Sisters One, Two, Three

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Sisters One, Two, Three Page 28

by Nancy Star


  Callie said something Ginger couldn’t understand.

  “I know you think you can.” Glory’s voice turned softer. “But everything doesn’t always go exactly how we want. Sometimes emergencies happen and we need a backup. Not just you. Everyone. That’s what your notebook is for. Backs up your brain. Remember what we learned? How we don’t forget what we do every day?”

  “I don’t forget things.”

  “When you’re stressed you do. Which is normal. Everyone gets stressed. And you’re lucky. You have Echo.” She stopped and listened to something Callie said. “Normal life span, twelve to fifteen years. What is he now, eight? So he’ll be around awhile. You remember what to do when it’s his time to go? Course you do.”

  Offscreen, Callie answered, “Ask Holly for a new dog.”

  And Ginger realized, “Echo is a service dog.”

  “You have Holly’s number in your book, right? Goody good. And you’re not too shy to call her? Good. You have to promise you won’t get shy about your words again. Do you promise?”

  Ginger turned up the volume, but they could not make out Callie’s answer.

  “So what. You get a little tongue-tied. Who doesn’t. Talk anyway. And sing. Singing keeps stress away. You must not let yourself get shy about using words, Callie Claire. You don’t want to ever lose your words again. I will never forgive that school-witch, making you self-conscious about talking. Well I fixed her, didn’t I? Every family has its quirks. Ours is we mix up words. That’s what Tangles do. End of story. Mission accomplished.”

  “She mixed up words to cover for Callie,” Ginger said.

  Mimi’s eyes narrowed further. “I sometimes catch the boys doing that.”

  Glory smiled, revealing a piece of toast stuck between her teeth for eternity. “We both did a good job, didn’t we? I always said, being an actress comes in handy, even when you’re not on the stage. We could have gone to Broadway, you and me. With your face, plus how good you are at memorizing? We could have had quite the careers. I guess we did, in a way.” She raised her chin, daring the world to argue the point. “If you get down in the dumps, you remember that. We turned out to be a couple of excellent actors. You know what they say. Pretend everything’s fine, everything is fine. And I’m not lying when I say that. I’m no liar.”

  “Hah.” Mimi coughed out a laugh.

  “Hold on a sec,” Glory said. “Don’t move.” She got up and disappeared, but Ginger could hear her singing her way into another room. “Almost ready. One more second. Here I come.”

  “New dress,” Ginger observed when her mother came back.

  Glory sat down and smiled at the camera. The toast was gone, but a smudge of lipstick was on her tooth in its place. “Okay, let’s talk about food. I know you think you have it all worked out. But still, remember, three meals a day. Even when you’re not hungry. It’s not your fault if you forget. That’s what happens with people who lose their sense of smell.”

  “Why can’t she smell?” Mimi asked.

  “Happens sometimes with brain injuries.”

  “Remember what to do? Course you do. Go by the clock, Callie Claire. Eight is breakfast. Noon is lunch. Four have a snack if you’re hungry. Six is dinner, hungry or not. What?” She leaned toward where Callie was sitting. “I know you can take care of yourself. I know. You’ve told me. You don’t need me. You tolerate me.”

  Ginger couldn’t make out the words, but Callie’s tone was reassuring.

  “Perfectly fine. Doesn’t bother me a bit. Nothing bothers me. I’m like you. Self-sufficient. Put me in a room where I can sit and write my plays all day with no one interrupting? Happy as a clam.”

  “Plays?” Ginger repeated and Mimi shrugged. No idea.

  “In this house? Never could get a minute to myself. So much tumult. But do I dwell? No. Water under the bridge.” Glory suddenly looked alarmed. “That’s an expression. You know I don’t want you jumping off bridges. Doesn’t matter if you’re a good swimmer. You don’t always know if something is safe or not.” There was the muffled sound of Callie talking. Glory nodded. “Yes, you used to swim like a fish. But you think I can do everything I used to? Your father and I used to dance like a dream. I came this close to being a Rockette. Now, I kick a pebble out of my way, I topple over. Just how it is. Promise me Callie Claire, no more jumping off the Oak Bluffs bridge. And no swimming in the Cut. What did the doctor tell us? You have an urge to do something, you’re not sure it’s a good idea, what do you do?”

  A soft voice answered, too quiet for them to hear.

  “Correct. You put that note under your pillow and you sleep on it. Every morning, you check. If there’s a note, you read it and decide. That’s called not being impulsive. Especially if you get stressed. Not just you. Anyone can make bad decisions when they’re stressed. Something to remember when I’m gone.” Callie mumbled something. “Of course I’m here now. What I’m talking about is someday. Someday when I’m not here.” Glory sighed, and seemed to deflate. “Of course, you can always visit me on your computer. Or in here.” She tapped her head. “Memory.” She seemed to be struggling to maintain her composure. She shifted, moving closer to the screen, and pulled a tissue out of her sleeve. Now Ginger could see the spidery lines around her lips and the broken capillaries in the crease of her nose.

  Glory swiveled away, patted her cheeks and eyes with her tissue, and swiveled back. “Remember, when I’m gone you’ll have your sisters. And don’t worry. It’ll be fine with all of you together. Everyone’s all grown up now. Transplantation took. Every one of you bloomed. You’re one big beautiful bouquet.” Her stare hardened. “Your sisters will do anything for you.” And then she seemed to sink into her chair. “I don’t know how I got myself into this predicament.” She turned away and dabbed her eyes, and offscreen Callie said something. “I’m fine. You know me. I’m always fine.” She straightened her spine. “Far as the sisters go, just remember, Mimi is as stubborn as a bloodstain. Came that way straight out of the womb. And Gingie has skin like a peach. Bruises if you look too hard. Nothing you can do about it.” She sighed and her mouth twitched. “Was every decision I made the best?” She got very still. “Maybe not.” She shook off the thought and looked away, and when she looked back her eyes were wet again.

  “Pay no attention to my eyes.” She sniffed, hard. “Dry as dust in this house. Eyes tear up every time I brink. I’ll be fine. We Mangles are always fine.” She wiped her eyes with the side of her hand and smiled. “I got to ask Gingie to get me drops. Gingie loves to do errands. You need anything at all, Callie Claire, just ask her. Makes her happy. I don’t know why. Girl has a marshmallow for a heart. If you have a big problem, get Mimi on the horn. What a fighter. Like a bulldog. Never gives up. She’s like me that way. And if Mimi says no, ignore her and ask again. She’ll come around. She may be tough on the outside, but inside another big heart. Both of them, all of you. My three bighearted girls. Ooh.” She waved her hands in front of her face as if she needed cooling off. “Better stop. Getting dripsy.”

  Her hand touched her mouth three times, little kisses, which she blew into the air. “Kisses in your pocket, Callie Claire. Special kisses. Last forever.” She touched her hand to her lips again, and then looked over where Callie was sitting. “Enough?” The screen went black.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  They watched the video a second time. When it was over, while Glory blew kisses for Callie’s pocket, Ginger glanced up at the bookshelf above the desk, at the notebooks lined up like soldiers. Notebooks that reminded her of the ones she’d used in elementary school. She pulled one out, handed it to Mimi, and pulled another for herself.

  She ran her hand over the cover—an embossed illustration of two girls, heads hidden beneath bonnets, exchanging daisy bouquets—and then opened it. “Are these the plays she was talking about? Mom wrote plays?”

  “They’re her journals,” Mimi said, skimming. “From when she toured with her theater group.”

  Ginger rea
d a couple of paragraphs. “This isn’t real. This didn’t happen. Listen. ‘Today we performed at the Lake Lugano Concert Hall in Schenectady.’ Lake Lugano? In Schenectady?”

  “There could be a Lake Lugano there. We don’t know.”

  “Okay, but you think this is true? ‘The hotel was once a palace. The bathroom sink is made of gold. Every night we dress for dinner. That’s the rule. Men have to wear white tie and women wear gowns. With long white gloves. Imagine!’ A palace in Schenectady? And gowns? Mom packed gowns and long white gloves?”

  “It could be. It’s possible.”

  Ginger didn’t think so. She read from the next page. “‘Today, I was late for rehearsal because I called home, and wouldn’t you know, Mimi had just started a fire in the oven. I told Gingie, do not let her cook anymore.’”

  “I remember that,” Mimi said. “I made us TV dinners and put it on broil instead of bake, and there was a fire in the oven. That happened.”

  “Okay. That part’s real. But listen to what she says next. ‘Lucky for Gingie, I didn’t have time to stay on the phone and be mad because the butler was standing there, waiting to draw my bath, and I didn’t want to be rude.’ She had a butler waiting to draw her a bath in Schenectady?”

  “Mom was the queen of exaggeration. What else is new?”

  Ginger flipped forward and read some more. “‘This theater is like a church. It’s got a domed ceiling with an actual mural painted on it. Like Broadway, only better.’”

  “That could be,” Mimi said, though she sounded less sure.

  “Here’s the theater at the next stop. ‘Like a tiny jewel box. Like a church. With a mural on the domed ceiling. Like Broadway, only better.’” She flipped through, skimming. “Every theater in every town they went to is the same. Same curtains, same ceiling, all of them, like Broadway, only better.” She skipped ahead a few pages. “‘Tonight was formal dinner before last dress. The chef made a coq au vin like you can’t believe. When he came out to meet us, he asked me what movies I’ve been in. Imagine! He thought I was a movie star. And he is not just any old chef. He used to be a chef for the Queen of England. Imagine. The queen’s chef thought I was a movie star.’”

  “She loved to embellish.”

  “Really? Which part is true? The theaters are like Broadway? The queen’s chef complimented her?” She flipped to the end and read another entry. “‘Last night we got the news. Richard Nash is coming to our performance! The actual playwright of The Rainmaker is coming to see me. This is it. My life is about to change.’ Okay, here she switches. Back to reality. ‘Callie is doing very well. She can make her own meals now and she washes her own clothes. Who knew she’d turn out to be my most self-sufficient? She told me she’s got a plan to start a business. A real entrepreneur, like her father. Imagine. Busy all the time, planning her business taking care of dogs. I hardly ever see her, but I don’t mind. I’m content to sit in this lovely chair on this lovely deck and write to you, my darling journal.’” Ginger closed the book. “She was here. That’s why the people in the Tabernacle knew her. Not because she was a generous patron who sent them a check in the mail. She attended those concerts. She told us she was going on tour with her theater group, told all those stories about summer stock. But she was here. Sitting on the deck outside. Making things up.” Ginger glanced at Mimi and her shoulders sank. “You knew?”

  “No. No. But—she might have tried to tell me.” Mimi sighed. “You were in college, okay? Callie was at her special acting school. I was stuck, finishing high school. I tried to stay out of the house as much as possible. Especially when Mom got weird. I mean, unusually weird. One night, out of the blue, she apologized to me. It was all crazy talk, about how she wasn’t where I thought she was. It didn’t make any sense. I thought she was drunk.”

  “You didn’t ask her to explain what she meant?”

  “Really? When you were alone with Mom and she got all, Let’s tell each other what’s really in our hearts, what did you do?”

  “Got out of the room. Fast as possible.”

  “Thank you. Which is exactly what I did. Can’t tell you where I went, but I got out of there fast as I could. Next time I saw her? Makeup on, perfumed wrists—like it never happened—she tells me she’s going with her theater group to Niagara Falls. I never questioned it.” She slumped in her seat. “What was wrong with me?”

  “Why would you question it? It was such a relief when she went away.” Ginger pulled another book off the shelf, a later model, this one with a hand-tooled leather cover. She opened it and read. “‘I miss those two girls. I think about them all day long. Imagine what it would have been like if we could have been together. I’m going to call them. Both of them. Send them kisses. Kisses for their pockets. Special kisses last forever.’” Ginger closed the book.

  Mimi took the last journal off the shelf and skimmed it. “No theater group touring here. This one’s all real. ‘What a horrid day. All that nonsense with the Cut. I wish I was allowed to read the notes Callie puts under her pillow. But no, I’m not to interfere. I’m to leave her alone so she can learn to be independent, self-sufficient, self-reliant. What good is self-reliance going to do her if something dreadful happens at the Cut?’”

  “The Cut,” Ginger said. “Didn’t Mom say something about that on the video?” She tracked the video backward and stopped it.

  Glory’s worried face filling the screen. “‘No more jumping off the Oak Bluffs bridge. And no swimming in the Cut.’”

  “Callie was always a good swimmer,” Mimi said. “What was Mom afraid of?”

  “I’m not sure,” Ginger said. “But I think we better figure it out.”

  By the time Thomas came back from his client’s property, the pack of aggressive wild turkeys now scattered in the woods, Mimi was sitting on the couch, laptop open, complaining about how Google had let her down. “I got a fashion blog, a movie, what to do if you get cut from your team, how to care for a cut finger. It’s useless.”

  Ginger explained to Thomas. “We just watched a video Mom made for Callie where she warned her to stay away from the Cut. We’re trying to understand what she meant.”

  Thomas nodded. “That drove Glory crazy, Callie always wanting to go swim in the Cut. Here. Let me show you.” He borrowed Mimi’s computer and pulled up a short video. “Friend of mine made this a couple of years ago. This is what it looks like the day they open the pond.” He turned the screen around, and they watched the image of a giant digger cutting a small trench in the sand.

  “That doesn’t look dangerous,” Mimi said. “It’s a foot wide. You could step right over it.”

  “True.” Thomas took back the computer and pulled up another video. “Here’s the same trench twelve hours later. What would you guess? Maybe fifty feet across now? The water did that. They always wait to open the pond until the moon is either full or new because that’s when the tide is strongest. With a strong tide, the water acts like a drill.” He pulled up a third video, three people on horseback fording what looked like a raging river. “This is the same place, at the end of the day. After the pond’s had a chance to calm down.”

  “That’s calm?” Ginger asked.

  Thomas nodded. “That’s why kids always want to go the first day. Water zooming in two directions like a river going nuts. It’s something to see. And not only because of the water. The fish go crazy too. You get hundreds of herring racing out of the pond and then, like someone rang a dinner bell, the big fish show up with their mouths open. It’s a great day to be a fisherman. The fishermen always seem to know when the pond is going to be opened. And on top of the fishermen coming out to get the stripers and the blues, and the stripers and the blues coming out to get the herring, you get the birds. They come for the fish too. And where there’s birds, there’s birders. Meanwhile, the water is crazy with riptides.”

  “You told us about this,” Ginger remembered. “But why do they do it—open the ponds—if it’s so dangerous?”

  “Have to.
If they didn’t, with all the leaching septic tanks, it’d be bad for the oysters, bad for the fish, bad for the birds. It does get crazy at the Cut, though. Even the day after they open the pond. It’s like a party. A real blast, except for when it goes bad.”

  “Bad how?” Ginger asked.

  “End of the first day? Waves can be two, three feet high in the ridges. Old-timers like to say only the foolish ones drown, but I’ve heard of excellent swimmers getting in trouble in the Cut. Most people know enough to wait a couple of days. The current’s still strong enough to be fun then, but it’s not so strong you’re risking your life. Some people, though, just don’t want to wait. That’s why the engineers and the pond commissioners, they try to keep it a secret. Which they can, if they’re opening it under a new moon. But if the moon is full—well, you can’t keep a full moon secret.”

 

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