The Never Never Sisters

by L. Alison Heller

  When the door finally creaked open at five in the morning, and he saw me sitting there, Dave, who looked as tired as I’d ever seen him, said, “Whoa. You’re up early. Going for a run?”

  “Yep. I want to beat the heat.” It felt good to lie to him; I would have lied about anything at that point. “You sure did get stuck at work.”

  He exhaled, making his lips vibrate as he did. “You have no idea.”

  “What happened?” I walked out of the room and down the hall to the closet.

  Dave followed me, leaning against the wall as I slid my toes into my running shoes and wiggle-stepped the heels. “The fucking FBI raided our firm. They were seizing computers and arresting people, and first we were all tied up in trying to do legal defense with the litigation team, and then there was an impromptu partner meeting about what we do—dissolve, rebrand. Jesus. It was the longest night.” He pulled his work phone out of his pocket and tossed it on the small table in the hallway.

  “Go change,” I said, yanking up my laces. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes,” he said, “starving.”

  “Eggs?”

  “Oh, that sounds perfect. That way you do with the cream cheese?”

  “You got it.” I made a scurrying motion with my hand and as soon as he went into the bedroom, I picked up the work phone.

  Password? it asked.

  I typed in N-E-L-L, pressing each of the four letters down so hard that they made indents in the side of my thumb. And then I was in; I got what I needed and left out the front door, but not before grabbing the eggs from the refrigerator. The entire carton. No fluffy eggs for you this morning, Dave.

  I tucked the plastic container under my arm and stepped in the elevator. And while I really wanted to egg something of Dave’s—preferably Nell—what I did was give them, with a sweet smile, to the first breakfast-cart guy I saw on Lexington. He was setting up, rubbing grease on his grill, when I rapped on the metal. “Could you use these?”

  He held out his hand. “Sure could, miss. Thanks.” He was as unsurprised as if I were his regular delivery guy.

  And as soon as they were out of my hands and in his, I ran the thirty blocks downtown to the address I’d lifted from Dave’s phone.

  chapter forty-three

  I DIDN’T STOP until I got to Nell’s building. As soon as I saw its redbrick facade, my certainty faltered. I had no plan, just anger. I was so much madder than I’d been when Dave’s crime had been bigger and more public.

  I ordered an iced coffee at a café across the street, sat down on the bench outside it and stewed, watching Nell’s front door as the city woke up.

  Eight people exited her building between six and seven. Counting them, I tried to pinpoint what upset me the most. How could I handle Dave’s transgressions when they were against the American people but not against me alone? It wasn’t just the thought of the two of them together. Or even the lies. It was also the shock, like jumping into Antarctic bottom water. I’d never known that surprise could preserve someone in a moment, but look at Sloane. As far as she had come, a piece of her remained there on Sycamore Street, staring at my mom through the car’s fogged-up windows.

  But, to be fair, not so long after Dave had been with Nell, I’d been dreaming about Percy like a fool. If I worked with Percy during sixteen-hour days and through weekends instead of in little bits and pieces, would I have been unable to resist him? Maybe this was par for the course with marriage. You felt tempted; you acted or you didn’t; you got over it. Had Dave gotten over it?

  By eight thirty, First Avenue was crowded, people swarming to offices in suits that looked far too hot for late July; dog walkers staring at their phones, moving slowly as the dogs sniffed trash cans; parents pushing their children, all in solid color camp T-shirts, onto yellow buses.

  At eight forty-five, I tossed my coffee in the trash and waited until the traffic ebbed enough for me to cross the street. Then, as Dave had probably done before, I pressed the buzzer for apartment 5J.

  “Cameron?” a voice floated over the intercom. “I’ll be right down.” It was sweet, a little childish—not what I expected. Like Alpine Heidi inquiring whether Grandpapa would like more cake. I wanted to hear it again. I left quickly, almost bumping into a gray-haired man, and leaned against the doorway of the building next door, waiting for her to emerge.

  A few beats later, Nell did, standing on the landing a bit lost, swiveling her head, wondering where Cameron was, but then she checked her watch and started walking south. So I did too.

  I tracked that narrow little back like a homing missile: messy ponytail, gray hoodie, white Capri yoga pants through which I could see her (rather matronly) panty line. By the time Nell turned into the grocery store at the end of her block, I was close enough to catch her scent. I’d anticipated irresistibly floral. Instead, her bouquet was lemony sweet, like a cheap cleaning product.

  I hung back in front of the misted broccoli as Nell accidentally toppled the pyramid of plums by reaching for one that was too deep in the bin. Two rolled down to the floor, and she bent to pick them up with one hand, first brushing them off on her pants and then, guiltily, putting both in her shopping basket. It was when she glanced around, to see if anyone had caught the moment, that our eyes connected. I walked toward her—got close enough to see her red-rimmed eyes. “Hi.”

  She paused. “Hello.”

  “I’m—”

  “I know.” She smoothed the halo of frizz on the top of her head. “I haven’t talked to him. It’s over.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m not at the office. I mean, obviously. You should know that, actually.” Her voice had an edge. “They found me a new job, and it starts on Monday.”

  “Well.” I tucked a hair behind my ear. “That’s probably for the best, considering . . . what’s going on there now. You know, with the FBI.” I stopped short of saying, Who knew sleeping with your boss could be such a good business move? Because the answer was Plenty of people, since time immemorial, although usually it doesn’t go down quite like this. She gave me a funny look, so I just said, “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” Her eyes bulged—the whites prominent—making her look bovine and uneasy. She was, like me, trying to figure out what exactly I wanted. “I’m not some bunny boiler. I could’ve stayed at the firm and kept my mouth shut. I wouldn’t have, like, chased him around the firm in my lingerie.”

  I nodded. Based on the practical shape of her underpants beneath those white yoga pants, I believed her. “Well . . .” I shrugged. “I’m sorry your affair with my husband disrupted your work situation.”

  “Oh my god.” She covered her mouth. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m in a bad place. I shouldn’t even be . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Okay.”

  She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I know it was so wrong. Now that it’s over, it’s all so cheap.” She opened her mouth to say something and then shut it. And then opened it again. She looked like a fish. Fish-mouthed Nell Standish. It should have been more satisfying than it was.

  “What were you about to say?”

  “Never mind. You don’t need to hear this.”

  “Please.”

  “I thought it would be worth the obstacles. You know, like five years from now, no one would remember that he was even married when we got together. Because we’d have a whole life together. And when I did think of you, I thought that you’d be better off with someone else, your true someone, with whom you could have what he and I had. But I was wrong. It didn’t mean that to him.”

  “It didn’t?”

  “It was just a . . . fling to him.” She spat out the word, as though it still hurt.

  “How long were you guys—”

  “Three months. He wasn’t counting, though. It meant nothing to him.”

  “He said that?”r />
  “Oh, trust me. He’s made it very clear that I’m never to contact him again. And I won’t.” She bit her lip. “For him, there was never even a second of deliberation. I, of course, idiot that I am, was all in. I never would’ve gotten involved if I understood what it meant to him. Not that it makes it right, what we did. Of course.”

  I wanted to know more. What had he been like in college? Why had they broken up? Had she followed him here? What did she love about the Dave she thought she knew? Who was the Dave she thought she knew?

  I suppose it’s how a parent might feel when her kid bites someone else at the playground; I didn’t want to, but somehow, I’d assumed blame. I felt like showing Nell some kindness, offering her a tissue, touching her shoulder. Instead, I said good-bye.

  “You got what you wanted?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You needed to make sure that it’s over?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Well”—she pretended to examine a peach to hide the tears pooling in her eyes—“you have nothing to worry about.”

  chapter forty-four

  “YES,” I SAID when my mom opened the door, her eyes worried, “I’ve seen the news.”

  “Is the Boy okay?” She stepped aside, and I collapsed on the couch in the sitting room. She eased down next to me tentatively.

  “Fine. He’s at home.”

  “That poor kid,” she said. “We just found out this morning, and your dad called some defense lawyers. He’s planning to meet with some today.”

  “Why?”

  “Just to get a handle on the situation. We don’t think Dave did anything wrong, but, you know, in case he got caught up in something.”

  “Sloane left.”

  “Oh?” I could tell she was making a point not to react, as though she were fine either way.

  “I found out what she’s stuck on.” She turned her head ever so slightly. “Your affair. She’s pissed about your affair a billion years ago.” I focused on one of their new art pieces—a big light box with neon script spelling out Diner. Why was I here? I hadn’t even thought about how illogical it was, how I’d trudged straight over after seeing Nell like I was on some sort of zombie heartbreak scavenger hunt, but after I said it—“affair”—I understood.

  I’d been reading the journals, identifying with her connection to another man, likening it to mine with Percy. But I’d been totally outclassed. “You probably knew that, though.”

  “What are you talking about?” She folded her lips together, rejecting that. “This is why you don’t go reading people’s private things, Paige. Because you get the wrong idea.”

  “Tell me, Mom. What’s the right idea?”

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Try.”

  Her eyes sparked dark and flinty. “She needs her anger toward me. It keeps her going, so in a sense I welcome it.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “Trust me, Paige. She and I are peas in a pod. You wouldn’t understand. You’re made of different stuff.”

  When I regained my breath, all I wanted was to shock her back. “You’re wrong. She’s nothing like you. She saw you guys in the car one night—you and this G. That’s why she hates you, and you know it.”

  “In the car? I have no idea what that even means.”

  “Come on. You were having an affair.”

  “It wasn’t an affair.”

  “Okay. Your special friendship. We can put it in the vault along with all the other things we don’t need to talk about. Your father. Sloane—”

  “It wasn’t an affair. It could’ve been. But it wasn’t.”

  “G.”

  “Yes. His name was Geoff, and we spent a lot of time together in a way that was perhaps”—her cheeks colored—“inappropriate. It’s nothing I ever expected to have to rehash, but it was not an affair.”

  “Does it even matter?”

  “Maybe not. Well, to me.”

  It was an escape, she explained. He had the appointment after hers at Pressman’s, and they started talking in the ten minutes between their sessions. One day, he told her to wait for him after. They went for coffee and from there, spent regular time together: dinners and walks. A movie or two.

  “So what did Sloane see?”

  “We were probably talking. We used to do that.”

  “Talk in cars?”

  “Talk . . . anywhere. We’d go places—the strangest places, like a bank, the supermarket—and just talk about everything for hours. I don’t remember seeing Sloane. Who knows what she thinks she saw? She was hardly a reliable observer.”

  “She’s certain.”

  My mom sighed, dragged her left hand across her eyebrows. “If that’s the excuse she needs to keep her distance, then what can I do? I know what I know.”

  My mom cheated or she didn’t; her marriage to my dad worked or it didn’t. Dave’s lies were our sum total or just a tear that would heal. I thought of what Percy had said while we drifted in the hammock: truth is perception.

  “Why did it stop?”

  “I went to his house once. It was in the morning. As a surprise. I’d never been there before and I don’t remember what I thought would happen, but when I got there, he was hanging out with his friends, people from his band. They clearly knew who I was, knew about Sloane. They were asking me questions about her, like—I can’t describe it—like, they owned my problem.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, this one woman—her name was Dolores—asked about her son’s pot use. Minor pot use and did I think it was a big problem. As though I was an expert. And they wanted to know about Gentle Breezes, mostly how much we were spending, gawking at the expense. They were so casual about it all. I felt violated. Like this thing that was so special to me—this time that Geoff and I had—wasn’t. And I realized that your father would never betray me that way. It was just this crystal clear moment that I knew your dad. I understood him and he understood me, and even though things weren’t perfect, having that between us was pure gold. It was enough. I knew what I wanted.”

  “And if not for that?”

  “Probably, yes. Probably something would’ve happened. Or not. I don’t know.”

  “Does Dad know?”

  She shrugged. “He might have suspected something. I wasn’t around much that year, but we were both sort of muddling through for a while there. We’ve given each other latitude for that, Paige.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” I said. “Why have we never talked about it?”

  “About Geoff?” She blinked at me incredulously. “I don’t think children need to know about that much of their parents’ marriage, Paige.”

  “Not Geoff. Sloane. Your dad. Russell Cohen. Why have we never talked about it?”

  “I couldn’t.” She was silent for a long time. “The way I grew up, Paige. It was awful. And I felt so powerless as a kid. As I got older, though, I realized I could move past it. I could control what it meant to me, how often I thought about the past. When it started with Sloane, it felt like something was catching up, as though I’d escaped only because I’d unwittingly sacrificed my daughter, like in one of those fairy tales. I didn’t want any of that to be your backdrop.”

  “Guess what? It was my backdrop.”

  “I know it doesn’t make any sense, but sometimes if you give in to the weaknesses, if you acknowledge them aloud and build everything around them, you get trapped by them.” She shrugged and her voice got a little harder. “You didn’t need to know everything that was going on.”

  “Not everything. But maybe something.”

  “I would protect you from it all over again.” Our gazes clashed like swords. I’d never know the half of it, I realized: her motivations or the past that had left her so broken and
impressive.

  You can go crazy watching other people’s behavior, imbuing meaning and motive, trying to uncover the exact truth of their secrets without getting to the bottom of it. That little whiff of mystery remains, no matter how close you get. There is no turning of a person’s hinges, no seeing inside to anyone else’s motivations.

  The intent of Dr. Pressman’s artist was inconsequential. It was a bunny; it was a duck; it was both. It was whatever I saw; it was whatever I wanted it to be.

  “I want you to be okay, Paige.” My mom was asking, I knew, whether we would be okay. This was, I realized, the type of question—vague, unanswerable—that I usually deferred to her. I wasn’t sure why I’d stayed tucked so far under her wing—perhaps Sloane’s absence had scarred me more than I’d ever admitted; perhaps I was just born to be the type of person who bobbed in others’ wakes rather than setting off a thousand expanding ripples. But in that moment, as she started to cry, I felt something between us unlink, and frankly, it made me a little lighter.

  “I’m okay.” I threaded my fingers through hers and gripped her hand. “And we’ll be fine.” It was the truth as I knew it then: there might be new boundaries between us, but the love would always be there.

  I was dry-eyed until I walked out of their building, but there, on the same sidewalk where Sloane had first introduced me to Giovanni and Percy, it overtook me like a swoon: the lack of sleep and all the things I was now poised to lose. I leaned against a blue construction wall for a moment, too stunned to notice the man who approached from the direction of my parents’ building.

  He must have seen how stricken I was, because he put his arms around me before saying anything. We were both a little tentative and awkward—we hadn’t hugged as grown-ups really, and he wasn’t much taller than I was. I leaned my face down into my dad’s shoulder, though, and let myself sob. I couldn’t stop, and as I ruined the fabric of his suit with my tears, he stroked my hair and told me it all would be okay.