Sins

by Lee, Nadia

  “Son, if you care about your mother at all, you’ll stay away from Ivy. She’s incredibly attached to the girl. Kind of a substitute.” Disapproval carves deep lines around Father’s forehead and mouth. “And Ivy tries too hard to please Margot. She won’t even do the silly things girls her age should be doing.”

  I think back to the party. “That might not be a bad thing.”

  “It cements Margot’s attachment. It isn’t healthy. When Ivy came here, your mother finally stopped crying, stopped mourning. I thought perhaps you’d be able to come back.”

  Father grows quiet, the silence louder than the words he won’t say. But I don’t need to hear them to know. Ivy might’ve stopped Mother from grieving, but Mother hasn’t let go of her anger over losing Katherine.

  Actually, it’s far more disturbing than that. I saw a nature documentary once that featured a mother bird that lost its chick. She soon adopted another and treated it like her own, feeding it, teaching it how to fly, protecting it from predators. Ivy is like that—a substitute for Katherine, but not enough to help Mother make peace and move on.

  “The TV feature was an excuse. They’re just interviewing me,” Father murmurs. “I want Margot to forgive you and welcome you back into the family. If she can do that, she can truly heal. So don’t screw up, Tony.”

  I nod, my heart twisting painfully as I realize he hasn’t said a warm word for me. It’s all been about Mother.

  But I have no right to object to the pangs I’m feeling. It’s my fault she’s the way she is.

  Chapter Six

  Ivy

  When I wake up, Tony is gone, the chair placed back neatly by the vanity. It’s as though he was never in my room. My mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. I have a headache, but it isn’t too bad, considering.

  In the bathroom, there’s a note pointing to a bottle of aspirin. Tony.

  His thoughtfulness touches me. Although he can be a little abrupt and moody, he’s a sweetheart underneath, trying to take care of people and do the right thing.

  Grateful, I shake out two of the white pills and wash them down with a glass of water.

  That done, I look at my reflection. My face isn’t too terrible. A little puffy, but okay. I shower and carefully put on makeup to make myself look as normal as possible before going down to the dining room. The aspirin starts kicking in, making me feel like I didn’t have that awful drink yesterday.

  Tony is nowhere to be seen at breakfast. Only Harry’s at the table, his lean body clad in a gray T-shirt and cargo shorts. He yawns, then takes a huge swallow of his coffee. “Morning.”

  “Hi.”

  “How’d you like the party?”

  I flinch as I take my seat, surprised he knows about the party. What else does he know? “Who told you I went?”

  He gives me an odd look. “Uh, I asked if you wanted to go with me? Before practice yesterday? But you said you were going with Sue Ellen.”

  Oh, right. I totally forgot. “It was okay.” I clear my throat, then grab a cup of coffee to give myself time. “A typical party.” I concentrate on sipping the dark, fresh brew, hoping Harry will get the hint.

  But his clue radar must be malfunctioning this morning. “It was, wasn’t it? I thought Caleb would do better, but it sort of fizzled, especially toward the end… So blah…” He heaves a huge sigh. “By the way, did you see Tony there? He was looking for you.”

  I almost spit the coffee all over the table. I swallow, then cough a couple of times to clear my throat. “Yeah… We, uh, ran into each other.”

  “Oh, good. I was surprised to see him there. He said he wasn’t interested when I asked.”

  “Where is he now?” Then I remember he must’ve stayed up pretty late. “Still sleeping?”

  “Don’t think so. I heard him moving around in his room on my way down. Why?”

  I want to see him. I want to thank him for yesterday, and for the aspirin, and get to know him better. Of my three Blackwood cousins, he’s the only one I don’t know, and the one people avoid discussing. He’s a fascinating mystery I want to solve to see what lies underneath. I can’t forget the way he played Schubert so perfectly, then used those same hands to unleash such violence at the party. Which is the real Tony?

  “Just wondering if he wants to practice Schubert with me,” I lie. “He’s going to be down soon, right?”

  “Doubt it. He probably already ate. He’s one of those early risers.” Harry scrunches his face in distaste.

  Well, maybe he did and maybe he didn’t. Not everyone eats the second they get up. I linger over my French toast, drinking two glasses of grapefruit juice, until it becomes ridiculous. I go upstairs, then turn the opposite way at the top of the stairs to go to his room and knock loudly so Tony can’t fail to hear me, no matter how huge his room is. I count to five. No answer.

  Where did he go?

  After grabbing my music and phone, I run into Jonas on the way down. “Have you seen Tony?”

  “Not recently,” he says.

  “Did he have breakfast?”

  “Yes.”

  I look up at Jonas, hoping he’ll say more.

  “Do you need something, Miss Ivy?”

  I start to say no, but change my mind. “Is Tony home?”

  Half a beat later, he says, “I’m not certain.”

  Jonas is lying through his teeth, even though his expression is placid and pleasant. He knows everything that happens under this roof.

  I know it’s no use calling him on it. Time for a different tactic.

  I start to play Schubert extra loud. When only one part is being played, I always find it a bit disturbing—like looking at an unglazed donut. If Tony’s in the house, he’s going to hear it and come down to perform the secondo.

  After only a couple of minutes, Jonas appears and stops me, saying that Aunt Margot has a headache. Foiled, I go to the digital piano in the other room, put on a headset and practice Liszt’s Liebestraum instead.

  Morning is normally my best time to work, but it’s hard to focus today. I keep thinking about what Tatiana said about the music—the poem that inspired one of the sweetest and most poignant compositions ever.

  O love, as long as love you can,

  O love, as long as love you may,

  The time will come, the time will come

  When you will stand at the grave and mourn!

  I can recite the rest, both in English and the original German. Tatiana says the poem is about mature, unconditional love, but it makes me think of my parents from time to time, and today is just that kind of day.

  I hug myself. I’ll never get to feel their arms around me or hear their voices again. And they were so young…

  My parents’ untimely death taught me that counting on tomorrow for something you want to do today is a terrible idea. But at the same time… I cast a brief glance at the ceiling. It’s almost like Tony doesn’t want to see me. And it’s upsetting and puzzling.

  I give up after a couple of hours. I’m not getting anything done when my head’s not in the right space. I go to the kitchen for an early lunch of a turkey sandwich and a glass of pink lemonade, which I devour methodically one bite at a time, sitting at the marble counter.

  Studying music taught me that any problem can be solved, any skill acquired, as long as you break it down into manageable chunks. Nobody masters Chopin overnight. You do it one note, one chord at a time, until you have your phrasing down, your interpretation down, your tempo perfect. And the mystery of Tony is no different. I’m probably just fascinated by him because he’s tough to fathom—a challenge.

  Yeah, right. It has absolutely nothing to do with how warm you were or how fast your heart was beating yesterday playing Schubert with him.

  My phone buzzes on the countertop. It’s a text from Yuna, who wants to Skype. I move to one of the reading rooms on the first floor and close the door behind me.

  Yuna’s small face fills the screen. Although we’re the same age, she doesn’t lo
ok a day over fifteen—large, wide-set eyes and a small, pert nose with a thin bridge. Her Cupid’s bow mouth is naturally red, arresting against her pale skin and jet-black hair. Her long mane was dyed auburn when she first came to Curtis, but she got tired of dealing with dark roots and let it return to its natural black. She refuses to expose her skin to the sun, so she’s always wearing long-sleeve tops, long pants and wide-brimmed hats together with vampire-level sunblock.

  She and I are studying together with Tatiana, and there’s nothing we haven’t done in our attempt to “live” like Tatiana suggests, liberally interpreted to include sampling different types of scotch and watching porn in our two-bedroom apartment with a huge bowl of popcorn.

  “You look great,” I say.

  “You look free,” she says glumly. “My mom’s trying to fatten me up, but also telling me I gained weight in the States! You should come join me so I have someone to talk to and hide behind!”

  I smother a laugh. The nonsensical ways Yuna and her mom argue and show love to each other never fail to make me warm inside, even though a small part is envious of their close relationship. What would it be like to have my mom alive? She’d probably text me at random times reminding me to eat, shower, sleep, don’t hang out with the wrong boys and so on. Like Yuna’s mom does.

  “You know you like it when she fusses,” I say.

  “It isn’t just fussing. It’s the whole showing off ‘my sweet little daughter who’s studying in America’ that’s driving me nuts. She took me to a party tonight, right? I was the only person there under forty. It was unbelievably dull, and I hated the way people asked me to play stuff they wanted to hear. I’m not a jukebox!”

  I can’t blame her mom for being proud, but I’m Yuna’s best friend, so I owe her my support. “Shoulda asked them to feed you quarters.”

  “We don’t use quarters in Korea, although asking for payment isn’t a bad idea. So how’s Louisiana? What are you working on?”

  “Liszt’s Liebestraum at the moment. You?”

  “Nothing! Haven’t touched a piano in two days, and I sound like dead dog poop.” She seethes visibly. “I wanted to work on ‘Mazeppa,’ but when can I find the time? Mom’s doing everything to show me on the social circuit. And Dad thinks if I get a boyfriend here, I won’t go back to Curtis.”

  “Seriously? Who gives up Curtis for a boy?”

  “I know, right?” Her face tightens with outrage. “But he never wanted me to go in the first place. He just got me the best teachers money could buy to humor me. He only let me audition at Curtis because he was sure I wouldn’t get in. And it was the only conservatory I could apply to, because my parents weren’t going to pay the tuition, not even a penny, and Curtis is the only place that teaches for free.”

  “Wow.” I had no idea Yuna’s family felt that way about her musical talent. She’s one of the most gifted pianists I’ve ever met. My respect for her jumps a notch because she’s succeeding in spite of unsupportive parents. I don’t have to fight anyone to pursue music. As a matter of fact, Aunt Margot has been endlessly encouraging.

  “Yeah. He wants to marry me off in a kind of corporate merger.”

  “What?” I couldn’t have heard that right. A merger?

  “Yeah. To cement a deal. You know, hook up with some heir to a suitable fortune.”

  “Do people still do that? Isn’t that kind of…medieval?”

  “Not in chaebol circles.”

  I know the word. It means a Korean conglomerate. Still, I can’t decide if she’s kidding. As far as I know, her family’s filthy rich, and there’s no reason for them to marry her off in some financial transaction. She should marry for nothing less than true love.

  “Please tell me you’re going to get Harry to visit you at Curtis,” Yuna says.

  “Huh? Why?”

  “So I can marry him.”

  If I were drinking, I’d be spewing. Or choking. “You’ve never even met my cousin!”

  She shrugs. “He’s cute, so he’ll do. Once I’m married, my parents will give up.”

  “That’s crazy. Besides, there’s always divorce or annulment.”

  “Ah, but divorcées aren’t as desirable as unmarried young women.”

  Whoa. I stare at her, feeling like I’ve just traveled back in time. Like several centuries back.

  “It has to be Harry. Middle sons are usually better than the youngest, but the youngest is still better than the oldest,” Yuna adds, oblivious to my shock.

  “I’m sorry, what?” She’s speaking English, but I don’t understand a word she’s saying.

  “I thought you knew this. Pay attention, because I’m about to tell you something every girl needs to know to find the perfect boyfriend and husband. The oldest in the family tends to be boring and serious. Oldest sons also marry to make the family happy, rather than doing what they want.”

  “Edgar is a little dry, but I don’t think he’s going to let his parents marry him off in a merger,” I say, but Yuna isn’t listening.

  “The youngest ones have very little sense of responsibility, unless they’re jealous of their older brothers.” She pauses. “Harry isn’t like that, is he?”

  “Jealous of Edgar? Ha! No, nothing like that.”

  “Good. Then he won’t try to outdo his older brother. The middles ones are the best—responsible, but also fun. Kind of a compromise.”

  “I don’t know if Tony’s a compro—”

  “Who?”

  “Tony. The middle cousin. Or brother.”

  Yuna gives an outraged cry. “You’ve been holding out on me! You never said there was a third one. The most perfect middle one.”

  I puff out a breath, torn between wanting to shake her and wanting to hug her. She gets like this only when she’s frustrated, angry or just a tad panicked. “Tony is only twenty-one. He’s not marrying anybody. And he might have a girlfriend.” The second the words slip out, my mood plummets. I never considered the possibility he could be dating someone. But why not? He’s handsome, accomplished and smart. Girls must flock to him.

  “Send me some pics anyway,” Yuna says decisively.

  “Can’t.”

  “Don’t be stingy.”

  “It’s not that. I don’t have any.”

  Yuna pauses for a second. “Seriously? Not even a snapshot from a vacation or something?”

  I shake my head.

  “That’s weird. You have lots of photos of Harry and Edgar. Why not Tony?”

  “He doesn’t live here.” But it occurs to me that I’ve never seen a picture of Tony anywhere in the house, not even one from his childhood, when he was still living in Tempérane. He’s been such a mystery, I didn’t even know what he looked like until yesterday.

  Or maybe Aunt Margot and Uncle Lane did what they could to erase Tony’s presence in the house…and family. Harry made it clear after our Schubert practice that Tony and Margot have some issues.

  Oh no. Tony. Please let my assumption be wrong. Maybe all his photos burned in a fire or got lost in a flood or something. Maybe his parents just missed him too much to talk about him.

  “Well, if you don’t have a picture, tell me about him. What’s he like?” Yuna sounds more rational now, rather than in “I gotta marry somebody to get my dad off my back” mode.

  “He’s kind of contradictory. Can be rude…but also nice and protective.” I tell her about what happened in the piano room and at the party.

  She gasps when I get to the drinking part. “What kind of jerk is that Caleb? Oh my God, don’t ever drink poktahnju!”

  “What?”

  “The thing he gave you—the mix of beer and soju. That’ll take out even the strongest drinker. Like my cousin. She can handle bottles and bottles of soju, straight, no problem. Her liver is indestructible. But three poktahnju, she’s out like a boxer who got punched in the face. Doesn’t remember anything that happened later, either.”

  What a dick. Caleb made the drink sound harmless. But he must’ve known what
would happen when he offered it to me. I doubt anything he did yesterday was innocent or without an ulterior motive. Asshole. Knowing what that particular mixture can do adds an extra-sinister layer to him. Now I wish I’d waited until Tony kicked him a couple more times before stopping him.

  “Tell me Tony beat the crap out of that guy,” Yuna demands.

  “He did.” I give her the rest of the story.

  “Good!” We keep chatting, but after a while, Yuna starts yawning.

  “What time is it there?” I ask.

  “Almost two. In the morning.”

  “You need to get some sleep!” She usually doesn’t stay up past midnight.

  “I know.” She yawns again, her mouth so wide I think I hear her jaw creak. “Still, it’s good to talk to you, Ivy. Nobody gets me the way you do.” She smiles. “I’m feeling much better.”

  “That’s what best friends are for. Glad I could cheer you up.”

  “Next time, you’re coming with me to Seoul. Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Okay.” She nods once regally. “Good night. Or, uh, afternoon.”

  “Sweet dreams.”

  I hang up and leave the room, thinking about things. What if Tony’s been disowned?

  But if he were, he wouldn’t have been able to come home…right?

  On the way back to my room, I walk past the small meeting den. It’s a cozy space with four chairs and a round table in the middle. It doesn’t have a door, and Aunt Margot and Uncle Lane usually use it for casual, non-business conversations.

  I hear voices, and stop when I realize it’s Caleb’s mother in there with Aunt Margot. Hiding behind a wall, I sneak a peek at their tête-à-tête.

  Mrs. Wentworth’s features remind me of a rodent: small eyes set closely together, nose pointy and a tight mouth with two remarkably large front teeth. The short brown hair on her head is coarse and dull, and no amount of foundation can hide the florid undertone of her skin. The neon lime green of her sleeveless dress doesn’t do a thing to flatter her complexion.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she’s saying. “I spent most of the morning trying to convince Caleb to go to the hospital, but that boy is just as stubborn as a mule with arthritis.”