Uncle Vampire (9 page)

Curtain.

12

I waved frantically when I saw Maggie at the station, scanning the windows of the train. She shouted something I couldn't hear; the train was coming to a stop.

I stumbled down the stairs and into her arms.

“Look at you!” she shrieked. “I can't believe it! You're actually here! This is great!”

Porters and passengers swirled around us. We hugged and danced.

“I can't believe they let you come!”

“They almost didn't. I couldn't believe it myself, till I was on the train.”

“Don't they feed you, or what? You're so skinny!” she cried. “How much do you weigh?”

“I don't know. A hundred and five.”

“Each of my thighs weighs a hundred and five! I'll donate some fat in your name.”

I basked in her warmth; in the intelligent eyes, in the curly brown poodle hair framing her face.

We collected my luggage. “The car's over there. It's Michael's, don't you love it?” It was a red VW. “He can't wait to meet you.”

“I thought he might be here.”

“I wanted you all to myself for a while. He's coming for dinner tomorrow night.” Maggie stuffed my suitcases into the backseat. “What's in these things? I can barely lift them. I invited you for Christmas, not the rest of your life.”

“Oh,” I said. “I thought you wanted to adopt me.”

Maybe I could go to Boston University; not live with Maggie, but somewhere close. We could cook spaghetti feasts and go shopping together.
I was just in the neighborhood so I thought I'd drop by.… “Oh, hi!” Maggie would say. “Come on in!”

Soon we were zipping through heavy traffic. Maggie navigated down narrow streets, finally parking in front of an old brick house.

“Good news,” she said. “We're on the second floor.”

We lugged my suitcases up the stairs, Maggie pretending she was going to collapse. She unlocked her apartment, and I felt instantly at ease; this was where I had pictured my sister.

The apartment was large and full of afternoon light. The floors were covered with braided rugs. The furniture was old and comfortable-looking. Two blue parakeets in a cage near the window burst into song as we entered the room.

“It's wonderful, Maggie! Where is everybody?”

“Away for Christmas vacation. We have the place to ourselves. Put your bags in here. You're staying in Trudy's room.”

“Are you sure she doesn't mind? Could I have her boyfriend too?” I admired a framed photograph on her nightstand.

“Sorry. They're engaged. I wish you could meet her. And Rachel and Linda. They've heard me talk about you for years. They feel like they already know you.”

“I feel like I know them too.” There's a picture of the four of them on my bulletin board at home; a joyous chorus line, kicking their legs.

“We get along so well, it's amazing,” Maggie said. “They're just like family. It's incredible. I didn't realize people could live in the same house and still like each other. You know what I mean; things get tense at home. But here, it's funny. We get along great. Come on, I'll show you the rest of the place. You can unpack later.”

There were three other bedrooms and one tiny bathroom.

“That's where the fights break out,” Maggie said. “Things get a little frantic in the morning.” The kitchen was small, but there were plenty of cupboards, which Maggie said was handy because they kept most of their food separate.

“Otherwise, it's like: ‘Who ate my granola bars? Who finished the chocolate chips?' And nobody cops to the crime and we have to dust for prints. Some stuff we share, like when we have a big dinner. Then everybody pitches in.”

“Like Thanksgiving,” I said, remembering the laughter I'd heard over the telephone. “It sounded like you guys were having a great time.”

“Oh, we did!” Maggie glowed. “Michael and David, that's Trudy's boyfriend, were chasing each other with this frozen turkey! We laughed so hard. Sit down and relax! Would you like some tea or coffee or juice?”

“Coffee, please, with lots of caffeine. I'm having a sinking spell.”

“Rough trip?”

“It was okay. Just long.”

“You should've flown.”

“No way. You know how I feel about planes.”

I sat on the living room rug, leaning against a big pillow. It would've felt good to close my eyes. But I didn't want to waste a moment with my sister.

On the mantel over the fireplace was a picture of me and Maggie, playing dress up, in Grammy's old clothes. We stared unsmiling into the camera. Make-believe was serious business. It made me happy to see that picture. Everyone who came to the apartment would know that Maggie and I were close. There were pictures of me in her bedroom too, which was as tidy as her room had been at home.

“How was the food on the train?” she called from the kitchen.

“Lousy. But who felt like eating? My stomach felt queasy. But the scenery was great.”

“I still can't believe you're really here. Did you threaten them or something?”

“Actually, yes. I told them I'd kill myself if they made me stay home for Christmas.”

“How merry of you! Be careful, this is hot.” Maggie handed me a mug of coffee and cream.

“God, that's good. You make the best coffee.”

“Some people think it's too strong.”

“Wimps.”

“Exactly.” Maggie brought out a plate of brownies. “Got to fatten you up. As you can see, that's not my problem. But who has time to obsess about weight? I like the way I look, and Michael does too. Who cares what people think? Well, you do, obviously. I mean it, Carrie, you're too skinny.”

Maggie wasn't fat or even pudgy; just soft where she'd been sharp.

She patted my leg. “It's so good to see you. I never thought they'd let you come.”

“They didn't want to. But I was so bummed out they got worried. They thought the trip might cheer me up. And it did. I'm cured! It's a miracle!”

“And Papa didn't have a fit about the cost? Or is he taking it out of your allowance forever?”

“Let's just say he wasn't thrilled. But Uncle Toddy convinced him that it was cheaper than the alternative.”

“What alternative?” Maggie bit into a brownie.

“A brain transplant.”

“No, seriously.”

“I don't know. A shrink, I guess.”

“Are you kidding? I can't tell.” Maggie peered into my face. “Why were you so bummed out?”

I waved away the questions. “Let's not talk about that now. Once I got on the train, I felt great. Nauseous, but great. Jeez, you wouldn't believe some of the passengers! Some of them were pretty squirrely. The old lady sitting beside me had on nylons that came up to her shins.”

“Great look,” Maggie said. “Let's never get old.”

“She was reading this romance novel with teeny little print. Just the
thought
of reading made me sick.”

“I could never read in the car. Richie could, remember? He'd sit there with those books by that science fiction guy, what was his name?”

“Piers Anthony.” Richie used to be his biggest fan. I haven't seen him read a book in ages.

“How's Mama doing?”

I took another sip of creamy coffee. “The good news is, she doesn't feel too bad. The bad news is, she doesn't feel too good.”

“Is she still on medication?”

“Let's not talk about them now. I promise I'll go into all that later. I escaped! I'm free! They're far away! I love it here! Won't you please adopt me?”

Maggie laughed. She thought I was kidding.

Christmas with Maggie was a dream come true, and I owed it all to Uncle Toddy. When I begged my parents to let me go to Massachusetts, they reacted as if I'd asked to fly to the moon: Don't be absurd. It's too far away. It's too expensive. Anyway, maybe Maggie would come home next summer.

“Next summer will be too late!” I'd cried.

Papa said, “Don't be melodramatic.”

Uncle Toddy knew I wasn't acting. “Let her go,” he said. “The change will do her good. She misses her big sister.”

“I can't afford it,” Papa said. Is that really true? He and Mama are planning a cruise to Bermuda. It's part of their upcoming anniversary gala, when they will celebrate twenty-five years of holy gridlock. Wedlock, I mean. To keep romance in a marriage, it's important to take time away from the kids, particularly if you can't stand them.

Uncle Toddy will be in charge while they're gone.

He paid for half of my train ticket.

“Do you feel like going for a ride?” Maggie asked. “Or do you want to hang around? It's up to you.”

“Let's go for a ride.”

“We can stop by and say hi to Michael. He works at the campus bookstore. God, your hair is beautiful.”

I had unbound my braid and was brushing it out.

“I'm thinking of cutting it off.”

“Why?”

“It gets tangled up. I'm tired of it.”

“Then give it to me.”

“All right,” I said. “I'll leave it to you in my will.”

We left the apartment and cruised toward the campus.

“We'll just run in so you can say hi to Michael. I'm curious to see what you think of him. He's so wonderful! Well, that's my opinion!”

“Maggie, are you going to marry him?”

She stopped at a traffic light and scrunched up her nose. “Gee, I've never considered it.”

“You lie!” I poked her in the ribs, and she accidentally honked the horn.

“Now that you mention it, it's crossed my mind. Five or six million times. Actually, we're talking about it. I love him, Carrie, I really do. And he loves me. Isn't that a handy arrangement?”

I'm surprised that the whole world's not in love with Maggie. It felt so good to laugh with my sister. The tension and fear that had gripped me let go. I felt content and infinitely calm.

Michael crossed the bookstore to us, holding out his hand.

“Carrie,” he said, “it's so nice to meet you! Maggie talks about you all the time.”

He wasn't handsome, but he had a good face, a face you could look at for the rest of your life, a face that would never lie.

“Maggie talks about you all the time too,” I said. “Let's face it: Maggie talks all the time.”

We laughed. His arm rested lightly on her shoulders. He looked so pleasant and tall and strong. He showed me around the bookstore briefly. Then Maggie and I drove to a park.

It was almost dark. Old-fashioned lamps were draped with Christmas garlands. Bundled-up children skated on a frozen pond while carols blared from a loudspeaker.

“It's beautiful here in the spring,” Maggie said, “when all the trees are in blossom. You can go out on the lake in the swan boats.”

“It's beautiful now. I love Boston.”

“I knew you would. It's your kind of town; full of bookstores and interesting shops, and not so big that it swallows you up. I could always picture you here.”

“And now I'm here.” I never wanted to go home again.

We drove around, admiring the Christmas lights and decorations, the displays of plastic crèches and candy canes and Santas.

Maggie said, “Remember when the folks admitted Santa wasn't real?”

“Remember it? I'm still not over it.”

“Yeah,” Maggie said. “You took it hard.”

“Well, why did they lie? I kept asking them about it: Is there really a Santa? And they always said yes, and if you don't believe in him, he won't bring you any presents. Then one day it's like: Forget what we said. We were just pretending. After that, I never trusted them again.”

“Aren't you being a little harsh? I mean, they weren't trying to swindle you. They just wanted you to believe in Santa Claus.”

“Why?”

“Because it's fun to believe.”

“Not when it's a lie. I'd never do something like that to my kids.”

Maggie started to joke, but then she saw that I was serious.

Maggie worked as a waitress in a busy restaurant. She managed to get time off from her job.

“It's crazy there at Christmas, with the shoppers,” she said, “but I told Frank, my boss, my sister was visiting, and he said fine. He's really nice.”

We'd wake up in the mornings and eat a big breakfast. “We've got to put some weight on you, girl,” Maggie said, loading my plate with honeyed toast and scrambled eggs.

Then we'd shop for Christmas presents or admire the displays in store windows, or visit a museum or a beautiful old church. One day we drove out into the country. Snow was piled high on either side of the highway. We cut down a fir at a tree farm, then tied it to the ski rack on Michael's car. He helped us decorate the tree after dinner. He came over after work almost every night, bringing loaves of crusty French bread and bottles of wine, or pastries made of raspberries and chocolate. It was easy to see how much he and Maggie loved each other. I prayed that Michael would never go away.

On Christmas Day we opened our presents. Maggie knew what would please me: a journal covered in Chinese silk, paperback books, warm socks, beaded earrings. When our family called, I hid in the shower. I didn't want to talk to my parents or wish Uncle Toddy a merry Christmas. I wanted all of them to leave me alone.

“She's doing fine,” I heard Maggie say. “We're having a great time. I know she'll be sorry she missed you.”

We shared Christmas dinner with friends of Maggie and Michael, who were married and had two-year-old twins. Other friends dropped by to drink eggnog and sing carols. I sat on the floor and played with the kids. “She's so good with the twins,” I heard their mother tell Maggie. I'd never had such a wonderful Christmas.

Soon it would be time to return to California. I didn't want to leave my sister. I needed to ask her if she'd ever experienced what I'd experienced. I needed to hear her say I wasn't crazy.