Winter in Full Bloom (13 page)

“When you word it like that I see your point.” If my heart were a flower it would have withered just then.

Marcus raised his chin. “But you will miss me, no doubt.”

“Yes. You will be missed.” The same teasing and cocky attitude that had been so irritating when I’d first met Marcus no longer felt that way. It was funny and endearing. I would have smiled brighter, but my injured knee felt like it had been fed through a meat grinder.

“Do you need help in the lift?” he asked.

“The lift?”

“Sorry. The elevator.” Marcus grinned. “Can you make it upstairs okay?”

“I can. Thanks.”

Marcus seemed to be stalling. Perhaps he didn’t want to go, just as I didn’t really want him to go. “Are you sure you know the spot where your sister will be playing this evening?”

“I’m sure.”

“Don’t forget your sweater or you’ll be cold.”

“You mean my jumper?” I smiled.

“Your jumper.” Marcus cleared his throat. “Well then, I guess I’ll go. You need your rest.”

“Yes. I do.”

“Good. That’s good.” But instead of backing away he stepped closer to me. “This has been quite a day.”

“It has.” I perked up again. “Crazy. Memorable. Terrifying. Hopeful.”

Marcus hovered near me. He smelled like coffee. Loved that scent.

I thought he might dip a little lower and a little closer and kiss me, but at the last second he pulled away. “I know you’ll want to keep your calendar freer now because of your sister, but if you don’t schedule anything tomorrow night, I would love to take you to one of the finer dining places here. Something very special.”

“Okay. I would love that,” I said just above a whisper.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow evening at six then, since Houstonians eat at a civilized hour.”

I grinned. “I’m already looking forward to it.” I watched him pause again and then walk toward the hotel’s glass doors.

Just as he neared the exit, he turned around and looked at me one more time. He gave me a playful wink.

He’d caught me staring at him, but I didn’t care. A tingling sensation trickled through me with that look of his, and I knew then that the never-been-worn, little black dress would no longer be in search of an evening …

I woke up to a noise
so loud it frightened me. It was me—snoring. Must have come off as feminine as a tobacco-spitting lumberjack. Then I looked at the clock on the nightstand in my hotel room. Seven p.m. No! I’d planned on a short nap, not hibernation. I’d slept through lunch and almost dinner. And if I wasn’t careful I’d miss meeting my sister. I was hopeless.

Speed dressing, I threw on some fresh clothes and limped-raced—my knee still smarting with every step—out of the hotel and along the promenade. When I arrived at the spot where I knew my sister would perform, a crowd had already gathered. I slowed my pace and then, as amicably as possible, I nudged my way through a cluster of people.

There she was, my sister, standing by the river, dressed in white, and playing her silver flute. Camille looked like a fairy straight from
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. Marcus had been right. People stood still, mesmerized by her music. Even though she had a downcast expression, her face appeared luminous and ivory and as delicately carved as a cameo. She held a faraway gaze as her ebony hair, shimmery like a raven’s wings, danced around her face in the breeze. The sound floating from her flute was pure Celtic magic, and like the curling waters close by, the music slowly wound its way around our hearts.

This is my sister.

I wanted to shout it out, but of course I merely listened with a grateful heart. To find my sister made me feel as if I was more in sync with life, and yet how could that be? The thought seemed a little dramatic, and yet I knew it to be true. My life would be forever changed by my discovery, and I was glad for it.

How could Mother have done such a thing—keep one twin and give away the other? And what about Father? He was equally guilty, and yet I’d barely thought of his role in the affair. Mothers always seemed to take the brunt of the blame when it came to the neglect of a child. What had been their excuse for such behavior?
Lord, please help me not to hate my parents
.

When Camille came to the close of her melody she stood perfectly still, as if the music needed a moment of awe before she moved on. After several seconds, people broke into applause. Others dropped money into a bowl.

Camille looked up and noticed me but didn’t return my smile.

When the crowd realized she was finished playing, they strolled on down the promenade.

I walked up to Camille as she took her flute apart and then gingerly set the three pieces into her case.

“That was amazing. I’ve never heard anything so beautiful.”

“Thanks.”

“I play the piano, but no one wants to hear it.” Except Julie.

“Oh?” Camille gaped at me. “Sorry. This identical twin thing takes some getting used to.”

“I know what you mean. We could have caused quite a ruckus growing up … switching our names and fooling everyone. Although I’ve never been one to tease people. I’m usually a pretty serious person overall.” Oh, dear. I was turning into a motormouth. I prayed she wouldn’t bolt again.

Camille didn’t reply but picked up the cash in the bowl and stuffed it into her purse. Then she turned and looked out over the river.

I went to stand next to her and gazed toward the water along with her. Quiet was better anyway. This moment called for feeling not yammering.

Camille finally spoke. “I guess you think I’m a bad seed, don’t you?”

“Not at all. How do you mean?”

“Well, you came all the way from the US to find me, injured yourself in the process, and then I basically told you to go jump in the river.”

God, give me the right words.
“It wasn’t easy to hear what you had to say, I admit. But you’ve been through some terrible traumas in your life. Things I cannot understand.”

Camille set her instrument case down by her feet. “But I ruined what you’d hoped to be a happy reunion. It’s just that there’s been this buildup of suffering for a long time and no one to blame. No one to yell at. And here you came. It’s like you were this tiny tremor that set off an earthquake.”

I breathed again, glad that we were really talking. “I’m sorry I said all the wrong things. It’s just that I was so excited to see you.”

“Yeah, I could tell.” She smiled, just a little smile but it lit her face.

“Do you think there’s any way we could start over? Maybe I could do better the second time around.”

“All right. I should give you that, since you came all this way.”

“I don’t have much family left, so finding you was very important to me.”

“You said you were a widow?” Camille asked.

“Yes, my husband passed away a year ago. I have a daughter named Julie, but she’s in college now. She’s the joy of my life.” I pulled my hair back in a scrunchie, since it was whipping my face. “So, did you ever marry?”

“No, but I have a boyfriend … Jerald Waldgrave. He claims he’s going to propose to me soon, but soon never seems to come.” Camille straightened her dress.

A deeper meaning trolled just below the surface of Camille’s admission, but I let it go. I instead began picking at my fingers.

Camille looked at my hands. “How long have you done that to your hands?”

“Ever since I was a kid, whenever I got anxious.” I glanced at her hands. “Do you pick?”

“No, but I have TMJ from stress. Guess it all has to come out somewhere.” She paused and then said, “Let me ask you something. What was Father like? I mean, the man who would have been my father?”

What could be said about him in just a few words? “He was a good man, but I think he suffered from depression some. He never seemed to want to play with me much or be a part of my life. I think he loved me, but I’m not sure he really liked me much. As I mentioned, he died when I was nine. To be honest I think it was Mother who made him depressed.” That part reminded me of Camille’s youth. “They didn’t have a very happy marriage. But then every life she’s touched has been made less happy by being near her.”

“Including yours?”

I nodded. “Including mine. It’s as if she’s been living under a cloud of misery, and she wants to make sure everyone else’s life is too. I never really understood it until today … maybe until that moment … when you told me the truth. It’s not just a cloud of misery, but of guilt, over what she did … what they did.”

Camille gathered a ribbon from her dress and wound the fabric around her finger until the tip turned an angry red. “So, you think she’s sorry for what she did to me?”

“I can’t know her mind for sure. We’ve never been close, but I see it now. It all makes sense. Perhaps this sin has slowly been eating away at her all these years.”

Camille looked up at the sky. “I’d like to say it makes me glad to hear it. That she deserves every bit of misery that comes her way. But I can’t. I know it would hurt God’s ears to hear it, so I won’t say it. But it’s tempting.”

“Aren’t you freezing out here without a jacket?”

“I’m a little cold, but I’m used to it.”

“Mother did a terrible thing, Camille, and she needs to confess her sins to God. But she’s an agnostic, so that’s a tragedy.
And
she needs a friend she can talk to about it, but she doesn’t really have friends. But recently she hired one.” I shivered and snuggled down into my jacket, thinking how absurd and hopeless it all sounded.

“What? Really? You can do that? Hire a friend?”

“Apparently. Mother’s never been very interested in talking to me or making me a friend. In fact, when I went to visit her and she told me about you … we hadn’t seen each other in a decade.”

Camille gave me a heavy pause. “Really? Your relationship was that bad?”

“It was and still is. So, I can’t say that I was ever put on a shelf and treasured. More like just put on a shelf and left to gather dust. But I’d like to make things right somehow. I want to …” Tears came then. I was about to embarrass myself, but I couldn’t help it. “Isn’t there anything I can do to help you? I mean, to ease the pain of this terrible thing Mother did to you? She—” My voice caught in my throat. “I’m sorry to be so emotional.”

“You’re all right. I used to cry like that. All the time, actually.”

“You did?” I dug out several tissues from my purse, blew my nose, and cleaned up my face. “Do you mind if I ask how you got over the tendency to get weepy?”

Camille gazed out over the city. “They say that sometimes the orphan babies in China are left to themselves with little care of any kind. They cry for help until they cannot cry anymore. The tears and weary pleas for comfort and food are replaced by vacant stares. Their little spirits are broken—utterly. Those who’ve seen it say it’s eerie … unnatural … that kind of silence. I think of those sweet babies when I play my music. I guess I’m playing for them and for the lost little girl inside me who never got to grow up.”

I closed my eyes briefly
, letting the full sensation of that great sadness work its way through me. The chasm between us grew deeper. I had known coldness in my youth, but I couldn’t fathom the level of my sister’s pain. Would I ever understand her suffering or know that young girl who was left alone with a villain? “I don’t know what to say. ‘Sorry’ will never be enough.”

Camille clasped her hands behind her back and faced me again. “In answer to your question, I can’t see how there is anything you can do to make up for what happened. What was done cannot ever be undone.”

“But what about a relationship? I want to know you. I would love my Julie to know you. Wouldn’t life be better somehow for both of us if we could have the sisterhood that we were denied? It’s too late to undo the past, but we could make something good, you and me, out of the time we have left.”

“You’re so passionate,” Camille said.

“I am? I’ve never thought of myself that way.”

“Oh, but you are. You’re glowing with it. I forgot what it looked like.” Then she added, “But hate is a kind of passion.”

“Yes, it is.”