The Language of Sisters (13 page)

“I guess! What about his wife?”

“Jackie divorced him. Moved to Palm Beach.”

“
Why?
Was she nuts?”

“Come on now, what about your laundry fanatic?”

I sighed, flopping my head back against the couch. “Who knows?” I could not keep the resignation from my voice.

Nova leaned in, touched my hand. “Okay, chick. Now I mean it. How
are
you?”

I closed my eyes against the tears that too readily filled them. I shook my head, unable to speak. Nova moved to wrap an arm around me.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. Come on, sweetie.” She kissed my forehead, smoothed back the hair from my face. “Look at me.”

I shook my head again, fearful of what might come out if I opened my mouth, but desperately relieved someone had finally noticed that I was drowning.

She placed both of her soft hands on my cheeks. “You can talk to me, Nic. Remember? Please, tell me what’s going on.”

I lifted my eyelids, blinking away the tears. Her familiar blue eyes gazed back at me so fragile and open, ready to accept anything I had to say. I took a deep breath, the tightness in my chest beginning to loosen as the words started to tumble out. I opened my heart and finally, gratefully, told someone the truth.

•  •  •

“Why do you think your mother is acting like that?” Nova asked me as we moved from her living room to the kitchen. We had been blessed by an uninterrupted hour of conversation before Isaac came into the house moaning that his stomach was empty and he might die if he didn’t get food pretty soon. I had told Nova everything that had been bubbling within me, starting with the first night my father went into Jenny’s room and ending with my mother’s odd detachment from us. Nova was shocked by the news of my father, disgusted and sad that I had carried its burden alone for so many years. I felt relieved, as well as thankful that she’d reacted with the love and understanding I’d expect from her.

As Nova pulled out a glass bowl filled with cooked spaghetti from the refrigerator and set it in the microwave to warm, I slid Jenny’s wheelchair up to the light oak farmhouse-style kitchen table, rummaging through my bag to find her bib and vitamins. Nova’s kitchen was a rectangular space edged in long white tile countertops. The walls were painted pale lime green, trimmed
in white. The refrigerator was covered in children’s art projects: mostly macaroni-glued paintings sprinkled with glitter. By her sink I noticed a mug that proclaimed
WELL-BEHAVED WOMEN RARELY MAKE HISTORY
.

“I’m not sure,” I said. I adjusted Jenny’s tray and helped her to take a sip of juice from a specially designed cup with a built-in straw. “I thought that once Jen was home she’d warm back up to the mother she used to be. I was
counting
on it.” I looked at my sister. “What about it, Jen? Do
you
get what’s going on with Mom?”

Jenny blinked once, twice, then closed her eyes to us completely as she continued swallowing her drink.

“Well, if she does, she obviously doesn’t want to talk about it,” Nova said with a laugh as she tossed butter and Parmesan cheese in with the warmed noodles. “I think you just have to talk to your mom about it. Confront her.”

“Ooo, that should be fun,” I said mockingly. “ ‘Gee, Mother, why are you being such a bitch?’”

“It’d probably be a good idea to word it a bit more tactfully than that.” Nova stuck her head back into the living room to check on Layla, who was still sleeping peacefully in her swing, then looked at me with sharp eyes. “You’re a therapist, right? You’ll figure something out.”

“I
used
to be a therapist.”

“Close enough. What would you tell a client who was going through this with her mother?”

That was a good question. “You know,” I said thoughtfully, looking at her with admiration, “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Have you
always
been this smart?”

She grinned at me. “Of course.” Walking over to the back door she yelled, “Kids! Dinner!” She moved to the cupboard next to the sink and grabbed a handful of small plastic plates,
setting them haphazardly on the table along with several plastic cups, then filled each plate with little servings of pasta and green beans.

“No silverware?” I inquired.

She shrugged. “They don’t use it, so I don’t bother. Less to wash this way.”

Four small heads popped up the stairs and ran to sit at the table. A dark-haired, fairy-looking child I had not seen before plopped down on the bench next to Jenny’s chair. This had to be Lucy. She was small-boned and pale, with her father’s pointed ears and a charmingly pretty, lightly freckled face. Her petite frame was clad in hot pink bike shorts and a bright yellow T-shirt, and on her tiny feet were fluorescent green saltwater sandals. I wondered if Garret had picked out this startling ensemble or if Lucy took pride in dressing herself. She didn’t speak, but glanced at me with animated hazel eyes before sticking her fingers into the pile of noodles in front of her and holding up her meal to Jenny. “Want some?” she asked my sister, moving her gaze to Jenny’s face, then shrugging to me. “She says she doesn’t like cheese. It gives her a bellyache.”

“How’d you know that?” I said, a little surprised. I looked at Nova. “She’s allergic to dairy.”

Lucy shrugged again, her mouth full of wiggling pasta. “She told me.”

Nova smiled. “I swear kids are telepathic.” She set plain buttered noodles on Jenny’s tray, along with a pile of steamed green beans. “Lucy, especially.”

“Here you go,” Lucy singsonged to Jenny as she removed the green beans from her own plate to my sister’s tray.

“Uh-uh, Miss Lucy,” Nova corrected. “Put those back; they’re yours. Jenny already has some.”

“But she
wanted
them,” Lucy reasoned.

“Nuh-uh,” Isaac piped up from his spot across the table. “You just don’t
like
green beans! You said they taste like poop!” All the children tittered.

“Enough!” Nova barked, clapping her hands together. “Eat and then it’s bath time, you hear me?” There was an edge to her voice that must have caught their attention because miraculously the children obeyed.

After dinner, I held Layla while Nova managed to bathe four children, get them into their pajamas and then to bed in less than half an hour. The feather-soft weight of Layla in my arms stirred up unfamiliar feelings. From the beginning of our relationship, Shane had made it clear that he didn’t want children and I had thought I felt the same way, but I couldn’t believe how precious this child felt to me, how intensely I wanted to inhale her baby smell. It was richer, more intoxicating, than any drug I had ever tried. I immediately thought of Jenny’s baby, wondering if I’d ever hold it this way. If anyone would. Would it end up in an orphanage somewhere, or maybe a foster home? Just the idea of abandoning her baby the same way I’d abandoned Jenny wound my stomach into a complicated knot.

I looked at my sister, who sat next to me on the couch, her blue eyes firmly attached to the sight of Layla in my arms. Her expression was tender, and to my surprise she suddenly lurched toward me, letting her lips fall against Layla’s tiny head in a wet kiss. I instantly wondered if this meant that she knew of the baby inside her. I hadn’t seen her around other babies; I didn’t know if this was a typical reaction. She slowly moved her head back and forth in a gesture of affection, then pulled back, smiling softly, as though she harbored a secret. Careful not to disturb Layla’s sleep, I looked at her, amazed. I leaned over and brushed my lips across Jenny’s forehead. “That was very sweet, Sis,” I told her, my chest full of restrained tears.

A moment later, Lucy tiptoed lightly into the living room, Nova following close behind. “She insisted on giving Jenny a kiss good night,” my friend explained.

Lucy stepped over to the couch and climbed up on Jenny’s other side. I choked up at the sight of this elfin child’s lips touching my sister’s cheek with such tenderness. She patted Jenny’s arm. “Night-night, little girl,” she said in a sweetly soft voice as Nova directed her back to Rebecca’s bedroom.

“Wow,” I said when Nova rejoined us. “What an angel.”

“I know,” she agreed as she sat in a nearby rocking chair. “Garret’s a great father, but I don’t think that’s all of why she’s so sweet, you know? Some kids just have that nature.”

Like Jenny,
I thought.
She’s always had the angel in her.
Maybe that was why Lucy connected with her so quickly; she recognized a kindred spirit. I considered whether Jenny’s baby would carry the same sweet temperament, if it was something that could be passed down from mother to child. “Is Lucy a lot like her mother?” I asked Nova as Layla’s tiny head turned toward my chest. Her mouth opened, and soft snorting noises began to ripple out.

“Not at all,” Nova said.
So much for that theory,
I thought. Considering my own mother, I should have known better.
She
certainly hadn’t passed on any angelic genes to Jenny or, for that matter, to me.

Layla let loose an insistent, high-pitched wail, and Nova stood up, reaching for her child. “She’s rooting for the boob, hon. Better hand her over.” Reluctantly, I did. My arms felt strangely deserted, suddenly anxious for an infant’s weight to return and fill them up, as though they had finally discovered what they’d been made for. The sensation was a little bit frightening.

“Why exactly did Jackie leave Garret?” I asked, oddly curious about the man I’d met so briefly.

“You want the short or long version?” Nova inquired as she settled Layla at her chest.

I shrugged and put my arm around Jenny’s small shoulders, hugging her to me. “Whichever.”

“Well, they moved here just before Jackie was due with Lucy. The woman bitched about being pregnant a
lot.
” Nova raised her thin blond eyebrows and frowned briefly, considering something before continuing. “Not that
I
didn’t complain when I was pregnant, but this was different. One of the first things she said to me was how she felt like the baby was a parasite. Sucking her dry.”

“Yikes,” I said, pulling Jenny’s hands gently down from her mouth, where she had been gnawing on them. Did my sister feel anything like that about the baby inside her? Maybe this was all too much for her to handle; maybe we were making a huge mistake letting her go through with the pregnancy if seemingly normal women like Jackie had such a difficult time with the changes in their bodies. It was too late now, of course. There was no turning back. I let my sister lean more tightly against my chest, where she rubbed her face and blinked heavily. It was getting close to her bedtime as well.

“Yeah, yikes,” Nova agreed, bobbing her head. “I think all mothers go through some degree of that feeling, but it didn’t leave Jackie, you know? Even after Lucy got here. And it wasn’t like she was a difficult baby. She was sweet then, too. You should have seen Garret with her. He used to strap her in the front pack and take her everywhere he went, even the restaurant.” She shrugged and set her feet up on the coffee table, crossing one ankle over the other, careful not to disturb Layla. “I just think Jackie couldn’t handle what being a mother demanded of her. She stuck around for a couple of years, then left. Garret took over, and Lucy’s a fabulous four-year-old.”

I was silent, considering how overwhelmed I had felt the past few weeks, caring for Jenny—the guilt that filled me every time I allowed myself to feel even an ounce of resentment toward this person who could not help needing me so much. How my mother must have felt at some point every day of the fifteen years she cared for Jenny at home. It dawned on me that perhaps she was keeping herself distant from caring for Jenny now so she wouldn’t have to go back to those feelings. I said as much to Nova.

“That could be,” she agreed. “But still. She’s Jenny’s mother. I have a hard time understanding how she could just turn her feelings off like that.” Looking down at Layla with a tender expression, she ran a light hand over her baby’s head. “I know I couldn’t.”

“It’s possible,” I said softly, nuzzling my face into Jenny’s hair so Nova would not see the guilty tears that filled my eyes, but the cracks in my voice betrayed me. “I did it for ten years. I basically pretended my sister didn’t exist. What kind of person does that make me?” I lifted my gaze to Nova, whose eyes overflowed with compassion.

“The kind of person who made a mistake, Nicole. It makes you human. At least you’re here, doing something about it. You’re trying to make up for your mistakes. Your mother isn’t.”

The back of my neck bristled at the sound of disgust in Nova’s last words, and I felt the odd urge to defend my mother. “Maybe. But she’s at least visited Jenny over the years. She’s been here. I haven’t.”

Nova carefully switched Layla to her other breast and set her feet back on the floor before speaking. “There’s a difference between being there physically and being there emotionally, don’t you think? Being physically in the house with you two hasn’t meant shit so far. I still think you have to talk to her.”

Her words stood in front of me like a brick wall I didn’t have the strength to climb. It was easy for Nova to say I should just talk to my mother; she wasn’t the one who’d have to do it. I knew the conversation would bring up truths I hadn’t had the courage to tell Nova—truths that would knock on doors to rooms I wasn’t sure I was ready to enter. Doors that, once opened, could never be closed again.

•  •  •

When my mother had come home from her trip to Portland, I could not find the words to tell her how my father had gone into Jenny’s room. She guessed correctly about the mark on my sister’s face, and while I hid with Jenny in her bedroom, our parents screamed at each other in the kitchen.

“I can’t believe you
hit
her! You bastard! What kind of a father
are
you?” I imagined my mother standing in front of him, fists clenched, her thin body shaking, her face scarlet with anger. I knew my father’s hair would be standing out from his head in fiery licks of red and gold, stretched to their limit by his angry, raking fingers. His sapphire eyes would flash in warning, daring Mom to make him angry enough to flee the house. I wrapped an arm around my sister, whose pale skin only made the angry bruise on her cheek look worse.