My Sister, Myself

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Now his heart wrenched when he saw the sad little face gazing up at him. He wondered if the fire-ball he’d known was gone for good. Ben joined her on the kitchen floor.

  “Why don’t you want a new mommy, honey?” he asked. They were due to pick up Christine in a little less than an hour. Both of them deciding to forgo the Parsons Christmas party, they planned to take Alex to get her tree, instead. Ben had put off meeting his aunt and uncle until sometime next week, after he’d gotten his new family settled.

  “Because.” Alex was looking down at Buddy.

  “You’ll love Christine, honey. She’s pretty and nice and the sweetest woman you’ll ever meet. She’s a teacher at Daddy’s school.”

  “Teachers are mean.”

  “Not all teachers. You liked Mrs. Dimple.”

  With her strict sense of fairness, Alex nodded.

  “So why not give Christine a chance?”

  Alex mumbled something, but all Ben caught was the last three words. “…just like Mommy.”

  “What?” he asked, running a finger along Alex’s leg.

  Not long ago, if his daughter was upset, she would have been in his lap, insisting that he hug her tight.

  “Mommy said I’d like my new father, too. And he was…he was…”

  “It’s okay, Al, I know,” Ben said when she screwed up her face in an effort not to cry.

  “So, I got away from him and now you’re doing the same thing.”

  It was a seven-year-old’s logic, and it made a sad, twisted sort of sense.

  He lifted her chin until she was looking at him. “Al, have I ever lied to you?”

  With her chin still resting on his finger, she shook her head.

  “I promise you that if you don’t like Christine, I won’t marry her, okay?”

  The promise cost him, made his heart stop in his throat, but he refused to be intimidated. Al was going to love Christine. He could imagine nothing else.

  “I don’t like her.”

  “You haven’t met her yet, honey. The deal’s only good if you meet her first and really try to like her. Will you do that for me?”

  “You promise not to make her my new mommy if I say no?”

  “As long as you try your hardest to like her, I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  Her head dropped.

  “I have a secret to tell you about Christine, honey,” he said, running blind. And praying that Christine would forgive him.

  “What?” Her face was lowered, her hand stroking the same inch of Buddy’s fur she’d been working on for the past ten minutes.

  Buddy, bless his mangy soul, remained still, allowing her to do with him as she would.

  “When Christine was a little girl, probably younger than you, her mommy married a new daddy, too,” he said, wondering if maybe he should’ve just kept his mouth shut.

  But he’d always talked to Alex more like an adult than a child. She’d always seemed more comfortable with his honesty.

  She continued to stare at Buddy, stroking that same inch of fur.

  “He wasn’t a nice daddy, either,” he said, then stopped, but knew he had to finish. “She knows about hugging the wall, Al, and about…about being hit.”

  Her fingers stilled. Buddy lifted his head to discover the reason, then put his chin back on his paws.

  “She wants to help you.”

  “Did she cry?” The tiny voice just about broke his heart.

  “Yes.”

  A couple of tears dripped slowly off Alex’s chin to land silently in Buddy’s fur. The dog didn’t object.

  “When I told her about you getting spankings when you didn’t do anything wrong, she started to cry again.”

  Without looking up, Alex crawled into his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face in his chest and sobbed.

  THEY WERE A LITTLE LATE picking up Christine, but Ben called, and Christine said to take their time. She offered to let them go alone to choose their Christmas tree, to give them another night alone. In spite of how badly he needed to see Christine himself, Ben was tempted to accept her offer.

  Except that he honestly believed that Christine would be able to help Alex heal, far more than he could. She’d been there. She understood.

  Alex waited in the truck when Ben pulled up in front of Phyllis’s late Friday afternoon and ran up to the door to collect Christine. His daughter had belted herself into the middle seat and wasn’t budging. He began to remind her of her promise, but thought better of it. Alex had had about as much as she could take.

  The child was completely silent when Christine joined them. His fiancé wasn’t all that talkative, either. Ben tried, at first, to keep a flow of chatter going between them, his eyes meeting Christine’s over Alex’s head.

  He silently apologized for Alex’s unfriendly behavior and begged her to be patient.

  She told him—silently, as well, but quite emphatically—that there was nothing to apologize for. She told him to be patient.

  He nodded. She knew far more about what was happening than he did. No more meaningless conversation. Hard as it was, he just drove and let Christine and his daughter do what they had to do all on their own.

  Within ten minutes, and still without a word spoken between them, Alex had slipped her little hand inside Christine’s.

  THEY BOUGHT A TREE, a crooked, partially barren tree that Alex found on the back of the lot. She insisted they love it because no one else would. They bought decorations and lights and tinsel. And, sweating in the seventy-five-degree heat, Ben tied everything down in the back of his truck and took them home.

  With Christmas carols playing and hot chocolate brewing, they decorated their tree. It was a quiet time and yet a healing time. Ben could feel peace settle in his small apartment and over the three of them and knew he’d made the right decision. All his life, he’d been the one girls ran to for help, a shoulder to cry on. And all of it had been in preparation for this time, this life, these two very special females who needed him.

  Somehow he was going to be there for them. Somehow they would become a family.

  TORY BELIEVED in the magic for five whole days. Through a busy weekend of making plans for their exchange of wedding vows and outfitting Alex’s room with Winnie the Pooh sheets and comforter, with puzzles and coloring books and an entire set of Dr. Seuss stories. During a quiet, though fulfilling Christmas Day—Ben loved the book she’d bought him and didn’t miss the significance behind the gift and Alex hugged her when she opened the Raggedy Ann doll Tory had bought her. The magic went on through Tuesday morning at the courthouse in Shelter Valley where, with only Phyllis, Alex and Zack Foster as guests, she and Ben were married. During those five days, Tory lived in her fairy-tale world.

  His lips met hers gently at the conclusion of the short ceremony, and Tory wanted to cling to him forever. Wanted more of the sweet fire he sent through her body.

  And then, Tuesday afternoon, they got home. Ben was unloading his truck from a trip to Phyllis’s house, where he’d gathered up the boxes and suitcases Tory had packed with all her worldly possessions. And Tory was walking from room to room in the small apartment, looking at the two beds. One in Alex’s room, and a queen-size one in Ben’s. That was all. Nothing else.

  Ben could have slept on the couch. Or she could have. If Alex’s world hadn’t needed to be so completely normal and secure and happy. How would they ever explain to the little girl that her daddy and her brand-new mommy didn’t want to sleep in the same bed like all mommies and daddies who loved each other did?

  And how was she going to climb into bed with her husband? Much as she wanted to, honest-to-goodness wanted to, she wasn’t ready. She broke into a cold sweat just thinking about it.

  She glanced in on Alex. Exhausted from the weekend, from the past months, the child was curled up with a stuffed Winnie the Pooh in the middle of her bed, fast asleep. Watching her, Tory knew she’d have to find the strength to go into Ben’s room that night, shut the doo
r and stay there.

  Tory had never been good at staying.

  Walking back into his room, she thought about the night ahead, visualizing Ben in there with her, the door shut—and started to shake.

  But, astonishingly enough, not just from nerves. Her husband had a very attractive body. Made more so by his innate gentleness. His kisses raised feelings in her that she’d never felt before in her life—made her forget, sometimes, everything but him. What would it be like to do more than kiss him?

  Would it resemble what she’d read about in books when she was a young teenager, still naive enough to dream? Would the feeling last through his possession, intensify, explode? Could the fairy tale really continue?

  Ben came in, and she turned nervously, an embarrassed smile on her face.

  He wasn’t smiling.

  In fact, she’d never seen that look on his face before. A mixture of shock, bitterness and anger.

  “What’s wrong? What happened?” she asked. He must have received word about Alex.

  “Explain that.”

  Tory’s stricken gaze fell on the little blue book he dropped on the dresser. Christine’s bank book. From the account that was really Tory’s. It was her escape account. The one she’d been secretly filling for years. The one Christine administered because Bruce had never found her sister enough of a threat to investigate.

  Inside that book was a bank card to access the account. A bank card with Christine’s picture on it.

  Feeling the blood drain from her entire body, Tory couldn’t pick up that incriminating little plastic book.

  “Your file case fell off the end of the truck,” Ben explained, his voice emotionless. “Either you didn’t have it locked or the lock wasn’t worth a damn.”

  She’d been having troubles with the lock. But living in Shelter Valley, with Phyllis, she’d gotten soft, hadn’t been as careful. And she should have been. Bruce’s hired snoops could just as easily have found that book. They could have broken into Phyllis’s house without their even knowing and found out anything Bruce needed to know.

  A lock wouldn’t have stopped them. And they would have learned the shocking truth.

  Smart though Bruce had been, he’d made one mistake over the years. He’d never seen Christine’s strength, her iron will. He’d only ever seen a beaten woman, one he could terrify with only a glance. He’d never searched her house or her things. The most he’d ever done was have her phone tapped for contacts with Tory when Tory ran. And watched her mail for letters.

  “Who are you?” Ben’s harsh words brought her back to the present with a crash.

  “Tory. Tory Evans.”

  If it was possible for an emotionless face to grow even more numb, Ben’s did. Almost as though, until that moment, he’d still been hoping she wouldn’t destroy his faith in her.

  “Christine’s sister?”

  He had a good memory. Tory swallowed. Nodded.

  “Where is Christine?”

  “Cremated in New Mexico.”

  He sat down hard on the end of the bed. Aware of Alex in the other room, Tory shut the bedroom door, leaning against it.

  “So that much was true.”

  It seemed so long ago since she’d told him about the car accident. Tory nodded again, and when she realized he couldn’t see her response since he was looking everywhere but at her, she said, “Yes.” Her voice cracked.

  His eyes raked her up and down, making her feel naked even in her jeans and sweater. She shivered.

  “How old are you?”

  That was a question she could answer. Which meant she’d have at least another second before he asked one she could not. “Twenty-six.”

  “Hardly old enough to have your doctorate,” he said. Knowing her silence was going to incriminate her, Tory still didn’t say a word. Besides, she couldn’t think of anything to say that would make a difference.

  With a dread she couldn’t prevent, she saw realization dawn.

  “You don’t have a doctorate.”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you have any degrees at all?”

  Again, a quick shake of the head.

  “It’s all a lie, isn’t it?” he asked, standing. He shoved his hands in his pockets, strode to the window and turned to face her again. “You aren’t an English teacher. The degrees are your sister’s, not yours—you didn’t just steal her name. For some sick reason, you stole her entire identity.”

  Eyes filled with contempt, he stared her down. Tory nodded.

  “You married me under an assumed identity.”

  She could see all the truths slamming into him at once, and hated herself all over again.

  She’d been so very, very careful. Who could ever have guessed that her file would be the one thing to fall out of his truck? And that the lock would choose that moment to give? But if this hadn’t happened, there would’ve been something else. She’d attempted the impossible. There were just too many ways Ben could have figured out that she wasn’t who she’d claimed to be. Like when school started again and she had to start cramming like crazy to learn her stuff.

  She’d known she was living on borrowed time.

  “I’m married to a dead woman!”

  She’d known it was coming. Wringing her hands, Tory stood there with absolutely no idea what to do. Her experiences with conflict had involved either physical pain—or running.

  But Ben was never going to beat her. And she couldn’t run from him.

  Phyllis would be thrilled.

  Ben ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it further, then shoved his hand back in his pocket.

  “Why?”

  Licking her lips, Tory took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you.”

  “You’d damn well better tell me.”

  With Bruce she would have cringed, waiting for the blow. But with Ben, she didn’t. He wasn’t going to hit her. He’d probably throw her out. He would almost certainly break her heart. But he wasn’t going to hit her.

  Tory almost wished he would. That she knew how to deal with.

  “I can’t believe it happened again,” he said, pacing the room. “First Mary and now you.”

  “What?”

  For all her faults, Tory was nothing like his ex-wife. Tory cared. About him. About Alex.

  “At least she didn’t lie about who she was,” he said, almost to himself. “No, she just lied to me about who Alex is. But you—” he turned, coming closer “—you lie to me about your very existence.” Turning back before he reached her, he said again, “I can’t believe this. I’m married to a dead woman.”

  Tory stood there, tears gathering in her throat, behind her eyes, as she listened to the anguish in his voice. She’d done this for him. Married Ben to help him get the one thing he wanted most in the world. She’d done this for Alex.

  And had still ended up causing pain.

  “You have to tell me why,” he said fiercely, turning back toward her.

  Tory shook her head. “I can’t,” she whispered through her tears. “Can’t you please believe that I would if I could?”

  Phyllis had told her that the people in Shelter Valley knew her, Tory, that they cared about her. That Christine was only an exterior.

  “Can’t you please trust me?” she begged.

  “Trust you?” Ben reached for the doorknob, waiting for Tory to move before he pulled open the door. “That’s rich,” he said. “Until ten minutes ago, I didn’t even know your name. How the hell can you expect me to trust you?”

  With one last disgusted—and disillusioned—glance at her, he left, his last words ringing in her ears.

  How could she expect him to trust her?

  She didn’t.

  The fairy tale had ended.

  TORY DIDN’T SEE him again until just before dinnertime. He came to find her in the bedroom, which, she now presumed, they were not going to share. She’d left all her stuff packed, waiting to find out what he wanted her to do. How he wanted to explain things to Alex.<
br />
  He didn’t intend to explain anything to Alex, he told her. He figured, after all she’d done, she owed it to him to play the role a little while longer. At least through the holidays, until he knew more about Alex’s future.

  Obviously prepared for a fight, he spit out one demand after another.

  She was to pretend she loved him, do things with him and Alex, and put up with sleeping in his bed. She didn’t have to worry, he told her bluntly; he had no desire to be there, no desire to touch her. He just wanted his little girl to think she had a normal life. Even if only for a few days.

  In other words, Tory was expected to continue with the marriage as though none of this had happened.

  She agreed—on one condition. That he allow her Christine charade to continue.

  THE LAST WEEK of December might not have been cold in Shelter Valley, but you wouldn’t know it by Ben’s heart. He felt as though a very big part of him had turned to ice. The things Mary had done to him were child’s play in comparison to finding out that the woman he adored didn’t even exist.

  Except that, as the days passed, as he saw Tory with Alex, witnessed the magic she worked so patiently, so gently, with his little girl, he began to recognize the woman who’d completely filled his thoughts these past few months.

  Just as she went above and beyond with her students at the university, so she tended to him and Alex at home. No matter how grouchy he got with her, she quietly accepted whatever he had to say. She cleaned up after Buddy without complaint.

  She was smart, savvy and, he sometimes thought, stronger than he was.

  The only time she fought Ben was when it came to Alex. She was very protective of the little girl and wouldn’t let Ben do or say anything that had the slightest chance of affecting Alex adversely.

  Like the time he’d tried to keep Alex out of their bedroom, thinking it best that she sleep in her own room, because routine and normalcy were important.

  That night Alex slept between the two of them. And the next night was back in her own bed, just as she’d promised Tory. Tory had let the child know they were there for her when she really needed them. And when she didn’t, they were right across the hall.