My Sister's Prayer

by Mindy Starns Clark

  I could tell she was trying, and I immediately felt bad for using my sister’s misfortune this way. “I appreciate that. We all appreciate everything you’ve done.”

  “Thanks.” She slid her chair back and reached for her briefcase. “I guess that’s about it. I’ll let you know if by some wild chance we get a break in the case.” As we stood to go, she met my eyes and added, “But…I’m sorry, Maddee. Don’t count on it.”

  Once I was back outside, I took a look at my phone. Nicole had called two more times while I was with Ortiz, though she hadn’t left any messages. She had, however, sent a text. Taking a seat on an empty bench near the bike rack, I opened it up and read:

  This. Woman. Is. Driving. Me. Crazy.

  I smiled in spite of myself. Poor kid. I could sympathize. Our grandmother could be trying at times, and Nicole had been staying with her for two weeks now. To be honest, she’d lasted longer than I had expected her to.

  After her car accident and subsequent surgery, Nicole was in the hospital for two weeks, followed by an inpatient rehab facility for two more. From there, we’d moved her into Nana’s house just west of Richmond, near Subletts. With both of her legs in casts, Nicole couldn’t walk and had to be tended to around the clock. So Nana, with her expansive home and legion of hired help, had been the logical choice for taking her in. Our parents, who lived in Suffolk about an hour and a half away, both worked full-time, so they weren’t the best choice. And though I was happy to help out, and my home was the most convenient, being in Richmond proper and the closest to her doctors and physical therapists and such, I also worked full-time. We all agreed Nana’s would be best—all except Nicole, of course, who had balked. She loved our grandmother, but Nana wasn’t always the easiest person to be around. She could be critical, especially of Nicole, who had made a mess of her life in so many ways.

  Prior to the accident, my sister had been living in the seediest section of Norfolk, addicted to drugs, and running around with all the wrong people. Since the accident, she’d been a prisoner of her own injured body, cut off completely from the methamphetamine she lived for and forced into sobriety, cold turkey. That was the silver lining in all of this. Perhaps now, finally, she would be off drugs long enough to get some perspective and change her life for the better.

  In the meantime, she still had much pain to endure. A few weeks ago, when Nicole was still in rehab and I’d been charged with getting her on board the Nana plan, I’d told her that if she would stick it out as long as she could, when it got to be too much for her I would figure out a way to shift her over to my place instead.

  “So why not just start there and skip Nana’s altogether?” she’d pleaded, her bruised eyes making her look like a sad raccoon.

  I explained that I’d only been at my job for two months, not nearly long enough to have earned any time off, and that the first few weeks of her care were going to be quite time-intensive. “You’re better off with Nana in the beginning. I can’t be there for you enough, but she can.”

  “Seriously, Maddee?” Nicole whined. “She’ll be all up in my business twenty-four-seven.”

  “No, she won’t. She’ll be in charge of your care, sure, but only in an administrative sense. She’ll hire a daily aide to do the hands-on stuff.”

  “Okay, so why don’t I just move in with you, and we get an aide to come help me there instead? Then I would be where I want, but you wouldn’t have to miss any work on account of me.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “And you’d pay for that aide how?”

  Nicole’s face reddened. We both knew that at the time of her accident, she’d had no job or any means of support. Thus far, Nana’s wealth had been a huge blessing, providing Nicole with the finest care at the best hospital from the top doctors. But the only way to ensure Nana’s continued generosity was to do this next part on her terms—and her turf.

  Helplessness filled my sister’s eyes as she finally seemed to accept the inevitable. “You know she’s going to drive me crazy, right? What happens when I can’t stand it any longer?”

  “Then I’ll come get you, like I said.”

  Nicole swallowed hard. “You promise?”

  “Yes—but only if you promise to stick it out first for as long as you possibly can.”

  “Fine,” she muttered. “I promise.”

  Nicole had kept her word. Now it seemed it was time to keep mine. And though I was hesitant to take her in, a part of me was excited at the prospect. She and I had been separated for so long by the life choices she’d made. Surely this was our chance to reconnect and forge a new kind of relationship, the sort I’d always wanted.

  I thought for a moment and then began to type.

  Sorry, was in a meeting. Will swing by tonight so we can figure things out.

  After a moment, I got her response:

  I’ll be counting the minutes. And by counting, I mean sweating, praying, biting my tongue, and doing everything I can not to bop this woman over the head with her own day planner. Would you believe she brought in a hairdresser this morning to fix “that disaster you call a hairdo”? Like that’s something I felt like fooling with right now! Arg! Come as soon as you can. Please! I can’t take it anymore.

  Chuckling, I responded:

  Will do. Back to work for now. See you tonight.

  I was still smiling as I took off toward my office on Cary Street. Though much of Virginia was a wonderland of vivid fall colors by mid-October, here in Richmond we wouldn’t reach our peak for another three or four weeks. For now, there were just hints of orange and yellow and brown among the green.

  The bike ride took eight minutes, long enough for my mind to wander from the situation with Nicole back to Ortiz. As I sailed down Main Street and then cut over to Cary, I focused on coming up with a new ringtone for the detective. Until today, it had been a line from a Barbalettes song: Gonna solve this puzzle for you.

  So much for that. The time for optimism was over.

  There were plenty of song lyrics that would work for a cop, like Put your hands up or You’ve stolen more than my heart, but I needed something specific to our situation. Thanks to my near-encyclopedic knowledge of even the most obscure ’50s girl bands, I finally thought of a perfect choice, a little-known gem by Tammy and the Smash. I made it to the office with seven minutes to spare, just enough time to buy the ringtone I wanted and edit it down to one line: I’ve done all I can but it’s over now.

  “That’s what you think, Detective,” I said as I assigned the clip to her number in my contacts. She might believe this investigation was finished, but I wasn’t giving up that easily.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Maddee

  The sun was nearing the horizon as I headed out on the twenty-minute drive to Nana’s. My afternoon had been so busy at work that I hadn’t had time to dwell on the full implications of the change I would be instigating tonight, but as I pulled onto the highway, my earlier elation about taking in Nicole was slowly replaced with anxiety and a gnawing in my gut that told me to move slowly, to be careful.

  Nicole’s addiction was at the heart of the issue. Years ago, it had driven her from us and into a difficult and miserable existence. Six weeks ago yesterday, it had led her to climb into a car while high on meth and go for a drive along the back roads south of Virginia Beach. It had caused her to wrap her car around a tree at fifty miles an hour and nearly die of blood loss while waiting for help to arrive. The thought of almost losing her made my hands tremble on the steering wheel.

  Addiction was the enemy, but did I have what it would take to help her face such a powerful foe? Sure, she’d been clean now for forty-two days. She’d already gone through the initial physical withdrawals, but that meant nothing in the face of a habit that had overwhelmed her life for years, starting at a young age. It went further back than that first, quick joint behind the middle school cafeteria, that initial sleepover with the friend who’d stolen a bottle of vodka from her parents’ liquor cabinet. In fact, I believed the roots
of my sister’s addiction could be traced all the way back to that day in the Dark Woods, when at just six years old she’d been exposed to a grisly, horrifying crime scene.

  She started acting out soon after. Refusing to believe our claims about what we’d seen in the cabin, our parents simply called her behavior a “phase.” Mostly, they just placated her, giving her whatever she wanted. But as she grew, placating turned to enabling, which went on for years.

  It wasn’t just my parents, either. I’d enabled her as well, consumed by my guilt over what had happened and my inability to protect my baby sister way back when. It wasn’t until I was in college and well on my way to becoming a psychologist that I’d learned about the nature of addiction and about boundaries and how best to help a loved one who was an addict, no matter the root cause. For a good five years now, I had been applying all of that knowledge to our relationship, drawing healthy lines with my sister. But now that she was moving in with me, could I stay strong? Could I hang on to all that I’d learned and maintain the kind of tough love she needed—especially considering how pitiful and helpless she was right now?

  Bottom line, I would have to care for her and love her while still guarding my own heart. She wouldn’t get the casts off for at least three weeks, possibly more, and after that she would need even more weeks of intensive physical therapy before she could walk normally again. But once she was fully ambulatory, she might very well walk right back into a life of drugs.

  It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in man.

  Words from the Psalms popped into my head, a reassurance from God that this wasn’t my problem but His. As I took the exit for the road that would bring me over the James River, I was comforted by that truth.

  Settling back into my seat, I enjoyed the rest of the drive. Once on Huguenot Trail Road, I took in the beauty of the passing landscape as I drove westward. It was darker now but still light enough to see the tall trees that lined both sides of the street and the massive homes that peeked out here and there between them in the distance. I turned onto Willow Lane and neared Nana’s house, which was one of the biggest in the area. As I eased up her driveway and around the curve, the impressive sight came into view.

  A three-story red brick Colonial set amid acres of graceful wooded land, the Talbot estate was a testament to our Huguenot heritage and its legacy of talented craftsmanship combined with a strong work ethic. Our ancestors had come to this country back in the early 1700s, and though they had started modestly, over time they had established and grown the family business, Talbot Paper and Printing, until it had become one of the largest and most well-respected paper and printing companies in the nation.

  Nana met me at the door herself, leaving behind a whiff of Calèche perfume after she kissed my cheek. She looked lovely though tired, as if not even the most artfully applied concealer could hide the dark circles under her eyes. Those circles had been there since the accident.

  She seemed to have taken it harder than any of us, and though I knew that was due in part to her love for her youngest granddaughter, I had a feeling it was as much about the shock of it all. Wealth tended to cushion one against many of life’s uglier realities, but in the space of a single, near-fatal crash, Nana’s cushion had been jerked away, forcing her to face the fact that bad things happened, and most of them were totally out of her control. For someone like her, life was all about control, about engineering and organizing and dictating all the details into their proper places. I wasn’t all that different from her, if I were being honest, yet another reason for my bicycle plan.

  “How’s she doing?” I asked, giving a smile and a thanks to the maid who magically appeared to take my jacket.

  “I hope you didn’t come straight from work,” Nana replied, ignoring the question as she eyed my dark-wash jeans. I’d worn them with a pair of Franco Sarto ankle boots and a hunter green V-neck top, and I thought the outfit looked great, its colors complementing my long auburn hair.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she added, seeing the expression on my face. “You look impeccable, as usual. I just didn’t realize blue jeans were suitable for—”

  “They’re not, Nana. I went home and changed first.”

  “Oh, good. And at least everything else is perfect, as always. Well, almost.” She patted down some imaginary loose strand on the side of my head and then took my elbow, leading me across the solarium toward the study. “Speaking of hair, wait till you see your sister. You won’t recognize her.” Lowering her voice, she added, “That hideous bleached-blond disaster is gone forever, thank goodness.”

  Poor Nicole. How she had managed to stick it out even this long was beyond me.

  I held my tongue as we reached the door and gave it a quick knock. My late grandfather’s study, which hadn’t been used much since his death almost a year ago, was currently serving as Nicole’s temporary bedroom. Fortunately, it was large enough to accommodate her massive hospital bed as well as her wheelchair and other medical devices.

  Our knock was answered by Inez Valero, the aide who cared for Nicole each day. She handled everything from dressing to feeding to bathing and more, and I could only hope Nana would let her continue in that role once we’d shifted things to my house.

  Inez greeted me warmly before leaving the room to give us some privacy. I looked to Nicole, who was pale and thin but had a definite sparkle in her eyes that hadn’t been there last Sunday when I’d visited after church. This was the glow of relief, no doubt.

  I moved over to the bed and gave her a hug, careful not to jostle her healing ribs. I resisted the urge to smooth her gown and tuck in her blanket and otherwise mother her. She would always be my baby sister, but at twenty-five she was no baby and hated being treated like one.

  “Hey, you,” I said softly.

  “Hey back,” she replied. “Is it time for our racquetball game already?”

  I laughed.

  “Well?” Nana exclaimed, stretching the word outward and upward. “What do you think?”

  It took a moment for me to realize she was talking about Nicole’s hair. I hated to admit it, but there was no denying she looked a thousand times better. The two-toned dye job had been replaced by carefully foiled and highlighted blondish-brown locks. The style was cute too, a shoulder-length bob with long layers that curved in at the bottom.

  “She looks amazing,” I said.

  “Thanks,” Nicole replied. “I think this shade of blond is the perfect complement to my orange-and-yellow legs.”

  With a huff, Nana turned and left the room, no doubt the very response my sister had been going for. Nicole’s vibrantly colored fiberglass casts had been a source of embarrassment to our grandmother since she first saw them at the hospital. “What’s wrong with good old plaster of paris?” Nana had cried. “At least it’s white, unlike this ridiculous pair of oversized Popsicles.”

  “Oh, Mom, it’s what all the kids are doing these days,” my father had said, trying to calm her down but causing a quick jab to my gut. How many times had he uttered that sentiment?

  “She’s drunk? Oh, well. It’s what all the kids are doing these days.”

  “Moving in with some guy? I suppose that’s the way kids are these days.”

  “Arrested for possession? It’s okay, honey. I think it happens to a lot of kids these days.”

  Shaking those thoughts from my mind, I focused on the girl in front of me. “How are you feeling?” I asked. “Think you’ll be up to making the big shift by Saturday?”

  To my surprise, Nicole’s face fell. “Saturday?” she whimpered, and in that moment I realized she’d thought I would be taking her back with me tonight. How very much like my sister to expect the thing she wanted without giving any thought to the complicated logistics involved.

  Trying not to sound aggravated, I explained I needed time to shift stuff around in my apartment and make room for her, plus we’d have to get a bed delivered, plus Nana and I needed to work out the details of her care.
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br />   She huffed. “Fine. Just don’t leave me here any longer than that.”

  “I won’t, I promise—as long as you’re sure you still want to come once you hear my ground rules.”

  A hardness passed across her eyes, but she was in no position to refuse. If she really wanted out of here, this was the price she’d have to pay.

  “Go ahead,” she said with a heavy sigh.

  “I just have three rules, but they’re nonnegotiable. First, no visitors or phone calls except those preapproved by me—and I’m not approving anyone who might come in and slip you some drugs, so don’t even ask.”

  “How am I going to call anyone anyway?” she retorted. “My phone got busted up in the crash.”

  “You have the burner phone Nana gave you.”

  “Yeah, but without my contacts, what good does it do?”

  I hesitated, realizing she’d never bothered to memorize her friends’ numbers. I would check the activity on her device periodically just to make sure, but I had a feeling rule one was probably a nonissue for now. Deeply relieved, I continued with my list.

  “Second, you’ll do thirty meetings in thirty days. Between Narcotics Anonymous and Celebrate Recovery, I’ve found plenty to choose from. You can start next week.”

  “Next week? My casts don’t come off for another month.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Nana said the doctor just cleared you for moderate activity.”

  “Yeah, but he meant like physical therapy. Not trudging down to some church basement to talk about my feelings and sing ‘Kumbaya’ with a bunch of other losers.”

  She was trying to be funny, but her words broke my heart. “You’re no loser, Nicole.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said. “What’s the third rule?”

  “As soon as your casts come off, you’ll get a job—preferably with me. I talked to my supervisor this afternoon and lined one up for you if you want it. It’s just clerical-type stuff, but you can work from a seated position, it pays hourly, and the schedule would be flexible enough to accommodate your meetings, physical therapy, and endurance level.”