by Jaime Maddox
They looked at each other. Sandy Parker’s voice was so emotional as she spoke, it sounded like she was fighting tears. Although the story was unbelivable, the woman telling it didn’t sound crazy, as Jane had suggested. She sounded like she cared a lot for their mother.
“What do you think? Should we tell Mom? What if this woman really is crazy? She must have done something awful for Mom to write her off like that and let her think she was dead.”
“How do you know Mom was involved? Maybe Jane just wanted Sandy to think Mom was dead.”
Shaking his head, Bobby shrugged. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would Jane do that?”
Sandy shrugged as well. “Who knows? But something tells me Mom wasn’t mad at Sandy Parker.”
“Why’s that?”
“I would imagine she’s the old friend I’m named after.”
*
Jeannie carefully unrolled the garden hose from the large bracket that held it neatly in place beside her shed, pulling carefully to avoid the vines and ground cover surrounding the building. When she’d freed enough of the hose, she began spraying a mist over the beds that took up most of the area behind her house. She would have preferred to water her flowers later in the evening, but a social obligation would have her out until well past the suitable time for wandering about in the garden.
Her longtime nurse manager, Ellen Foster, had invited her to her husband Emmett’s retirement party, and it was one of those events she couldn’t politely refuse. She’d known the Fosters for over thirty years and was fond of them both. First as a staff physician and later as the owner of the clinic, Jeannie had worked closely with Ellen, and they’d become friends both in and out of the office. Most of her staff would be there as well.
Jeannie breathed in the scent of the butterfly garden, awash with color as all the flowers bloomed. The blue and purple asters and the yellow and white hollyhocks brightened their corner of the yard, next to the patio where Jeannie enjoyed the morning sun before office hours.
Since her children were technically grown and no longer needed her—a point she often debated with them—Jeannie kept a busier work schedule than ever. She loved her job. Owning the clinic required a combination of skills that challenged her every day. Of course, she had to be on top of all the latest developments in the medical field, and since she was a family practicioner, that included all the specialties. She had to play politician with the medical school because of the residents and students that trained at her clinic. On any given day, a half dozen of them were learning their craft under the watchful eye of Jeannie and her associates. She had to play referee to all of the staff who bickered and squabbled over nonsense. And she had to run the business aspect of the practice, which entailed everything from arguing with insurance companies over how much they reimbursed for pregnancy tests to negotiating better rates on malpractice insurance to paying the electric bill. It was a ton of work, but it was rewarding and she loved it.
If she were a different kind of person, she could have made her fortune in medicine. Instead, she gave much of what the clinic brought in to the uninsured and underinsured, and to her own staff, who enjoyed excellent salaries and benefit packages. Jeannie had everything that she needed, and what she gave always made her much happier than what she took for herself.
Satisfied that her flowers wouldn’t shrivel from thirst, she turned off the water and began to wind her hose. The sound of a car on the narrow drive beside the house interrupted her. The property was set back from the street and bordered on three sides by hedges that stretched a dozen feet high, insulating the yard from noise. It was easy to hear the approaching car, and Jeannie was at first happy to see Bobby’s car, then concerned when Sandy’s pulled in right behind him.
She knew Sandy was anxious to get to Rehoboth Beach to spend the remains of the weekend with her lover, and she was quite surprised that her son wasn’t in the mountains. They were up to something, and she figured she was about to find out just what it was.
“What’s up?” she asked as Bobby stepped from his car.
“Hi, Mom.” He kissed her softly and then began helping her with the hose. His sister took a moment to exit her car; Jeannie could see her lips moving and assumed she was talking on the phone.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or will I need to whip you with this hose?”
“I’m going to let Sandy tell you,” he said.
“Well, then, get her out of the car. I have to shower and get to Bucks County, and the clock is ticking.”
As if she heard them, Sandy opened the door to her car and stepped out into the heat. It was no cooler in the late afternoon than it had been earlier in the day.
“Okay, spill,” Jeannie commanded her.
“Let’s go inside. I’d prefer you to be sitting, in case you pass out or something.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Face-off
Steaming. Jeannie was steaming. She actually felt heat venting through the ears that felt as if they were on fire. Looking up at the ceiling in Jane’s townhouse, she wished her sister had a yard with some privacy so she could go out on the deck and scream. But she didn’t. Jeannie paced instead, taking deep breaths in a futile attempt to calm her frazzled nerves.
The morning certainly hadn’t gone as she’d imagined it would. She hadn’t left her Philadelphia home with murderous intentions, but somehow her sister always managed to bring out the very worst in her, and at this moment Jeannie felt homicide would have been justifiable. It had been that way since they were little girls, with the two of them barely able to agree that the sky was blue. Jeannie always hoped their differences would change as they grew older, but somehow, they never did. Not after Jane married the doctor she’d always coveted, not after bearing a delightful son, not after buying the mansion and joining the country club. It seemed Jane never outgrew her need to outdo her sister, and the years only brought more trouble to them as Jeannie lived what seemed to Jane to be the great life.
Still, Jeannie didn’t really harbor ill feelings for her sister. In fact, she loved her, and she often pitied Jane and her insecurities and jealousy and need for superficial pleasures. In spite of all she’d lost, Jeannie had managed to find some happiness in her life. And in spite of all she had, Jane was still miserable.
After her children broke the news about Sandy the evening before, Jeannie had been in such a state of mental disarray that she felt absolutely nothing. Not anger, not joy. Not even curiosity. Just shock. She had the wherewithal to pry what little information her children possessed from them before issuing a dismissal, but unfortunately, their knowledge was limited to the few words left on Bobby’s voice mail.
To the dismay of her professional colleagues, she called and issued her regrets to the Fosters just as soon as her children were out the door. She was in no state of mind to travel, and socializing was out of the question. She didn’t think she could string three words together to form an intelligible sentence if her life depended on it.
So she sought the peace of her garden, where a bench swing had offered her solace on many troubling occasions over the years. She brought with her a book, which sat unopened beside her. Adjusting the cushions, she reclined on her swing and looked over her flowers and shrubs, across the expanse of lawn to the same blue sky she’d gazed at with Sandy from the mountaintops of her childhood home. As the evening light faded and the stars appeared, they found her in the same position, staring at the sky.
A casual observer would have assumed her to be deep in thought, but for most of that time, her mind was truly blank. Ironically, upon learning that Sandy was alive, Jeannie felt much the same as she did all those years before when she heard the false tale of Sandy’s death. Numb. As the sky turned a deep navy and the moon shone down, Jeannie finally felt the fog lifting from her brain, pushed out by the sunshine of memories of Sandy.
She had so many happy memories, but during all of the years since Agnes, Jeannie hadn’t allowed herself the joy they
now brought her. With Sandy’s return to life, the memories came back in full force. Sandy’s blue eyes twinkling as she pondered something mischievious. Their intensity as she focused on the basket, flying through the air with a basketball in her hands. Smoky with passion as they made love. Jeannie could picture Sandy’s long blond hair flying behind her as she rode her bike, and she still could see it splayed out on the pillow beside her. She could feel the softness of Sandy’s skin next to hers and the strength of her arms around her.
All of these memories filled Jeannie with a happiness that left no room for sadness or anger, but as the night grew older and the world around her grew still, her mind came back to life, bursting with questions. What the hell happened?
What happened to them—that was an easy one. Jeannie knew her mother must have discovered their affair. Somehow, she’d realized what was going on between her and the girl next door, and when the opportunity presented itself to end their relationship, she grabbed it. As Jeannie dredged up the horror of her time in the hospital, of her mother telling her the sad news that Sandy had died, she wondered at the cruelty of someone who was otherwise a kind and charitable human being. But how had she figured it out? The only plausible explanation was that Sandy must have told them. Jeannie could picture Sandy arriving at the hospital and demanding to see her, and Helen attempting to send her away because she wasn’t a relative. And under that awful stress, Sandy might have told all. It would have been out of character for her, but under the circumstances, it could have happened.
But then what? Why had Sandy walked away, given up on her and their dreams of a life together? Why didn’t she contact Jeannie later, after she left the hospital? Or at some time in the forty years since? That question brought tears to her eyes. When she calmed herself, controlling the bitter disappointment that Sandy had abandoned her when she needed her most, another almost morbid curiosity settled in. How had Sandy lived her life? Had she gone to New York as they’d planned or stayed in West Nanticoke? Had she played basketball and traveled, exploring exotic corners of the planet? Did she still hike and bike, or had she found new hobbies? Did she have a husband, or perhaps a lover?
Was Sandy open to the idea of reconnecting with her, or had she moved on? Would that husband or lover feel comfortable with their relationship or feel threatened by it and discourage her from reviving their friendship? Did Jeannie even want a reconciliation, considering that Sandy had allowed her to suffer for nearly four decades?
This curiosity tickled her brain through the night, forming question upon question, forcing her from her bed in the early hours of the morning so she might learn more about the woman she had once loved so long ago. And who better to answer her questions than the one who’d no doubt been at the heart of this great deception. Her sister.
After that fitful sleep, Jeannie had done something unprecedented: she canceled her office hours. Not just for the following day, Monday, but for the entire week. That would give her time off through the Fourth of July holiday, nine whole days to get her thoughts in order before she had to focus again. Given her current state of mind, she couldn’t do her job. People’s lives depended on her being able to give them 100 percent concentration, and her attention to detail and keen observations were what made her a good physician. She needed to stay out of the office, or she was likely to hurt someone.
After canceling her patients’ appointments, Jeannie packed for the week and climbed into her Jeep. Jane lived in Mountaintop, just a short ride from Jeannie’s lake home, and a getaway to the country was just what the doctor needed.
Still filled with curiosity, and a tiny bit of hope that she might see Sandy again, if only to give her a piece of her mind, Jeannie had knocked on Jane’s door. An honest and heartfelt confession was what Jeannie needed from her sister before she could make her inquiries about Sandy. But a confession was not to be had. It was, still, all about Jane.
Jeannie was blown away by her sister’s reaction. Although she had no doubt their mother was the mastermind of this plot, Jeannie knew that Jane was in on it, too. Pulling off this scam had been an amazing feat, and her mother couldn’t have done it alone. If there was any doubt, it was erased by Jane’s recent conversations with Bobby.
Yet, when she arrived at her door, Jane had feigned surprise, at first standing by her story that Sandy was dead, then later admitting that she’d recently heard rumors that Sandy was alive. What an actress she was! Bobby had described Jane’s pleas for silence, about her appearance at the airport, about her wish to protect Jeannie from a crazed former friend.
Did Jane really think Bobby would keep this from her? Was she that delusional? Or had she spent the past few days plotting, worrying, awaiting this confrontation with Jeannie? If that was the case, Jeannie was happy to put her out of her misery.
The happiness that Jeannie felt in learning Sandy was alive had held in check an underlying anger at her mother and her sister. The dam quickly broke in the face of Jane’s continued deception, unleashing all Jeannie’s fury. She screamed, almost incoherently at times, pacing the room, wishing for some sort of reaction from Jane. Tears, or perhaps a hug. Something, anything to show that a heart beat in her chest. But Jane simply sat still, staring into the distance in a punishing silence.
Suddenly Jeannie stopped her tirade and studied the walls, trying to distract herself. Jane’s diplomas from Misericordia and the University of Scranton were handsomely framed and hung above a table in her living room. Unlike Jeannie, who put her degrees to good use, Jane just used hers for wall décor. She had only gone to college at her parents’ insistence, and had only chosen nursing so she could meet a doctor to marry. On that count Jane had been successful and had lived the dream for twenty-five years. Funny how dreams came to an end, though.
Jeannie had once fantasized of a life with Sandy, and Jane had helped to end that fantasy. She could remember Jane so well, sitting at her hospital bedside with Helen, comforting her as she cried after they told her Sandy was dead. Thoughts of Sandy were the first thing on her mind coming out of surgery, and for an entire foggy week her mother and her sister had been there with her, shushing her and telling her to rest. Finally, when she was clear enough to notice her father was missing and tried to climb out of bed—body cast and all—her mother had broken down. Sobbing, Helen told Jeannie that Paul had been killed in the accident that had nearly claimed her life. And in a bizarre, tragic twist, Sandy Parker had drowned after she and her grandmother went back to their house to try to save some artwork.
Jeannie nearly died, not from her injured body but from her broken spirit. She’d spent her senior year of high school at home, working with a physical therapist to walk again, learning twelfth-grade schoolwork from a private tutor hired by her mother. She never had an aide to help her deal with losing her father and her lover, though, and she buried that grief, unearthing it only in small pieces over time as she grew stronger and could manage it.
She had managed. She’d moved on, gone to school, married, raised two amazing children, and lived an enviable life. But her heart had never healed, and for forty years it had bled for Sandy Parker. The scars over her spleen and hip had faded, but not the ones on her heart.
Jeannie forced herself to face her sister, whose denial was infuriating her. “Bobby told me about your calls, Jane. You didn’t want him to, but he did. Now you tell me, what the hell happened?”
Jane sat and, lighting a cigarette, stared at her, seeming to contemplate her options. After a few moments, she leaned back in her chair and looked at Jeannie. “Okay, I admit it. I knew about the whole thing. Are you happy now?”
“But why?”
“Mom threatened to disown me if I told you. What was I to do? I was twenty, penniless, and my father was dead.” Here Jane paused to wipe tears that seemed to appear on demand. “I needed Mom. I’m sorry for looking out for myself, but I didn’t have any choice, Jeannie.”
“Okay, maybe that was true, then. But why would you continue this charade for so l
ong? After you were married to the surgeon and didn’t need her money anymore, couldn’t you have said something? Or how about when Mom died? Did it slip your mind, Jane?” Jeannie was pacing, which was never good for her left leg. Sitting and elevating it would help, but she wasn’t about to show Jane any sign of her weakness. And she was weak—totally exhausted, mentally and physically. Lack of sleep was catching up to her. Thoughts whirled through her mind as if driven by a tornado, here and then gone. She had no focus. She thought of Sandy, whom she’d loved so desperately, and the pain she’d felt for years after her death. Years. She’d cried for Sandy Parker until she just couldn’t cry anymore. If she hadn’t made a decision to live—a conscious decision—to put Sandy to rest and move on with her life, she was sure she would still be crying. Her heart had been shattered, though, and nothing—not the man she’d married or the children she’d carried—had mended it.
Jeannie was growing more frustrated as she paced, wanting and needing answers to her questions. How had this happened? Why? What would happen next? How long had Sandy known Jeannie was alive? Why had she never contacted her? Why contact her now?
In spite of her agitated state, Jeannie had to laugh when she thought about it. In reality, unless Sandy had changed dramatically, the fact that she’d called now was amazing. Jeannie must have thrown a million hints to Sandy in their early days, but she was certain that if she hadn’t made the first move and kissed Sandy, it never would have happened. Even then, after their kisses led to a frenzied excitement that neither knew how to assuage, it had been Jeannie who undressed Sandy and took her to bed. Not that Sandy hadn’t been a willing and eager partner. She was. She just lacked the courage to put her heart on the line and take that chance.