Winter in Full Bloom (4 page)

“But don’t you care that I need to know—”

“Is
cuma liom!”
she said.

I wasn’t sure what it meant, but Mother always broke into Gaelic when she really got her Irish dander up. And that was it; the audience with my mother came to a halt. I rose from the chair, knowing that no temptation, no enticement would ever get her to change her mind, so I was left holding what she called my infernal avalanche of questions. I had a sister, a twin, and if anyone were going to find her it’d have to be me.

“Goodbye, Mother.” I stepped out of the room with what crumbs of dignity I had left.

Dragan didn’t show me to the door, but then I hadn’t expected her to.

Questions flowed like rain on a dry riverbed. Why had I been separated from my sister? And why was it a secret? Why were we denied the chance to grow up together? Having an identical twin sister to play with, a bosom friend, would have been amazing fun. Even being teased about wearing the same clothes and knowing that people would constantly get us confused sounded like delight. No doubt a thousand whys were going to plague me, and yet just to know I had a sister, an identical twin, made me feel completed in some way. Whole and connected.

I shut the front door and breathed in the air, so light and clean, so unlike the oppressive atmosphere inside the Gray mansion. I always became a different person inside her house, all my wit and courage dissolving as if dipped in a vial of toxic fluids—the kind my mother used in her Frankenstein-esque floral experiments. Except for when Julie was little, she hadn’t seen me under the influence of my Mother. Perhaps she would have thought I’d disgraced myself with excessive groveling.

I headed to my car with a lilt in my step and a vow in my heart that even if the quest to find my sister took me to the other side of the world, I would find what my mother had hidden from me all these decades.

Yes, I would find Camille Violet Daniels, even if it were the last thing on earth I did!

“And so, Jenny, that’s how I came to be sitting in this seat and flying on this plane all around the world.” I flopped back in my seat, exhausted from the remembering and the telling of it all. I looked over at her little face, wondering what profound words she would cook up this time. Jenny yawned. “Wow, your mom is kind of weird.”

I chuckled.

“Your story is sad-happy like having to eat broccoli before you can get to the chocolate pudding.”

“Yeah, maybe a little.”

“I hope you find your sister. I always wanted one.”

“Me too.”

Her eyes fluttered shut for a second.

I grinned. “You’re looking a little sleepy.”

“How can you tell?”

I cocked my head at her. “Classic symptoms.”

“Good one.” She grinned. “Yeah, I’m going to sleep now.” She pulled the gum out of her mouth and held it out to me.

I automatically reached out my hand and let Jenny drop her gooey glob of bubble gum into my hand.

Jenny smiled. “Nighty-night. Thanks for telling me about your sister.” She pushed on her nose, making a little piggy face, and then snorted. “I guess you aren’t really running away, after all.”

“Good night.” I had no idea in the world why I accepted used gum from a stranger in my clean hand, except that Julie used to pass me her gum when she was little. And I’d always hold out my hand in the same way. Reflex, I guess, and, well, wishful dreaming that it had been Julie.

Jenny’s abrupt exit from our little exchange startled me. “Good night,” I whispered to her again. “Sweet dreams.” I was sorry to see her snuggle down onto her stack of Piglet pillows. Her chatter had kept me distracted, and even enchanted. I placed her gum into a tissue and wiped off my hand.

Now I would be alone with my thoughts. As scary as it felt to look outside, I scooted over to the window seat and lifted the cover on the porthole. Wispy clouds whirled by as if the plane were spinning inside a cotton candy machine. Far below, America’s patchwork of farms became visible here and there.

Soon the Pacific Ocean would heave and swell beneath me as if it were the great unknown, yet somehow I wasn’t as frightened at the prospect as I had been. I doubted I’d ever go to sleep, but maybe I could read a novel. Perhaps my journey wouldn’t be quite the hardship I’d imagined. Maybe Mother was right; I always picked the most potent spice in the rack when a little salt would do.

Twenty-two hours later, after a tedious layover in LA, two sleeping pills that worked like espresso, more plane crash statistics from Jenny, a stiff neck, drool, a flight that lasted as long as the breeding cycle of small marine creatures, I finally landed at the Melbourne airport. Not well, but alive.

Then after dragging myself through immigration, baggage claim, and customs I hailed a cab. My driver turned out to be Greek and proud enough of his heritage to give me all the details as we careened to and fro along the Tullamarine Freeway. The taxi smelled of cigars and baklava, and everything including the man’s laugh had a Greek accent.

“Many, many people here are Greek. So, where is home for you?” the man asked.

“Texas.”

“Ahh. I love Texas. John Wayne is my favorite actor.” He exploded with laughter.

I wasn’t exactly sure how John Wayne was connected to Texas, but the man seemed friendly enough, and he got me to my hotel without any real damage to me or the luggage.

Later I checked into the River Loft Hotel and Apartments, and plunked myself down on the bed. The room looked clean and tidy, but maybe a little too barren for my taste, since it once again reminded me of my solitary life, without Julie and without a husband. I stared at my hands; they were cradling each other as if they were the hands of two lovers, holding each other. It’s probably something Eeyore would do if he didn’t have hooves. I laughed. Jenny would have liked that one.

Moving on.
Someone at the front desk had said that St. Paul’s Cathedral was just across the river. Sounded so easy, but what if my sister no longer attended there? What if it were the last clue in finding Camille? But if she did go to church there, someone would have information. Where she worked. Where she lived. Her family.

Every pore of me wanted to sleep, but a flight attendant had warned me about jet lag—to stay awake until night, to trick my body into a new rhythm. And really, I didn’t want to wait to find my sister. No matter the level of exhaustion, I wanted to start the search right away. I changed into black slacks and a black silk shirt—apparently for now, black was the color of my life—and freshened up a bit. I wished now I hadn’t brought so many dark outfits.

Once outside I felt revived again, although when a cloud shadowed the sun the breeze turned surly right away. What had someone warned me about on the plane—four seasons in a day? I untied my windbreaker from my waist, slipped it on, and then gazed down at the Venetian-style boats floating on the Yarra River. Outdoor cafés lined the streets, and people chatted as they sipped coffee. Pigeons took advantage of the free comestibles, and the sounds of live music and performers filled the streets. The city was alive with energy, and it was hard to imagine that Lily Winter could be a part of it.

I joined the throngs of people that streamed over the bridge like the very river that flowed beneath us. Then I followed the crowds through the tunnel and up onto the other side. The people encircling me were foreigners who appeared to be from all over the world. Standing there, taking it in, I had never felt so alone and yet so invigorated in my life.

After the light turned green, I crossed Flinders Street and headed east, trying to follow the directions from the hotel’s front desk. I walked awhile, admiring everything along the way—the unique dress shops, the hustle-bustle of shoppers, the Flinders Street Station, and the smells of bakery goods and open-air markets.

When I looked up, suddenly it was there before me—the spires of St. Paul’s. The cathedral rose in front of me, grand and majestic, its pinnacles reaching toward the heavens as if they were hands raised in praise. I felt dwarfed in my humanness, but not dispirited. I wanted to shout to the bustling crowd, “Don’t you see it? How can you not be in awe?”

This holy place would surely lead me to my sister. My pace sped up until I broke into a run and then raced up the concrete steps of the church. Someone opened the doors, and I breezed into the narthex. Off to the right was a cozy gift shop, and behind the counter stood an elderly woman who seemed happy to see me. I stopped to ask her the question I’d been practicing in my head for hours. “Hi. My name is Lily Winter. I’ve come all the way from Texas to find my sister. I heard she attends church here. Her name is Camille Daniels. Do you happen to know her?”

The woman blinked
, her face a parade of bemused expressions, and then said, “I’ve never heard of her before.”

My spirit spiraled into an abyss I’d reserved just for this moment. “Really?”

“Let me ask Rowan. He’s been here a lot longer, and he knows most of the members. Yeah.”

“Thank you so much.” I clung to the slender cord of hope she handed me, but knew it could be cut off easily with a shake of Rowan’s head.

The woman smiled and headed to the back room.

In the meantime, I turned and glanced around the church, trying to revel in the majesty—the gothic archways of stone that stood like great sentinels of the faith, the old smells that whispered of ancient mysteries, the stained-glass windows lit with sun, and the holy awe of wonder it all instilled. But I would have to put off my awe and explorations for another day. In the meantime I counted the seconds until a man named Rowan would come out of the back room. Perhaps he would do no more than smile and wish me “G’day.”

My foot woodpecker-tapped on the floor. The back room couldn’t be that large. Had she forgotten about me?
Oh, please, God, let a man named Rowan know my sister.

After waiting an eternity—which may have been encapsulated into a minute or two—an aged-looking gentleman, wearing a cardigan, a bowtie, and a benevolent expression, hobbled out of the back room. “Joyce told me you’ve come all the way from Texas to find your sister.”

“Yes. Her name is Camille Violet Daniels, and she attends here.”

The light in Rowan’s eyes dimmed under his bushy brows. “I’m so sorry. I can’t think of anyone by that name.”

Rowan had no idea he’d just severed my lifeline. “Actually, she’s my identical twin, so maybe you’ve seen someone who looks a little like me, or maybe a lot.”

The older man studied me through watery eyes. “I hate to make you sad by saying this, but your face doesn’t ring any bells.”

“I don’t know where else to go.” I realized how pathetic I sounded. “This was my only solid clue in finding her.”

Rowan tugged on his bowtie. “Well, I could check the records just to make sure. I don’t know everyone who attends here. But I’m not able to do it right now. Perhaps in the arvo … uh, afternoon. Yeah.”

“Yes, of course.” I reached out and touched the sleeve of his sweater. “Thank you for your kindness.” I wanted to ask him what was so pressing that he couldn’t have a quick peek right this minute, but I didn’t want to be rude. “If you come across anything at all I’ll be here for three weeks. Here’s my cell number and my sister’s name.” I handed Rowan the slip of paper with all my information.