A Seahorse in the Thames (7 page)

When I get home, I head to my computer and my email inbox. Sure enough, the email from Priscilla is there. She will arrive at 10:04 a.m. tomorrow morning. I e-mail Mom right away to tell her Priscilla is coming and then I call the Falkman Center to see if there is any news of Rebecca. There isn’t. I call my dad, like I said I would, and there is no answer at his place. I could leave a message but I don’t. Lynne, his second wife, would probably be the one to hear it first. It’s not that I don’t like Lynne, I just don’t feel like leaving a message pertaining to my dad’s old life that his new wife will hear first.

Later, as I am getting ready for bed, the phone rings. When I answer it, I hear my mother’s voice on the other end. It takes me by surprise. I haven’t heard her voice over a telephone line in a long time. She rarely takes the initiative to borrow someone’s phone, but I can guess what drove her to do it tonight.

“What’s this about Priscilla coming home?” She sounds unconvinced.

“She’ll be here ten o’clock tomorrow morning, Mom. No joke.”

“How can you girls plan such a thing and not include me!” She nearly roars.

“Mom, this was Priscilla’s last minute idea. I called her to tell her Rebecca had… that Rebecca decided to take a trip and not tell anyone and she decided to come out.”

“She’s coming because of Rebecca?”

“Yes and no.” I have no idea if whatever news Priscilla has to share is news she will also be sharing with Mom. “I mean, she has vacation time that she will lose if she doesn’t use it right away.”

“Well, if I had known I could have had my guestroom bedspread dry-cleaned,” Mom begins.

“I asked Priscilla to stay with me. I begged her to. Okay?”

“With you?”

“Yes, but I promise we will come and see you as often as we can.”

“When?”

I’m tempted to say, “Well if you had a phone, we could call before we come,” but there is no point to having
that
conversation for the millionth time.

“How about tomorrow after lunch? Okay?” I say instead.

“I insist you girls stay for dinner.”

“Well, I am sure that will be okay.”

“All right. I’m going to hang up now.”

“Okay, Mom, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

She hangs up without saying goodbye. Another one of her quirks.

I don’t sleep well, no surprise there. My incision is itchy and my head is full. I awake in the morning feeling a little dazed.

I call the hospital where I work first. I’m not exactly lying when I tell my supervisor it’s too soon for me to come back. I
do
still have stitches under my arm. My supervisor is a little peeved that I didn’t tell her on Friday that I needed another week, but she tells me they will make it without me. I thank her profusely.

Then I call the Falkman Center to ask about Rebecca. There is nothing new to report.

While the phone is still in my hand I call Sharp Hospital and ask to speak to Stephen Moran in Room 304 and I am told he was discharged yesterday.

So he is home.

At a little after nine, I head out to San Diego’s airport. It is only a ten-minute drive away but if Priscilla’s plane is early or if the customs line is short, I don’t want her waiting.

I am sitting in a chair by the baggage claim carousels at half-past ten, when I see Priscilla begin to descend the escalator amid a crowd of other travelers. I cannot stop the smile that is spreading wide across my face. It has been four years since I have seen her, but yet in some ways, I see her every morning when I look in the mirror, trite as that may sound. Her sandy blonde hair is styled better than mine; her tailored clothes fit her better than my denim capris fit me, and her make-up is expertly applied, but underneath her glamorous style Priscilla is still my twin. The smart half of me. I rise to meet her at ground level. And as I do, I notice that a little girl with curly brown hair is standing next to her. My mouth drops open a little when I see that Priscilla is holding the little girl’s hand. Priscilla sees me, and me smiles also, but it is a stunning smile—not like the ridiculous grin I have on my face.

When her feet meet the ground, Priscilla walks swiftly toward me. The little girl, who looks to be no older than three, is still holding tightly to my sister’s manicured hand.

Priscilla reaches me and hugs me with one arm, gently and mindful of my incision.” Hello, Lex,” she says effortlessly.

I’m crying and unable to say anything; I am so happy to see her and so perplexed by the sight of the little girl that stands between us.

“Lexie, you look terrific,” Priscilla says in her acquired British accent. “Doesn’t she, Isabel?”

I look down at the little girl who is smiling up at me with eyes that resemble my own. She is holding a picture book and a stuffed animal that looks like sequined seahorse.

“Lex, I’d like you to meet your niece, Isabel. Isabel, this is your Aunt Alexa.”

I have a pretty good idea I’ve just been told Priscilla’s news.

A
brilliant San Diego sun is shining down all around us as we make our way to my car in the airport’s short-term parking lot. My mind is exploding with questions I can’t ask. It’s not like Isabel is an infant who cannot understand human language. Isabel is fully conversant and appears quite able to understand sentences like, “How could you keep such a thing a secret from me, Priscilla! Why didn’t you tell me you had had a child? Who is the father?” and “What else haven’t you told me?”

So I can’t ask the questions my befuddled mind really wants to ask. On top of this, I am aware that I am as wounded as I am surprised.

Priscilla didn’t tell me she’d had a baby. A baby who is now at least three years old. For three long years she has kept this from me. I could never have done such a thing to her. But even as I mentally wrestle with these fresh wounds, I do not want her to know how much she has hurt me. She might decide to stay in a hotel after all, and I don’t want her to.

I see now why she didn’t want to stay with Mom, why she had to be talked into staying with me. She knew she would be bringing a child with her. Her child.

Isabel.

I look down at the little girl as we walk across the hot pavement. She is petite, with a mass of brown curls on her head. Isabel is wearing a smocked, white cotton dress and pink sandals with socks. Clutched to her little bosom with one hand are the picture book and the seahorse. Isabel has Priscilla’s eyes. Dad’s eyes.

My eyes.

Isabel looks weary from the long flight, but she is chattering away nonetheless as we walk, commenting on the height of the swaying palms in a British accent even more pronounced than Priscilla’s.

“Are there monkeys in those trees?” she asks her mother.

“What do you think, Lex? Think there are monkeys in those trees?” Priscilla looks at me. Her eyes are communicating that it would be best for all of us if I just chat with her daughter as if I have known her and loved her since the day she was born. I get the feeling Isabel has known about me for a long time. A lot longer than fifteen minutes.

I look down again at little Isabel. She is beautiful. Innocent. Engaging. Worthy of being loved.

“Well, Isabel,” I say, trying out her name for the first time. It sounds melodic off my tongue. “If there were, they would have a very hard time finding any bananas, I think.”

“That’s because bananas don’t grow on those trees,” Isabel says. “Pineapples do. But I don’t think monkeys eat pineapples.”

“I don’t think they do either,” I reply, grinning as I picture pineapples growing on a palm tree.

“I like pineapples. Do you like pineapples?”

“Yes, I do, Isabel. I like pineapple very much.”

Priscilla smiles at me. It’s not the stunning smile at baggage claim. It’s a simple one of gratitude.

The drive to Mission Beach is short, giving us time only to discuss the flight, the weather and the current status of Rebecca, which is “missing”. When we get to my apartment, Isabel sees a glimmer of blue from the driveway as we step out of the car, a glimpse of the sapphire vastness of the Pacific.

“Can we go see the ocean? I want to see the ocean,” she says.

“Later, Izzy,” Priscilla replies. “You promised me you would take a nap after we arrived.”

“But I am not tired!”

Priscilla shuts the car door and begins walking calmly up the pathway to my front door, pulling her suitcase. “Isabel, we talked about this. You promised.”

“I’m not sleepy.” Isabel says, frowning and following her.

“Well, you can just lie on Aunt Alexa’s bed and think of ways to stay awake, then.”

I unlock the door and we are inside.

I make a light brunch of croissants, sliced cheese and a fruit salad, all of which I picked up pre-made at the grocery store. Despite Isabel’s claim that she is not tired, she is rubbing her eyes when we finish. I take our dishes to the sink and Priscilla and Isabel head to my bedroom. When I join them a few minutes later, I see that Priscilla has unpacked a soft yellow blanket that Isabel is now clutching along with the mint-green, stuffed seahorse. The child is propped up against my bed pillows and the shades are drawn.

“But I want to read it again,” Isabel is saying, pointing to the book that she was carrying when they arrived at baggage claim.

“Can’t I read you another story, Izzy? Please?” Priscilla says wearily. “How many times must I read it?”

“I want that one.”

Priscilla takes the book and then looks up at me.

“Want to read this book to her? She can’t get enough of it. And I’m about to go crazy with reading it.”

I haven’t read a book to a child since my babysitting days in high school. “You want
me
to read it?”

“Would you please?” Priscilla lifts it to me. “I can’t read it one more time today, Lex. Six times on the plane. Twice while waiting at Heathrow. Twice while waiting for the taxi to take us there.”

I take the book and look at its cover.
A Seahorse in the Thames
. “I don’t think I have ever heard of this book. What’s it about?”

“It’s about Clement!” Isabel holds up the bejeweled stuffed seahorse.

“It’s new,” Priscilla lifts her body off my bed and takes the stuffed chair next to it. She motions for me to take the place on the bed she has just vacated. “Based on a news story from a few years back when this fisherman found a seahorse in the Thames Estuary. It made all kinds of headlines because there hasn’t been a seahorse in the Thames in twenty or thirty years.”

Priscilla yawns and continues. “Some author decided to write a children’s book about it, fictionalizing it. The writer gave the seahorse a name, Clement, and it’s currently a bestseller in the U.K. They even have the toys and lunch boxes and such. It’s Isabel’s favorite book in all the world.”

This last sentence Priscilla says with a smile, like deep down she likes the fact that Isabel is in love with a book about a seahorse.

“Well, I guess I could give it a try.” I take the spot on the bed.

Isabel settles down onto the pillows. “Don’t skip any pages.”

I smile at her and cast a glance at my sister as I open the book and then begin to read. It’s a simple story, really, about a seahorse named Clement who lived in the English Channel but who longed to see London. He left all that was familiar and went to the mouth of the Thames, following it to where the city lay. But when he got to the city of his dreams, the water there was dark and dirty and nothing of grace or beauty was to be found. Clement wanted to go back to his old life, but he couldn’t tell which way to go, so he simply stayed, hoping things would get better. He stayed for many, many days. Clement was unaware that above him on the banks of the river, there was a sad fisherman who was tired of living in the big, noisy city. The fisherman wanted to escape to a peaceful, beautiful place but there was no place like that in the bustling city. Then one day on the banks of the river—on a day when the fisherman was the saddest he had ever been—he saw a tiny shimmer of loveliness in the shallows. He very nearly walked away from it because he was not expecting to find anything of beauty in the dark river, but then he kneeled down and peered into the water. Tangled in the slimy weeds in the shallow water was a beautiful seahorse. It was Clement. The fisherman was so enchanted by Clement’s magnificence that he sat and just gazed at him. It was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen; a sliver of splendor in the darkest of places. And he had almost missed it. The fisherman reached in with his net, removed Clement from the smelly seaweed and put him in his bucket. He told all his friends and all the newspapers. Even the queen heard that a beautiful seahorse had been found in the filthy river. Though he loved the seahorse, the fisherman gave Clement to a London aquarium. And now Clement lives in a crystal clear tank with two friendly hermit crabs, in the heart of the big, bustling city, as a reminder to everyone to look close, bend down and watch for beauty. And the fisherman visits him every day.

And he is not sad anymore.

I look up when I’m finished and Isabel is fast asleep. I have no idea when she drifted off. I’d been captivated by this story, this story she loves. I feel like I have just participated in something grand and remarkable. I feel like I could grow to love this story like Isabel does, though I am not exactly sure why.

Isabel holds Clement close to her chest and her breathing is slow and even. Her brown curls frame her pretty face as she sleeps.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Pris?” I ask, still looking at my sleeping niece.

A few seconds of silence pass before Priscilla answers me.

“There were many times I wanted to, but I kept putting it off. It’s only been lately that I’ve felt like it was time you knew.”

“But couldn’t you have at least told me on Saturday when you decided you were coming instead of just walking off the plane with her?”

“Come on, Lexie. What would have been the good of that? All you would have done is lie awake at night until I got here wondering why I hadn’t told you before. It’s better this way for both of us.”

Perhaps she is right, but this is not what troubles me the most. It’s that Priscilla hid Isabel from me. “Why did you want to keep her a secret?”

Priscilla sighs. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Lex, but I just didn’t want to have to share her with anyone at first. I didn’t want her to be a part of my old life. It was easy to keep her separate from all that by not telling you. Because if I told you, I would have to tell Mom. And if Mom knew then Dad would surely find out. I just wanted to avoid all of that.”

“All of
what
?” I turn my head toward her. “What would have been so bad about us knowing you had a child?”

“Because then Isabel would cease to be just
my
daughter,” Priscilla says, first looking at me and then looking back at Isabel. “She would be your niece. Mom’s grandchild. Dad’s grandchild. For the longest time I just wanted her for myself. She was the proof that I had made a new life for myself in England. A charmed life. Better than the one I left.”

I cannot help but feel like I am a big part of that unbearable life she ran from. When she moved to England and shook the dust of her old life off her feet, I was part of what fell away.

“Was it really so bad, Priscilla?” I know my eyes are glazing over with tears. “I know that you and Dad had your differences—I’m not sure what those differences were—but was life with Mom and I and Rebecca in it so loathsome that you had to move so far away? That you chose to come home only once in seven years? That you chose to not invite Mom or I to come to see you in all that time? That you couldn’t tell at least me that you had a baby?”

Priscilla takes a breath and lets it out.” This really isn’t about you, Lex. It’s about me. It’s what I did for me. All my decisions might look like mistakes to you but I don’t regret what I did. I don’t want to live here in San Diego with you and Mom. I want to live in London. That is my home, now. And since having Isabel, it has been impossible to invite you or Mom out to visit me because until now I have not been ready to share her with anyone. And as far as my relationship with Dad goes, I think it would be best if you just let that one go. You don’t want to know what came between us, Lex. Trust me, you don’t.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to know?”

“I said you will have to trust me on this one, Alexa. I’m not going to discuss it with you.”

There is a momentary lull in our conversation as I try to piece together what she is telling me. “Do you absolutely hate it here?” I ask a few seconds later.

“Alexa, I don’t hate it here. I hate what happened here. And it’s not just about Rebecca and her accident. It began a long time before that.”

“What? What began a long time before that?”

Priscilla looks at me like she did all those times when we were young and she had figured things out way ahead of me. She is only minutes older than me chronologically, but Priscilla has always seemed like my big sister. The older one. The one who knows more.

“Let’s just say I didn’t like the way Mom and Dad treated each other, Lex. Or us. It nearly drove me crazy. And I don’t like what they let Rebecca’s accident do to them.”

“What about what you let it do to you?” I hope it sounds like I am accusing her of having been irreversibly affected as well. We all were.

“That’s precisely why I moved to London, Lex. It’s where I learned how to dig my way out.”

“And did you? Did you dig your way out?”

“Yes, Alexa, I did. I am very happy there. I have a wonderful job, a beautiful home, terrific friends, and my lovely Isabel.”

“And… and Isabel’s father?”

“Isabel’s father is no longer in my life or hers, and that is for the best.”

“So, you… you haven’t missed… haven’t missed me?” I know how it must sound. Juvenile and self-serving.

“Of course I have missed you, Lex. It’s why I decided to come home for this visit. Why I decided it was time you and Isabel met.”

“So you didn’t come home because of Rebecca, did you?”

“No. I came for me. And for you. And for Isabel. I really do want her to know you. And to meet her grandmother.”

“Dad, too?”

Again Priscilla takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. “That’s an idea that has been growing on me.”

For the first time since realizing I have a niece I feel like something good is about to happen to my family. And yes, we are still a family. I can’t help but think this sleeping child will be the very thing that will prove that to all of us.

We are both looking at Isabel sleeping peacefully on my bed when Priscilla leans forward in her chair.

“You know, Lex,” she says, almost in a whisper. “I never understood how devastated Mom and Dad must have been when they lost Julian and then nearly lost Rebecca until I held Isabel in my arms. I was finally able to imagine what a broken heart would be able to do to you. And through you.”

I look over at Priscilla, amazed at her candor. And a bit jealous, too, that she has something so rare and precious in common with our mother. This understanding of mother-love.

The heavy moment passes and Priscilla laughs. “Mom’s going to flip.”

“Mom’s going to love her.”

“She’ll never let me forget what I have done,” Priscilla says now, and she is no longer laughing.

“Priscilla, Mom is going to
love
Isabel. I know it.”

“Yeah. I know it, too.” And I think I hear evidences in her voice that Priscilla is still a bit afraid to share Isabel with Mom.

“Mom wants us to come over this afternoon and stay for dinner,” I tell her. “More like she insists. She actually borrowed someone’s phone to tell me this.”

A grin returns to Priscilla’s face and she shakes her head. “I figured as much. It’s all right. I need to get this over with.”

An easy silence falls between us. Then Priscilla turns to me.

“So, Alexa. This man Stephen. Do you have news?” she asks.

Stephen has not been on my mind the last few hours. It sort of startles me to hear his name. And then, of course, I am instantly reminded of what I know.

“He… has a brain tumor. Inoperable. But he is going in for radiation treatments and then chemo, if necessary. His doctor says he stands a good chance of beating it.”

I say these sentences like I am back at work, advising family members of the medical condition of the person they love. But inside I am trembling. Priscilla misses nothing.

“And what about you? Are you in love with him?”

It’s easy to be honest around Priscilla. She is my genetic equal; how could it not?

“He’s not like any man I have ever met,” I reply. “I know it sounds crazy. I have known him only a week. But he… there is something about him, about the way he
is
around people that I find…” I search for the right word.

“Attractive?” Priscilla offers.

I find it.

“Irresistible,” I say, knowing I have nailed it.

“Then stop trying to resist it,” she says calmly.

Her practical side still amazes me.