Never Said (14 page)

“Annie.” My voice was all air. “Oh, Annie.”

There's a pause that weighs as much as a boulder.

“Can you believe I lied?”

“How? How did you lie?” My words aren't whole. I crawl out of bed, try to take a few more breaths.

“By not staying a virgin. I was going to wait until marriage.” She's crying then.

I think of Annie loud and proud about waiting. How can words hurt my brain? This does. It hurts my brain and my heart and my stomach.

“It happened a few times. I'd call him at home and he wouldn't answer. And then when he saw me at work . . . he'd stay after hours and so would I.”

“You were fifteen.”

“Sarah? Are you okay?”

“No,” I say. I go to the window and open it. “No, you were fifteen.”

“And older.”

I hesitate. “Is it over?”

“Not really. He still asks me to see him. Tells me he's doing me a favor being with me even though I'm fat.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No.”

We're both whispering.

“When was the last time you were with him?”

Annie rolls onto her back. “The end of last month. I decided I would never see him again. But he's still texting me.”

Outside, the night is still. The sky is clear with icy stars dotting the darkness. Like a blanket, the cold pushes in through the screen. Fresh air settles my stomach but does nothing for the rising panic.

“Only you know,” Annie says. “I'm talking with a school counselor. Though I haven't told her this. Not what happened. I haven't told anyone but you, Sarah. I'm not ready yet.”

I put my hands on the windowsill. Press my forehead on the screen. I breathe deep to keep the nauseated feeling away. The screen smells musty. David Carter. With the little babies and the chatting. The BMW and the wife. The ride home and the small talk.

I go back to bed and crawl in beside Annie. “You have to tell,” I say. “You said no. That's rape.”

“I can't. I said yes later.” Her voice is desperate. Frightened.

“You have to tell someone.”

Cold air blows into the room. Papers rustle on my desk. Annie cries next to me. There's only the sound of her sobs. For several minutes she weeps, and I cry with her.

“I'm ashamed,” Annie says after a while. “Like it was something I did. Like I took advantage of how I looked. Like I made it too easy. I let him care for me and I let me care for him.”

“That's ridiculous,” I say. “Look. Look. I'll tell Mom and Dad for you, okay?”

Annie's quiet. “I'm tired. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” I say.

Annie says, “After the party, okay? I'll do it after the party. I don't want to ruin things for Dad.”

“He'll be here,” I say. “With Lisa.”

“What's one more day?” Annie says. “We let Dad have his moment.”

I don't answer.

“Okay?”

I nod. “You tell in twenty-four hours,” I say, “or I do.”

annie

The house is full
and I wait
wanting to see him
and hating him at the same time.

sarah

I
stayed in my room all day. I had to. I can't eat. Can't think. Can't do anything. Annie's revelation makes me want to call the police. But I've promised. Not until this is over.

“Come on down with me,” Annie says about seven thirty. “We need to mingle. Do the piece. Then you want to go for a drive?”

“Sure.”

She's wearing black, like Mom requested. My sister looks . . . beautiful. She smiles at me, and I see she's scared.

“I'm sorry, Annie. I'm sorry.” I clutch her close. We stand in my bedroom, together. Hugging. Maybe like when we were in the womb. “I'm sorry.” I'm sick with anger at myself. I should have known. Twins know things. I should have stopped this. Stayed at the office with her. Not been so afraid.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

We go downstairs holding hands.

There are so many people that my anxiety rears its ugly head (cliché, but exactly what I'm feeling) and I can't swallow.

“It's okay,” Annie says. She doesn't turn loose of my hand. Holds on. Guides me to the dining room where two caterers keep the table filled with food.

“Where're Mom and Dad?” she asks.

But I'm looking for David Carter.

And then I see him. He's watching us. Drinking a glass of wine. Watching Annie. His arm is around his pregnant wife.

I can't eat. Annie nibbles at a baby quiche. She socializes. Takes comments about her hair. Her piercings. Is she thinking of a tattoo? What are her goals?

I don't speak to anyone. Just sort of smile. I can't think. Move like a robot, jerky. David watches us where we go. Wherever we stop. Has he always done this? Or does he want my sister now?

Then Dad calls us in.

“My gorgeous daughters,” he says. Dad grins. Mom hangs from his arm. I want to laugh that I thought he would have an affair.

But the real truth, it's worse.

Far worse.

“The halftime entertainment.”

“Oh,” I hear Emma Jean say. She's with a good-looking man in jeans and a sports coat. She's dressed in a gown. “These two girls are talented. Love this part of the evening. Everything else is so pretentious.” I can see the diamond at her throat glitter. She nods at me. Smiles.

Somehow I'm standing at the piano. I test the strings on my violin. My knees shake.

Annie says, “We're almost done here, Sarah. Then we go.”

I nod.

I hate this. Hate it!

She plays the first few chords.

I join her.

Close my eyes.

Think of the music.

The sound.

Rhythms.

Get lost in the arrangement, the perfection of the notes together. The way I feel as I play and, no, I won't think of anything. Not anything.

It's a longer piece. No one moves. Maybe they don't breathe the whole time. Maybe I don't either.

Then. It's over. Everyone claps. Dad hugs us, me first. I put away the violin. My hands shake hard now, like they waited until everything was over to come undone. Dad raises his champagne glass. Mom clinks her glass against his. Annie has moved to the edge of the living room.

Then David Carter is there.

Like a spirit.

I see him walk toward my sister, get too close.

His wife is talking to someone across the room from him.

I watch him lean over Annie. See her shake her head.

She looks at me.

“Leave her alone,” I say. My voice is low. Flat. Crushed toward the carpet. This playing, this performance has taken everything out of me. I want to leave the house. Now.

David says something to Annie, who looks away, her face stricken.

“Leave her alone.”

I don't even close the violin case, but step toward Annie, push past a guest from out of state. Dad won't like that, but I have to get to Annie.

“Leave her alone,” I say again.

“Oh, Sarah,” David says. And then. “A moment alone with your sister, please.”

“Don't speak to her. Don't.”

“It's okay, Sarah,” Annie says. “I want to.” Her eyes are huge. She bites at her bottom lip. Her face has lost all color.

“No!” My voice comes out far louder than I mean it. “I know,” I say, “Daddy. Daddy!”

“Shhh, Sarah,” David says. He's in my face. There are too many people here. Too much breathing. Sweating. Talking. Eating.

“Forget it, Annie. Never mind.” David turns. Walks across the room.

“Sarah?” Annie says, and she's shaking her head in slow motion. Whispering
later. Later.

“Dad!” I say.

sunday

sarah

I
'm not sure how, but the news goes through the neighborhood like wildfire.

Someone drops off a basket of chocolates. Someone else a loaf of homemade bread. When I step out to get the paper, I find three cards in the mailbox. They're all addressed to Annie, all hand delivered.

Is it because the police showed up at the door? Because Dad nearly knocked out David's teeth? Because David's wife went screaming outside and drove off in that BMW?

All night I dreamed awful things. Annie kept crying out and I couldn't reach her.

Each time I woke up, I saw in my mind her chopped-off hair. Her black room. All that extra weight. I cried myself to sleep, twice.

This is how I want to be
were like printed words in my head.

Mom and Dad and Annie left early with the plan to be gone for the day. “To see a lawyer,” Dad said. “Then to the police station.”

“Lock up,” Mom said, and Annie grabbed me in a hug, her face splotchy from all the crying, her eyes swollen.

“Thank you,” she said. Her breath was warm on my face and I wanted to cry again. “When I saw him, I just wanted to be with him. You saved me.”

“We'll text you,” Dad said.

All the air in the house leaves when my family drives away.

I walk from the kitchen to the hall, up to my room, to the basement and the pool table and back to the kitchen. I'm watching Judge Judy on YouTube when the doorbell chimes. I jump. Who can it be? A part of me wants to hide but it's noon, not midnight like it feels it should be, and this could be the police.

Instead Garret stands at the door. “I heard,” he says.

A breeze rushes in the house, making me think there could be an end to winter in a month or two.

“Okay,” I say.

“Can I come in?”

I hesitate.

“Sarah?”

“Oh, sure,” I say and open the door wider. We stand in the foyer. Garret's hesitant, then he walks into the living room. There're still glasses all over the place and plates and even a platter of appetizers. Thai shrimp, my favorite. We didn't even get to the filet mignon with creamy mashed potatoes and asparagus.

Garret sits at the edge of an ottoman and I sit across from him. He's so cute I can hardly stand it.

“I wanna kill the guy,” he says after a long minute where he's looking at his hands and I'm looking at him.

“I know.” My voice is low.

“What's your family going to do?” He looks at me and I remember how I would kiss him for hours and how soft his lips are, and I miss those kisses so much.

“Dad's pressing charges,” I say. A given, I know. “And David's been fired.”

“Good.” Then he says, “You know, Sarah, Annie is gonna get through this. I know she will. She's a lot like you. Tough.”

“Like me?” I'm surprised. “Oh no. She's way better than me.”

Garret touches my shoulder. Has a spark jumped from the fireplace to where his fingertips are?

“The two of you are a lot alike. Maybe not so much in looks, but in the way you both act. It's kinda cool. Twins who don't look exactly the same, but have personalities that are similar.”

“That's not true,” I say, though I'm warmed with the thought.

“Sure it is.” Garret's hand is still on my shoulder. “Not in public. But when I've been with you, when it's just us, I see that confidence that Annie has.”

“Really?” I open then close my mouth, and feel a smile playing at my lips. I want that. I want to be like my sister. “That's a real compliment,” I say.

Can it be true?

“She won't be doing it so alone this time. None of us are planning on letting her. They're talking to a lawyer and all, and there are some things she has to work out by herself. But, you know, Mom and Dad and me? We're there for her now.”

As I say these words (that feel empty), guilt clenches at my heart. Maybe if I hadn't spent so much time thinking Annie was fat and more time wondering why she was eating so much, things would be different. Maybe if I had listened sooner. Not left her alone.

Stayed at the office.

Looked outside of myself.

Thought of her.

Not been so afraid.

I take in a deep breath.

Garret grabs my hand, and the spark moves to my palm where he touches me. “Sarah.”

I try to pull free, but he won't let me. Okay, I don't try that hard.

“Sarah.”

“What?”

“I'm sorry. About everything. About what's happened with Annie. That I listened to my mom.” He swallows. “That we haven't been together.”

I don't say anything.

“I've missed you.” Garret comes close. I can smell his aftershave. All I have to do is bury my head in his neck but instead I let him kiss me, his lips meeting mostly teeth because I'm smiling.

Then we're really kissing. Full on. And I missed him so much that my eyes fill with tears. His arms go around me. I hear his phone ring but he doesn't answer and we keep kissing. Keep kissing, standing now, so close and it's like we've never been apart.

The phone rings again.

“Your mom?” I ask, pulling away from him.

His face is flushed. He looks at his phone. His cheeks go redder. He nods.

I swallow. “Go home,” I say, because I know right then this will never work. No matter how I want it to. Not this way. It can't.

And if Annie is going to be strong, so will I. I don't want to be, but I will.

“Sarah,” he says.

“Go on.”

He gives me one heartbreaking look. “Don't give up completely,” he says.

His shoulders slump and he nods when I don't answer.

Then he's walking to the door and when he's off the porch, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the phone to his ear, I shut the door and cry.

For me.

For Garret.

But mostly, mostly for Annie.

sarah

W
hen the rest of my family gets home, I wait for my sister to get out of the car.

“It's over,” she says when she comes inside. She's weeping. So many tears today for our family. Too many.