The Secret Letters

by Abby Bardi

  “You’ve been here before?”

  “Not exactly.” I remembered the references to the Forest Motel in the letters. “I used to like to drive past her house when I was in town. Sometimes I’d see you kids playing outside with your dogs. Every so often, I’d catch sight of her, but I never stopped in. She was married again by then, and I just didn’t want to make any trouble for her.”

  “So one minute you’re two housewives chatting in the produce aisle, and the next—”

  “I wasn’t a housewife.” She laughed. “I was in sales.”

  “You were a traveling salesperson?”

  “You could say that.”

  “That’s hilarious.” I put my empty cup down on the Ricky-face coaster.

  “More tea?”

  “Sure.”

  She poured some into my cup, then sweetened it up for me. My mother would have said, “Get it yourself, you’ve got two hands.”

  “So were you married, too?” I couldn’t help asking. The tea still tasted like someone had cried into it.

  “Oh no, hon, I’ve never married.”

  “It’s legal now.”

  She smiled. “Too late to do me any good.”

  “So you just traveled around, marketing. I’m sorry, it’s just that—”

  “I know. This is a hard thing to find out about your mother.” Her bird’s eyes were focused on me, like she was really paying attention. This, too, was nothing like my mother, whose eyes always darted around the room as if something more interesting was going on somewhere else.

  “Well, it sure is confusing. Because you know what the funny thing is? Guess who was always yakking about the ‘queers,’ and how they were ruining everything for decent people, and the sanctity of marriage, and blah blah blah.”

  She nodded. She knew who.

  “I guess that was part of the problem,” I said.

  “It didn’t help.”

  “Didn’t she know—sorry, stupid question, of course she knew what she was doing. I just don’t get how she could have said all those things about gay people without figuring out she was talking about herself.”

  “Maybe she never thought about it that way. I don’t know that she thought much about things at all, the way you or I would.”

  It seemed funny to be accused of thinking, but I knew what she meant. “That was Mom,” I agreed. “She’d just brush everything under the rug, whistle a happy tune. So you had this big love affair, and then what?”

  “She broke it off.”

  “Why?”

  She paused, like she was deciding how to spin this. “She got pregnant. I guess she made her choice. She wanted to try to save her marriage.”

  I remembered the dates on the letters. “That must have been Donny and me. We were twins.”

  “I wasn’t sure. She had all you kids so close together.”

  “Yeah. Donny, well, he passed away when we were twenty. That’s such a stupid expression, isn’t it? I mean, he died. He was killed on his motorcycle.”

  “Oh no, I’m so sorry.” She lay her birdlike hand on her chest as if something hurt her there. “That must have been so terrible for all of you. Beyond terrible.”

  I closed my eyes and heard the pounding of rain and the sound of Donny’s new Harley. His new leather jacket, his big goofy smile that people said looked like mine. Donny telling our mother he would come right back and take her for a ride. My mother laughing and smacking him upside the head, yelling, “You know I won’t fit on that there seat.” My mother’s screams when the police came to our house and told us there had been an accident.

  I opened my eyes and saw Julia Fallingwater sitting there, still curled like a shrimp in my mother’s chair. “Beyond terrible, yeah.”

  “And you were twins.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, hon.”

  “Thanks. Yeah, in fact—” I thought about it for a second, about whether or not to tell her. Colors whirled in my mind from the postcard she had sent, the one from Arizona I had taped to the mirror on my dresser, gone now, burned up in the fire. “In fact, I’ve got a confession.”

  “A confession?”

  “Well, here’s the thing. When I read those letters, I assumed you were a man.”

  “I guess anyone might.”

  “And you never signed your full name. You always just signed it J. I thought your name was John or something. In fact, you never signed ‘Fallingwater’ either. I found that in Mom’s address book and figured it out. What kind of name is that, anyway?”

  “It’s Indian. My father was Navajo.”

  “Really,” I said, as if this had never occurred to me. “So the funny thing is, when I read the letters and put the dates together, I thought you were my father. Donny’s and mine. Well, not you—the guy who wrote the letters.”

  “Oh, Julie. My goodness. You must be so relieved.”

  “Relieved? No, no, I wouldn’t say that.” I let out an unpleasant laugh. “See, here’s the thing. I don’t know if Mom told you much about Bill Barlow, but he was a real asshole.”

  “She told me some things,” she said. “That’s why I was so surprised when she decided—well, it doesn’t pay to dwell on it.”

  I knew what she was thinking. It was hard to imagine how Mom would not only pass up true love with her, but then would go and get pregnant by that bastard Bill Barlow. I was so used to thinking of Fallingwater, that imaginary Native American man who lived in my mind, as my real father that I couldn’t attach the words “my father” to Bill Barlow any more, and maybe I never would again. “It must have been hard for you when she went back to him,” I said.

  She nodded. Her skin was mapped with fine lines around the eyes and mouth, but she had probably been beautiful forty years ago. “It was tough.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did she write letters like that back to you?”

  Julia laughed. “Well, she wrote me some letters. They were a little less colorful, I guess I’d say. I still have them. Would you like to see them?”

  “Lord, no,” I said, then, hoping that hadn’t sounded too rude, I added, “I mean, hey, it’s none of my business.” I took a breath, then asked another nosy question. “Do you think she ever wondered if she made a mistake, staying here, not being with you?”

  “I don’t know. You kids meant the world to her.”

  It was hard to imagine Mom making that kind of sacrifice, in fact, any kind of sacrifice, for anyone. Then again, when you got right down to it, what did I really know about my mother? Not much, it turned out.

  ***

  Julia was in the kitchen, washing out our cups. I slumped on the couch, my feet on the coffee table, staring out the front window. There was a lot of traffic. I watched the cars shoot back and forth too fast around the curve. She came back in, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I should get going.”

  “Back to traveling sales?”

  “No, I retired last year. I’m here visiting my sister. She’s sick.”

  “Oh no, is it serious?”

  “It doesn’t look good.”

  “I’m so sorry.” I thought of my sister in her hyperbaric chamber.

  “Well, maybe the doctors are wrong.” She picked up her blue raincoat from the chair and cradled it in her arms.

  “You never know.” I got to my feet carefully and walked her over to the door. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “I know how you felt about her, but how did she feel about you?”

  “I don’t know. I guess she must have loved me enough to go against all those prejudices she had.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Have you ever loved someone that much?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “Well, I’m not sure I’d wish it on you. It’s no walk in the park, that’s for sure.” She held out her hand, and I shook it. “I’m so very sorry about your mother, Julie.”

  “Thanks.”

&n
bsp; “And I’m sorry I’m not your father.” She smiled.

  “Well, you couldn’t help that.” I gave her a little hug. She had a comforting smell, like old wood and roses.

  In the doorway, she paused and turned to me. “Was she happy with her second husband?”

  “Frank? Oh, yeah. He was the best.”

  “That’s good. I’m glad.”

  “He died ten years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry. You liked him?”

  I nodded. “I loved him.” There was a catch in my throat I wasn’t expecting, and I turned it into a cough.

  “They say when you love someone, and they love you, their spirit always stays with you.”

  “You think so?”

  “I don’t know. It’s the kind of thing people say. Who knows what’s true?”

  We walked out onto the porch. It had stopped raining, and the trees were dark and shiny. Star was just coming up the walk. Her eyes were red like she’d cried all the way home on the bus from the hospital. When she reached the porch, I said, “Star, this is Julia Fallingwater, an old friend of my mother’s.”

  She said, “Oh, like—” but didn’t finish her sentence.

  “How’s Ricky?”

  “The same.” Her eyes filled.

  “My brother is in the burn unit,” I explained when Star had gone back into the house. “But he’s holding his own. My sister is still in intensive care but she’s doing great.”

  “They can do amazing things nowadays.” She took a business card out of her purse and handed it to me. “Call me if you ever need anything. Or just to say hello.”

  “Thanks.” I stuffed the card in my pocket, though I had no intention of ever calling her.

  “I’m sure your brother and sister are going to be just fine.”

  “I know they are,” I said, though I didn’t.

  I watched her drive away, then stood looking at the empty space where her car had been.

  “She seemed nice,” Star said. We sat in the kitchen eating sandwiches made from fake meat, not saying anything. Tears rained from her eyes into her sandwich. When we were finished, I thanked her for the meal and went up to my old room. As I lay in bed, I could hear her sobbing through the wall. I lay awake trying not to listen until I drifted off into the sadness of everything.

  A crazy sound blasted me awake, and it took me a moment to realize it was the landline in the hall. I ran to the phone in the dark, nearly falling over some boxes, and grabbed it. Norma’s voice. I went cold with fear before I even heard what she said. “They’re taking Ricky into surgery.”

  Before she had finished the sentence, I was dressed and pounding on Star’s door.

  XX

  There was no time to take the detour down Route 40. The streetlights gave Main Street an unearthly glow, and in the dim light, I could see the yellow tape in front of my building, the deep black holes where the windows had been. I floored the gas pedal and headed out of town as fast as I could, cranking up the radio so I couldn’t hear Star crying.

  In the burn unit, Norma dug her nails into my arm. “He took a turn for the worse,” she said. “They’re doing emergency surgery.” Star let out a bloodcurdling scream, and Norma shot her a poisonous who-the-fuck-are-you look. I tried to calm Star down, but she just went on wailing. Norma took me aside and gave me the details of the surgery, but I couldn’t understand anything she said.

  Hours went by. Star finally stopped sobbing and sat staring at the wall like she was watching a movie of happy memories with Ricky. I watched the wall, too, chewing on my fingers until one started bleeding and I had to ask a nurse for a band-aid. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and decided to dash over to the other hospital to see Pam.

  She was awake when I got there, eating a bowl of slime (probably oatmeal). “Hey!” she rasped when she saw me. It was such a relief to see her sitting up, looking more or less normal, that I nearly burst into tears. “Good news. They say my levels are back to normal and they might let me go home tomorrow.

  “You look amazing.” She looked strange with no eye makeup, but not in a bad way.

  “They said I don’t appear to have any significant aftereffects from the smoke inhalation. Except I’m still hoarse, but that will go away soon. And I’m kind of tired. You look tired, too. You look like shit, actually,” she added, not unkindly.

  “Now that you mention it, I feel like shit.”

  She patted me on the knee, like I was the one who was injured. “How’s Ricky?”

  A wave of panic shot through me, but I said, “He’s holding his own.” I wasn’t sure what that even meant. Before she could press me for details, I changed the subject. “Where’s the prince of darkness?”

  “Timmy? He flew back to sunny California. Repo calls.”

  I plucked one of Milo’s roses out of the vase next to her bed and examined it carefully. “So guess who I met yesterday. Mom’s old friend. Julia Fallingwater.”

  “Julia—is she the sister of—wait a minute.” I could see her brain was scrambling to make sense of things, and rather than torture her, I just blurted out the whole story.

  While I was talking, she just looked sadder and sadder, and when I finished, she just said, “Oh, Jools.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay.”

  “Sure it is.”

  “No, it isn’t. Wow.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I was ever totally convinced that Fallingwater was your father, but it never occurred to me that he was—”

  “I know.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She really did look sorry.

  “Hey, it’s no big deal,” I said.

  “It’s just so sad.”

  “It is what it is,” I said, a saying our mother had been partial to.

  “I guess so.” She patted my hand. “Well, thank God Ricky’s doing okay. I tried calling Norma earlier, but she didn’t pick up.” She started asking me specific questions about his progress, and I didn’t want to say anything for fear of sending her into a tailspin, so I told her I had to run over to Bayview to check on him. I said a quick goodbye and shot out of there. In the hall, I found Milo sitting next to Pam’s ex-friend Doug, the developer. “How’s Pam?” they both asked. I told them she was doing great.

  “How’s the sale going?” I asked Doug, not very nicely.

  “Uh, the sale?”

  “Our house? You know, raccoons, snakes?”

  He gave me a weird look. “Didn’t you hear? It was called off.”

  “It was what?”

  “Called off. Canceled.”

  “Who called it off?”

  “Your sister.”

  “Pam called it off?”

  “The other one. She said you weren’t selling.”

  “Norma called off the sale?”

  “Yep.”

  “No fucking way.”

  “Fucking way.” He didn’t sound happy.

  “Till when?”

  “Till whenever. She says you and your brother need a place to live, so the house isn’t for sale.”

  I thought about how long it might be before Ricky was able to leave the burn unit. I wouldn’t let myself even consider the possibility that he might never come out. “Are you sure?”

  He was sure. “Is Pam free now?” He and Milo both stood up.

  They couldn’t both go in at once. “Who got here first?”

  “I did,” Doug said.

  “We arrived simultaneously seven minutes ago,” Milo said.

  I had no trouble knowing who to believe.

  “Why don’t you go ask her who she wants to see?” Doug suggested. He sounded pretty confident.

  I stuck my head in the door of her room. “Doug and Milo are here. Which one should I send in?”

  Without hesitating, she said, “Milo.” I was about to leave, but turned around to say something and saw her giving her lips a quick swipe with a wand of pink lip gloss. I flashed back to the way she looked when Milo carried her out of the fire, then
she morphed back into the present, grabbing a tissue and blotting her lips with it.

  I was worried sick about Ricky, Ray was dead, everything I owned in the world had burned up, and the man named Fallingwater had never existed, but here was my sister, putting on lip gloss, a miracle. I wanted to say something but couldn’t think what it might be. I just stared at her for a moment, then said goodbye again. She waved her pink-splotched tissue.

  Back in the waiting room, I pointed at Milo. “You win,” I told him, and he raced off to see Pam. “Sorry, dude,” I said to Doug. He shrugged. I added, “All’s fair in love and war.”

  “And real estate,” he said.

  There was no point telling him that was where he screwed up.

  ***

  Star was asleep when I got back to Bayview, sprawled across a couple of chairs. Norma was on the other side of the room, holding People magazine but not reading it. She waved when she saw me and told me there was no news. “No news is good news,” she added, though my guess was that it wasn’t. She pointed to Star and made a prune face. “She’s drooling in her hair. How’s Pammy?”

  “She’s amazing.” I gave her the highlights, then briefed her on the Milo and Doug situation.

  “I can’t believe men are still fighting over her,” she said, shaking her head.

  “I think Milo’s team is winning.” I felt a little twinge of jealousy, saying that, then felt like an asshole.

  “I should have done that. Dated lots of guys. Had sex with them.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Instead of getting married to that dickhead.”

  “Yeah, maybe so,” I said, trying to stay out of it. If I said anything bad about Bob, she would probably snap at me that he was a great guy and a good father and blah blah blah.

  She glanced over at Star. “Doesn’t she have a job?”

  “She works in the coffee shop.”

  “Well, it’s awkward. I’ve got nothing to say to her.”

  “She’s a nice kid.”

  “Maybe, but she has no business being here. She’s not family. What’s with the nose ring?”

  “Oh, you know.”

  “No, I don’t know.”