Secret Sister (8 page)

A huge grocery/drug store/Starbucks shopping center at the corner of Howard and Route 28 seemed right, as did the neat rows of older houses, the gas station advertising a sale on tires, and a row of fast food restaurants. I turned left off the main road and drove up to St. Anne’s Episcopal School, on Gainsborough Road.

The elementary school sat on a couple of acres of prime residential real estate in the heart of Sierra Monte.  With the blazing blue sky and rolling foothills as a backdrop, St. Anne was gracious and rustic, at home in the Southern California landscape of stucco, terra cotta tile and palm trees. Though much smaller, it looked like a mission with its quaint bell tower and wooden casement windows and trim.

A lush bougainvillea, scarlet and green against the dusty walls, made me smile as I walked from the car. I stopped and touched the flowers, like tissue paper jewels, with dry, prickly branches. The parking lots surrounding the school complex were empty in the middle of August. The grass was worn in most places, its summertime brown spilling onto the sidewalk. A billboard in front of the property was blank except for black letters, which read, “School Starts September 2! Have a Nice Summer!”

I hiked my purse strap over my shoulder and headed for the front office. I didn’t remember where it was, but followed the footpath up the stairs to the logical place it would be. Through the black, wrought-iron gates, through the glass-paneled door with ‘Principal’ painted in small letters, I entered a bright room with a worn wooden counter, a waiting area with a scruffy couch and three student chairs.

A young woman was seated at the reception desk outside Althea Cordell’s office; ‘Vera Apodoca,’ according to her nameplate. She was short and heavy-set, with beautiful teeth and wavy dark hair.

Her eyes filled the second she saw me. “Roxanne! Oh my gosh!” A tear rolled down her cheek as she came around the counter to give me a gentle hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Thank you.” It was awkward. Everyone was a stranger with a blank slate, though they had a shared history with me only they remembered. An odd sensation, not knowing if someone was friend or foe.

I smiled. “This is a beautiful office. Sunny and warm. I bet the kids don’t even mind getting sent up here.”

“Oh, no one likes being sent up here. Ms. Cordell can be scary, but she’s always fair.” Vera searched my face. “How are you feeling? You look fantastic. As usual.”

“Thanks.”

“We went to the hospital, me and Freddy. And called. But we never heard back from you.” She sounded wounded.

“I’m sorry. I’m slow in getting back to everyone. Who is Freddy?”

“My husband. And he won’t be pleased to hear you don’t remember him.” She sounded sarcastic. “You know men. He’s your tennis coach. He’s been concerned about you. He said to tell you he’ll fit you back into his schedule as soon as you’re ready.”

Tennis coach, huh?
A man named Freddy had left a couple of messages I hadn’t answered since I couldn’t be less interested in playing tennis. “Thank you. And please thank Freddy for me.”

“I will.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to miss Cathy so much. I’m sure you are, too. You were best friends, I know, but she was so wonderful to everyone.” She pressed her hands over her stomach. “She helped me so much these past couple of years, I just can’t believe she won’t be here ever again.”

I patted her arm, but dropped my hand when I realized it was Cathy who was Vera’s friend, not me.

“Her memorial service was beautiful. All the kids were there. And parents. The choir sang “Ave Maria.” It made everyone cry.” Vera dabbed at her eyes. “I know you would have been touched if you could have seen it.”

“I wish I had been well enough to be there.”

“I know you were too ill to attend. And I’m sorry to bring up such an unhappy event. But do you . . .” Vera glanced at the closed door to Althea’s office.

“Remember? Sorry, no. Nothing yet.” I smiled and my face hurt with the effort. “But don’t worry. I’m betting I will soon.”

“It’s so amazing. You died, didn’t you? And came back. Do you remember
anything
?” She brought the small crucifix hanging on a chain around her neck to her lips.

She was being ghoulish, but hey, I
had
died, according to what Dr. Badu had told me. Had stopped breathing. I could understand anyone being curious, and terrified, about this. Especially a practicing Catholic.

“No, Vera. I don’t remember anything before the hospital. Weird, huh?”

Vera seemed to be mentally making the sign of the cross to ward off the notion of death, or of me. I thought of a TV show about zombies, and how you had to shoot them in the head to kill them. “Well, tell your husband I said hi. And I guess I’ll go see Ms. Cornell. Is she in?”

“Roxanne!” Althea Cornell’s voice boomed out and Vera and I glanced toward her, me with a sense of relief.

“Hi. I made it.”

“So you did. No problem with my directions? Did you need them?”

“No. I mean, no, no problem. I did need them.” I nodded at the secretary. “I was just telling Vera I don’t remember anything. She’s been filling me in.”

Althea gave Vera a stern look and the woman scurried to her desk. “Come on with me, Roxanne.” Althea took my arm. “Let’s go see your new classroom.”

“New?”

“Yes, we repainted it this summer, and moved you over to the east side of the building. I’ve put you in Room 14, with the big windows.”

I felt Vera’s eyes on me. For some reason I was sure she was already on the phone, telling someone about her first sighting of the ‘back–from-the-dead’ teacher.

Althea chatted about a new janitor, increased enrollment, the first scheduled assembly as we walked. I felt buoyant yet disconnected, as if I watched myself from above instead of beside the principal.

The hallway was dark and a bit stuffy, due to the air conditioning being cut back during the summer months. But it was wide and clean, the linoleum gleaming and the bulletin boards lining the walls freshly painted and ready for new displays.

We passed the auditorium and I caught sight of several rows of metal chairs, bolted to the ground, like a movie theatre. Room 14 was right around the corner from the theatre, and it did, indeed, have big windows. Floor to ceiling, they looked out on a courtyard that held a fountain rimmed with cement benches. The fountain had been drained and the orange, white, and green tiles lining the cistern were dry. But inside my head I heard the bubble and gurgle of silky blue water and the splash of children’s hands, giggles of conspiracy filling the air over their delight at playing in a forbidden area.

A startling noise, a pop loud as a gunshot, brought me back to the here and now. The noise was from the principal snapping on the classroom’s overhead lights. “Let’s shed some light on the subject,” she announced.

I made a mental note to not jump when I flipped on the switch in front of the kids.

The room was great; four unit areas for reading, painting, tables instead of desks, and a teacher’s desk beside a bookcase. I ran my hand across the rows of stories, the Cam Jansen mysteries, Maurice Sendek’s lovely monsters,
The Magic School Bus
and
Mr. Popper’s Penguins
. I also noted a whole series of books on Impressionist painters that introduced the young kids to the fabulous concepts of pointillism, color and revolution.

All books I loved.
All books I remember
!

“So, what do you think, Roxanne?” Althea asked. She leaned against the green board, her dark eyes watchful.

“It’s great to be here. It’s the first place I’ve felt I belonged since I woke up in the hospital.”

“Do you think you’ll have much problem with lesson plans?”

“No.” I told her about my efforts the past couple of days at home.

“Well then, that’s settled. I’ll expect you the first day.” She pointed to a pile of plastic crates beside the teacher’s desk. “I had Vera pull everything out of your old desk and bookcases. Do you want help sorting through this stuff or putting it away?”

“No, thanks. What I’d like is to stay a bit and go through it myself. If you don’t mind.” I looked at Althea, hoping she wouldn’t be slighted.

“Not at all. Good idea. No telling what these scraps of papers and files might bring back, Roxanne.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got an eleven o’clock meeting with a new student and their parents, so I need to head back to the office. How about I come back in an hour or so? We can go get lunch.”

“That would be great.” I was grateful for her understanding and the fact that she didn’t seem to want anything
personal
from me. My lack of memory didn’t matter to her; she needed a teacher. And she seemed more than willing to trust that I was up to the job.

It was a relief after Michael Cimino and Betty Haverty.

For the next several minutes I went through the crates and moved and organized folders full of teaching materials so I could transfer them to the desk. The printing on the folder tabs was bold and block-faced, as if done by a serious seven-year-old. I took several new folders and labeled them, annoyed I couldn’t replicate the writing style on the others.

I looked through the books, enjoying this task immensely. I knew I could quote aloud from many of the stories. There were several dictionaries and a complete, unused set of vocabulary workbooks. I went back to the last plastic bin to hunt for scissors, and came across a strange little container.

It was the size of a small box of cigars, and covered with green cloth. Someone had appliquéd a forest scene of felt figures onto the cloth. Two big owls sat in the middle of the scene. One had a bubble drawn in felt marker over its head that said, ‘$10 Please.’

Inside there was a stack of small bills, held together with a paperclip. Written across the bottom of the box, in the same block-lettered writing on all my folders, were the words, ‘Shut-up!’ followed by a series of names and dates.

Cathy-Jan3-$10. Cathy-Jan31-$10. Cathy-Feb13-$10.

My hands shook. I had no idea what this meant, but it must have been some kind of game between Cathy Chance and Roxanne.

Cathy and me.

I closed the box and stared out the window at the fountain. An image unfolded of a school auditorium stage filled with children dressed in strange animal-like costumes. “Lupeyloo, Lupeyloo, don’t be a fool, just be you,” they sang.

A door opened behind me and I gave a little yelp of surprise, turning to find a teenager staring at me.

“Sorry,” she said quickly.

As I watched, her expression changed from apology to something that looked, shockingly, like hate. “Roxanne.” The girl’s voice was flat and oh, so angry.

“Hi.” I extended my right hand.

The girl stared at me, blinked, and then looked at my outstretched hand as if it were a snake. “I didn’t know you were going to be at school today,” she said.

“Yes. First visit since . . .” Words failed me. I sat at the desk. This girl knew me, but I had no clue who she was. She was skinny, with an edgy haircut, bleached blonde, and blue painted fingernails. She wore baggy shorts and a crop top. Her nose was pierced, as was her naval, and a new tattoo was raised and scabby on her right arm.

“Since the accident?” the girl said.

“Yes. Since the accident.”

She looked away. She carried a satchel with some folders, much like the ones I was going through. The writing on the top folder looked like mine. Was this a staff member?

God, she’s so young.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I was injured badly in an accident, and I don’t exactly remember everything very well. People’s names, in particular. So forgive me, but who are you?”

The girl’s eyes narrowed. “Zoë. Zoë Chance. I’m Nick’s sister.”

I felt like I took a blow to the chest. “Zoë? You’re Cathy’s, Cathy’s . . .”

“Sister-in-law.” Zoë watched as I collapsed back against the desk chair.

“How are you, Zoë? How is Nick?” My voice broke and I laced my fingers together and pushed them into my lap.

“Nick’s bad. As bad as it gets. He walks around like the fucking living dead, if you want to know the truth. But then, how else would he be?”

Tears burned my eyes. I thought of saying the words, ‘I’m sorry,’ but I knew if I tried, I would choke. And Zoë Chance did not look like she wanted to hear them from me, anyway. She was in the grip of her own rage and grief.

And who could blame her?

Zoë stared out the window at the fountain for several moments. “You’re moving into this room?”

“Yes.”

“Cathy always wanted this room. She said it was the best one in the whole school.”

I was again struck mute. So, I killed her sister-in-law, and got her classroom. Pretty cut and dried as another good reason for her hatred.

Zoë glanced at my face, then to the desk. She stared at the box with the money in it. “Do you remember that?”

“No. No, I don’t.”

There was anguish in Zoë’s dark eyes. Without thinking, I went to her and hugged her hard, my tears falling on the pale skin of her arm. “I am so sorry, Zoë. Please tell Nick I am so sorry about the accident. I can’t explain what I mean by this, and forgive me for saying it, but I don’t even remember Cathy. It’s so unfair that she’s gone and I’m not. I’m so, so sorry. And I miss her, too.”

She went rigid in my embrace but I didn’t let her go. I couldn’t. After a few seconds, Zoë dropped the canvas bag of files and leaned her head on my shoulder. She gasped and started to cry, making noises like a hurt animal, deep, guttural sounds of loss, sounds almost too hard to bear.

Through my own tears I saw that her new tattoo was one word.
Cathy.

Zoë caught her breath and stepped away. “I’ve got to go.” She picked up her bag and walked out of the room. The door closed and I stared after her, drained, as the numbness I’d felt in the hospital returned.

I picked up a crate of files, threw in the box with the money and hurried from the room. Despite knowing it was coming, I flinched when I shut off the light. The noise was horrible. Like metal striking metal. Like a car hitting a truck.

My head pounded and my legs shook. I needed to get back to the apartment and into bed. I wanted to sleep and not be awake. Not think of what now ran through my mind, for while I was hugging Zoë I had a vision, one so clear it was surely a memory. It was of the man I’d had thoughts of before.