Sisters One, Two, Three

by Nancy Star

  Her leg was definitely trembling now. Okay, it was probably something mundane. Hypoglycemia, say, or a thyroid condition, or stress. Stress could cause all kinds of peculiar symptoms, and well, Ginger had been under an elephant’s load of stress for a very long time.

  What was strange, now that she thought of it, was that the quivering felt exquisitely specific. Her upper leg. Her upper thigh. Her right upper thigh. Why would stress only affect a person’s right thigh? She concentrated on the sensation, just below the front pocket of her favorite pants. She pulled out her vibrating phone. “Mimi. Thank god it’s you. I thought I might have mercury poisoning.”

  “What are you talking about? What took you so long to answer? Where are you?”

  A simple task. That’s what Mimi had to do. While Ginger was removing old tissues from the pockets of her dead mother’s robe and throwing away Q-tips that still had her mother’s earwax on them, Mimi had to make one phone call and go to an empty house to look for an address book which, even if it existed, they didn’t really need.

  “Ginger?” Mimi snapped. “Can you hear me? Hello? I can’t believe this. Hello?”

  “I’m here,” Ginger said, but Mimi was gone and when Ginger called back, she got voice mail.

  Hurrying across the Meadows parking lot, her foot came out of her clog and down she went, graceless as a goose. The box from Glory’s room flew out of her arms, disgorging all manner of Popkins onto the macadam.

  A man on his way to his car appeared out of the dusk. “You okay?”

  “Yes. Fine. Sorry. Thanks.”

  As he helped gather the broken frames, he pointed at her palm. “You’re bleeding.”

  She looked. “Just a scrape.” She wiggled her fingers. “Everything works.” She started toward her car.

  The man touched her arm to stop her. “You forgot something. Over there.”

  She saw it immediately, peeking out from beneath her car, the marbled notebook, her mother’s most recent journal. She thanked the man, who couldn’t possibly know there was nothing she’d rather have run over, nothing she wanted less to kneel down and retrieve than the most recent written record of her mother’s thoughts.

  She tossed the journal on top of the broken frames, put the box in the trunk of her car, got in, and checked the rearview mirror to see why her face hurt. She removed a small pebble stuck to her cheek and was blotting her bleeding palm with a tissue when her phone vibrated again. This time she answered it quickly. “What’s going on?”

  “Callie’s here,” Mimi hissed, and her phone went dead.

  Ginger sat for a moment and went over the facts. Julia was gone. Glory was dead. Callie was back. She leaned forward and checked the inky sky for signs of bad weather and then drove slowly through the moonless night toward the house she still thought of as her mother’s.

  When she pulled off the highway, the car behind her honked and she accelerated to the speed limit. The dashboard idiot light caught her eye and she wondered, How long had that been on? Before she could process what the icon meant, the car began to slow, this time on its own.

  Another first. Ginger had run out of gas.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Morning sun streamed in through the porthole window, warming the back of Ginger’s neck. She peeled away from the wall and assessed the situation. Alone in bed, sisters gone, left arm squashed beneath her, numb. With effort, she heaved herself up and her fingers tingled back to life. Her foot searched for the floor and instead found something bony. She peered over the side of the mattress. Her foot was on her sister’s leg; Callie lay on the floor in a fetal position, half of her body under the bed, still asleep.

  The trill of Mimi’s laughter rose from the kitchen along with the smell of pancakes. Ginger shook Callie’s foot. “Get up.” She jiggled her leg. “They’re home.” Another shake, harder. “Let’s go.”

  Callie straightened, stretched, crawled out from underneath the bed, and rubbed her eyes. “Why?”

  “Because it’s morning. They’re eating breakfast. Everybody’s in the kitchen.”

  Everybody turned out to be Mimi and Evelyn Clarke, who was lifting a stack of pancakes out of a frying pan. Evelyn quickly slid the pancakes onto a platter, set it down, and came to give Ginger a hug. “How are you?” Another hug went to Callie. “How are you?”

  “We’re good,” Ginger said, and Callie agreed, “Goody good.”

  “I’m so relieved.” Evelyn wiped at the corner of her eyes. “Oof. I can barely speak.” She waved the air and quickly shook her head, as if shaking off a troublesome thought. “How many pancakes? Two? Three? Four?” She offered the platter, and Ginger took two. When Callie couldn’t decide, Ginger gave her two as well.

  “If you want chocolate chips on top you can have them,” Mimi said. “Or you could pour Bosco on top. That’s what I did. You can have anything you want on top, right?”

  Evelyn nodded, and wiped her eyes again.

  “Where’s Charlie?” Ginger asked. “Where’s Mom?”

  “At the hospital,” Evelyn said. “She’ll be back soon. Juice?” She started filling glasses without waiting for an answer.

  Mimi quickly told Ginger what she’d learned so far. “Dad came on the same boat as Evelyn, but he went straight to the hospital. I don’t know where Mr. Diggans went.” She turned to Evelyn. “Is Charlie coming home today or are we going to the hospital to see him? I’ve never been in a hospital room. I hope we go there.”

  Evelyn put down the pitcher. “I’ll be right back.”

  When Ginger found her, she was at the front door, holding it ajar, as if she’d needed air. A soft noise escaped from her mouth when she noticed Ginger watching. “I’m so sorry,” Evelyn said as she opened her arms again.

  “Sorry why?” Ginger let herself be held. She whispered the next. “What happened?”

  “Aw, honey,” Evelyn whispered back. “I shouldn’t be the one.”

  “Please, I want to know.”

  Evelyn stroked Ginger’s hair and then took her hand and led her to the living room, where the scent of Mr. Diggans’ cherry tobacco still hung in the air like a cloud. As soon as she sat down, perched at the very edge of the sofa, Ginger knew, nothing good was coming. Evelyn was always crisply put together, with pressed clothes and hair tied back in a no-muss, no-fuss style. But today her oxford shirt was buttoned wrong and her hair had a crooked part that made it look askew. She was struggling with what to say, and worst of all, she didn’t bother to dab away the tears that were now running in two wet lines down her face.

  When she finally did speak, her voice was so quiet, Ginger couldn’t understand her. “He didn’t make it,” she said. She repeated herself. “He didn’t make it,” and then, “He’s gone,” which was what Glory had said when Ivan the Director died.

  Ginger waited to feel something, but her eyes stayed dry.

  Evelyn stroked her cheek. “It’s okay to cry. I’ve been crying all morning.”

  How could Ginger explain to someone who’d cried all morning that she had no feelings at all. She pinched her arm and still felt nothing. She stamped her foot on the floor, but her foot was numb. A moment later, the numb sensation passed. “I have to throw up.”

  And then they heard it, a car rumbling up the driveway. Ginger swallowed the taste of vomit and wiped the corner of her eyes where her tears had started to amass.

  By the time Solly opened the screen door, they were waiting for him. Ginger thought her father looked unusually pale and slight, not at all how she thought of him. He hesitated for a moment when he saw her, and then, as if making up for lost time, quickly moved to give her a tight hug, arms stiff as fence posts, at her back.

  Glory remained outside on the top step, as if stuck. The sun was in her mother’s eyes and Ginger could make out dark circles where her makeup had run. Her lips looked white and caked and her shoulders sat at an odd angle, as if her body had sunk down on one side. She seemed unable to do the simplest thing: walk into the house. Evelyn saw this,
and fetched her, holding her by the elbow to guide her in, as if she were blind.

  For a moment Ginger wondered if she had gone blind. At least that would explain why her mother walked past her without even noticing she was there. Solly took in Ginger’s puzzled expression and moved next to her, laying a wooden hand on her shoulder. Together, they watched Evelyn lead Glory down the hall to the back bedroom.

  And then Mimi and Callie were running out of the kitchen, Mimi hugging her father hard and babbling about how they’d stayed in their room all afternoon and how Mr. Diggans came and didn’t want them downstairs and how they all slept squished in one bed. It took a while for her to notice her father wasn’t listening. She stepped away and pulled Callie with her. “Where’s Charlie?” Mimi asked, and Ginger closed her eyes.

  “Not coming back,” Solly said.

  That wasn’t enough information for Mimi. “Why? Where is he?”

  Ginger quickly motioned up, toward the sky.

  “In his room?” Mimi asked.

  And Callie answered, “Heaven. Heaven, eleven.”

  “Not true,” Mimi said. “Charlie waved at Ginger on the beach. He’s fine.”

  “Okay. That’s it.” Solly hustled them to the door. “Come on. Outside.” It was rare for him to tell them what to do, so when he did, they listened.

  Outside, he pulled Callie close to him, as if she needed protection. “Your mother’s not well. She hears talk like that, you’ll make it worse. Charlie waved. Charlie didn’t wave. It doesn’t matter. He’s gone. She’s sick.”

  “Sick how?” Mimi asked.

  He banged his heart with his fist. “Sick here.” He reached over and rubbed a tear from Ginger’s cheek with his thumb. Ginger hadn’t even known a tear was there. “The doctor told her she can’t have any talk like that now. She can’t have any talk like that ever. Understand?” They nodded. “Tell me what I said.”

  “We can’t talk about it now,” Ginger repeated. “We can’t talk about it ever.”

  “Good.” He nodded. “I knew I could count on you.”

  “But . . .” Mimi was confused. “What is it we’re not talking about?”

  Solly put his finger to his lips. “Your mother could be listening. No questions.” They all looked around. Glory didn’t seem to be there, but how could they be sure? “What’s done is done. Nothing will change anything. So.” His hand went to his mouth, and his fingers did a little turn.

  “He’s locking his lips,” Ginger whispered to Mimi who was about to ask.

  Solly’s voice softened. “Tomorrow we’ll go home. But at home, you’re all going to have to be really strong for your mother. Can you do that? Be patient and strong?”

  “I’m strong and patient,” Callie boasted. “I’m patient and strong. I’m a strong patient.”

  “Stop it,” Ginger said.

  Solly pulled Callie closer. “Yes, you are. Strong as a skyscraper. All of you. You just got to stick close together. Like rubber cement.”

  “Like blubber cement,” Callie repeated, as if this was a game.

  Ginger gave her a shove. “Stop.”

  “Gingie.” Solly’s voice was pleading. “She’s little. She doesn’t know better.”

  “Sorry.” She turned to her sister. “I love blubber cement too.”

  When they went back inside, Evelyn was waiting, eyes rimmed with red. Ginger watched as she stepped away with Solly and made a hushed report. He listened and shrugged and shrugged again, a staccato movement that got more and more pronounced until Evelyn reached over and laid a hand on his shoulder and the shrugs stopped.

  Ginger slipped away so her father wouldn’t know she’d been watching. He joined her in the kitchen a few moments later. “Evelyn wants to talk to you before she leaves. She’s waiting outside.”

  Ginger found her standing next to an idling car.

  “I wanted to let you know I won’t be coming back to New Jersey for a while,” Evelyn said. “But soon as I do, I promise, first thing, I’ll come ring your bell.” She laid her soft palm on Ginger’s hot cheek. “Things may be tough for a while. But your mom is strong. Stronger than she knows.” She took Ginger’s hands. “She’s going to be okay, I promise. But you have to promise something to me.”

  Ginger would have promised anything except she couldn’t risk opening her mouth. There were just too many things that might spill out. She might plead for Evelyn to stay or she might beg for Evelyn to take her with her. She might even dare to ask if Evelyn knew what punishment Glory had in mind for her for letting the accident happen under her watch. That it hadn’t been under her watch, she knew, would be no excuse.

  Evelyn interrupted her thoughts. “Promise me you won’t worry too much.”

  Ginger risked a nod. Evelyn nodded back, opened the passenger door, and slid inside.

  Finally, Ginger found words that seemed safe. “When you get home, can I go back to being a mother’s helper for you?” Tears were coming now, and Ginger had to squeeze her eyes hard to stop them. By the time she forced them open, the car had turned around. As it bolted down the driveway, she caught a glimpse of Evelyn, hands covering her face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  It was only when Ginger tried to pay the gas station attendant who drove her back to her car that she discovered she’d left her wallet at home. She offered to come by and pay him first thing in the morning and then remembered tomorrow was her mother’s funeral. She started to explain her frazzled state, but the attendant interrupted her. “Ma’am, this gallon’s on me.”

  Back behind the wheel, it didn’t take long for her thoughts to turn to Callie, but every time she tried to picture her youngest sister, she came up blank. Glory’s prohibition against photographs had done its work. Her mother’s reasons changed depending on her mood. Sometimes it was, They’re just dust magnets. Other times it was, I prefer to start every day fresh. But now, with Julia gone, Ginger finally understood it. Her mother had banned photographs because the captured memories were painful to see.

  She pulled up to the house and strengthened her resolve. Tonight was not the time for interrogation. For now, it wasn’t important to know why Callie left or what kept her away. What mattered was she was back. As she walked up the flagstone path, careful not to disturb the deteriorating stones, Ginger wondered again how it was that Callie found out Glory died. Her best guess? Mimi tracked her down.

  She stopped at the front door and saw her face reflected in the glass, her expression a billboard for worry. It was the same expression that drove Dinah scurrying down the hall with her phlebitis leg. The same expression that drove Julia into Nick’s car, and then all the way to Portland. She could not risk driving Callie away too. She smiled and stepped inside.

  The house grumbled its usual complaints. A pipe groaned from within the old walls. A floorboard creaked above her head. And there it was, the rocketing rhythm of Mimi’s voice when she was telling a story. Her sisters were in the kitchen.

  Ginger stopped. What should she say? What was a person supposed to say to a sister who’d been gone for—she paused to do the math, but the math was too painful—more than twenty-five years. A cabinet door slammed. Silverware clattered into the sink. A wave of dizziness swept over her. She slipped into the living room to pull herself together.

  Strange, how the living room, which felt so abandoned after Glory moved out, now felt crowded with memories. When they were young, the room was off-limits—company only—but after Solly was gone, Glory took it over and made it her sitting room. Now it felt as if her mother had returned to reclaim every bit of it at once. There she was at the bay window, peering out to see who was stopping by the neighbor’s house so late, and there she was on the velvet couch, adjusting the cold compress so it didn’t sit so heavy on her eyes, and there she was, sitting on the club chair in a funk because the Norwegian Fjord puzzle Ginger bought for her turned out to have three—or maybe it was four—pieces missing from the boat.

  The lights dimmed. Were her eyes going now? Po
ssibilities presented themselves: infection, cataracts, macular degeneration, all of them ill-timed.

  “Good god, what now?” It was Mimi in the hallway.

  Ginger straightened. “Nothing. Something weird with my eyes. The light went dim, and then it got bright. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  “You mean like this?” Mimi slid the dimmer up and down, and above Ginger’s head the high hats went dim and then bright. “As if I accidentally brushed against the switch, which in fact is what I did?”

  “Oh. Thank god. I feel faint.” Ginger touched her face. Her cheeks were damp. She moved her hands away and saw her fingers trembling. When she glanced over at Mimi, she noticed her sister was having moisture issues of her own. “Were you crying?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  No crying in public. Glory had trained them well.

  Ginger wiped at her eyes and then, at the same time, they asked each other, “Why didn’t you tell me you found her?” Footsteps. The sisters moved apart.

  “Here she is.” Mimi’s mouth turned up into a broad smile.

  Ginger had carefully thought it through in the car; the best strategy for the reunion with her sister would be a slow approach, gentle conversation while she felt things out. But her body seemed to have a different idea, because now she found herself racing over and throwing her arms around Callie’s back, surprising them both. They stood for a moment as if glued together, and then Callie shifted. It was a tiny motion, a quiver really, but enough to make Ginger step away. “I’m crushing you. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay.”

  Mimi beamed. “Does she look great or what?” Impossibly, her smile got bigger, the tendons in her neck flaring so wide Ginger feared they might snap.

  “She does. You do. You look great.” Ginger didn’t want to stare, but how could she help it? She couldn’t find a remnant of the face she once knew. The woman who stood before her, in her late thirties with a lean body and freckled shoulders, was as unfamiliar as a stranger. Her eyes filled again, and not knowing what else to do, she lurched forward to give another hug, this time harder. Their heads touched, and she whispered, “Where have you been?” and then winced at her hungry tone.