”

  I had planned on rewriting a radio spot for a client, but he didn’t need it until next week. Anything else could wait. I agreed to go to his hotel room at noon. I was uneasy about the coming-alone clause but remembered him as a gentle, nonthreatening man. Regardless, Justin was away on business, and Lesroy was tied up in meetings all day. There was no way I would take my mother. So alone was it.

  “Scarlett, what do you think Señor Luis Cordoza’s important information is?”

  The dog regarded me intently before turning away to lick herself. I took the hint and got ready without asking for any more canine opinions.

  Unsure of morning traffic, I left early and reached the hotel with thirty minutes to spare. A smiling young man wearing a long-sleeved shirt and vest in the now-sweltering heat parked my car. I carouseled into the reception area through revolving doors, where a burst of frigid air hit me.

  With time on my hands, I strolled to the restroom and stood at the mirror. I didn’t look all that different from the woman in my engagement picture. No one had coaxed my hair into unnatural curls, but it was the same light brown. My cheekbones were as hollow, but it was from grief instead of my starvation-wedding diet. My eyes were still the same silvery gray as Gran’s, but they were tinted with a shadow of sorrow. Regardless of the similarities, I wasn’t the same person. In the photo, I was someone’s sister. Now I wasn’t.

  On the elevator ride to Luis’s floor, I tried to recall my last conversation with him. It was when he told me Ben had Stella’s body cremated.

  I recognized him as soon as he opened the door. His hair was shorter, and he wasn’t wearing his wire-rimmed glasses, but his large dark eyes held the same kind expression.

  “Señorita Burnette, welcome.” I stepped onto plush, cream-colored carpet. Spotless sliding glass doors revealed a balcony where the city sprawled below like a canvas painted especially for the inhabitants of this room. The bedroom door was closed, but I noticed the door to the adjoining suite was ajar.

  “Wow.”

  “I agree, wow. Normally, my accommodations are not so lavish. But my government hopes to impress some of your local businessmen and lure them to our country. Enough about business. Please, have a seat.”

  A tray with tea, coffee, and tiny little sandwiches sat on the table in front of the sofa. Luis told me to help myself and took the chair across from me.

  “Señorita Burnette,” he began.

  “It’s Grace.”

  “Grace, it is good to see you under less tragic circumstances. How are you and your family coping with your terrible loss?”

  Some people shy away from questions about your state of mind after losing a loved one. They might ask how you’re doing, but it’s obvious they don’t want to hear you have trouble sleeping or your mother keeps losing weight or you have unexpected bouts of sobbing. They expect you to stick to the pleasantries and move the conversation along. Luis Cordoza wasn’t one of those people. When he asked, I could see that he cared about what I had to say.

  I spent the next several minutes admitting it was hard and not getting easier and that Christmas was a nightmare.

  “I wish I could make your loss less painful. But no one can do such a thing. When we love someone, we are always at risk for suffering. But perhaps what I have to share will ease your sadness.” He stopped to ask if I would like coffee or tea. I wanted neither but asked for tea. Tendrils of steam drifted from the cup as he poured.

  “First, Grace. I must confess I was not forthcoming with you when you visited me in my office. I did not intend to mislead you, but I was not at liberty to reveal certain details to you. The situation has changed, and I can explain more about your sister during her stay in Ibarra with Eva.”

  The situation had changed for me, but I wasn’t sure how it had for him.

  “I also have the letters stolen from your room. Unfortunately, the laptop was damaged beyond repair.”

  “Stella’s letters!” I had given up any hope of recovering my sister’s last communication with me.

  “Yes. It was one of Adelmo’s men who took them for reasons you will soon understand. And I have a letter Stella was unable to send.” He waved his hand. “But I am getting ahead of myself. When you came to my office, I wanted to tell you what might await you in Montañita, but I had promised to remain silent. I was aware of your sister’s relationship with Adelmo and that he loved her too much to hurt her. But I also knew you would never take the word of a man you had only just met. And Adelmo had sworn me to secrecy.”

  “Is he a friend of yours? Have you had any word from him since he disappeared?”

  “He and I grew up together and were once as close as brothers although I was only the son of a servant in the Balsuto household. Sadly, I have heard nothing from him.”

  “I thought his family ran some big crime ring in Ecuador.”

  “You Americans want everything to fit into neat little packages. It is true Adelmo’s family committed many crimes, but they were also kind and generous to the people who worked for them. His father paid for my education and sent me to the same school as his son. Adelmo, however, didn’t care so much for formal education.” He smiled and shook his head. “He was more a student of life.”

  I thought of the man sitting in the garden speaking of his love for Stella. Luis was right. I did want everything wrapped in neat little packages.

  “He wanted to be an artist. His father would have none of that, and I had to watch my friend become less himself and more the person his family demanded. Until he met your sister. She brought about a revival of spirit in Adelmo. He told me she made him want to be a better man.”

  He continued his account of their great love, explaining how Adelmo wanted to leave the country with her and start a new life. For him, settling in the States was impossible, but for your sister, it was a dream he could help her achieve.

  And then there was Ben. Adelmo’s business dealings with him had been illegal, and Stella’s husband was a very greedy man. Adelmo might have been able to buy him off to ensure a quick divorce, but that wouldn’t have solved the problem of where he and Stella co
uld begin a new life together. Plus, there were additional complications. He hesitated at this point in the story.

  “What complications?” I urged. But he ignored me.

  “He came to me for advice last August. He made it clear Stella would be miserable if she could not return to her family, and he could not live with himself if she was in pain. Also, because of his line of work, he had many enemies. He had avoided serious relationships in the past for fear these violent men would hurt anyone he loved. That was another reason to keep his love for your sister a secret.”

  When Adelmo contacted him and asked him to help find a place for Stella to hide, Luis was surprised. Eva agreed to stay with Stella, and he set up the trip to Ibarra.

  “I don’t understand. Except for learning you and Adelmo were friends, our conversation sheds no new light on anything. If she went away to stay safe, why did she go back to her house? And what about the airline ticket? Was she trying to escape from Adelmo, too?”

  “I believe it would be best if you read your sister’s letter before I answer any more of your questions. Stella left it at the home of Eva’s sister with instructions to mail it. But it was misplaced in the confusion over getting your sister out of the country. Eva didn’t find it until after Stella died. She didn’t feel right about opening it, so she gave it to me.”

  “What is so complicated about a letter from my sister?”

  “That is for you to decide. I will leave you alone with it now.” He stood, handed me the letter, and left the room.

  Dear Grace,

  It seems I’ve gotten myself in a “pickle,” as Gran used to say. If you’ve read my letters, you know I’ve been seeing a wonderful man. His name is Adelmo Balsuto. You’re probably thinking he’s another one of my mistakes, but this time I found my one and only true love, like Gran. As usual, though, my timing sucks. I asked Ben for a divorce and—surprise, surprise—he’s being a total ass-hat. He doesn’t love me, probably never did, but he hates to lose. Things got so bad I had to get away for a while. So that’s problem number one.