Secret Sister (15 page)

“You need to slow down a little, Cathy. Patience really is a virtue in this situation.”

“I know. But I will convince him. I convinced you, right?”

“You did.” Seth smiled. “But I believe you because you told me facts I could confirm. It’s different with me than with your husband. I don’t have the same vulnerabilities, or anywhere near the same emotional stakes as Nick does. As fond of you as I am, and as delighted as I am that you’re not lost to us, I’ve not been mourning you as profoundly as he has. I think with Nick there will be issues of self-protection and suspicion about the motives of the bearer of this wonderful news.”

“Motives? What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s turn it around for a minute. Say you had lost Nick. And this miraculous thing happened to him. And several weeks after you buried Nick, Michael Cimino showed up at your doorstep claiming to be Nick and asking to be welcomed with open arms.”

I leaned back, my mind swimming with this scenario. My faced burned and I wondered if Seth could read my heart with his blind, all-seeing eyes.

“What do you think your reaction would be?” Seth pressed.

“I’d think Michael had come up with a ploy to get laid. I would throw him out. Call the cops. Or the nuthouse.” My earlier joy evaporated and I felt a hundred years old. “You think Nick will be suspicious of me?”

“He won’t know it’s
you
, Cathy dear. It’s not you he’ll be suspicious of. He’ll see Roxanne. And quite logically react to her the same way you explained you would to Michael.”

I considered this. My brain played out another possibility. Roxanne’s body, which I now inhabited, was gorgeous and desirable. Maybe Nick would pretend to believe me only because he’d wanted to sleep with her all these years. First he would bed me, believing it was Rox, then he’d call the nuthouse.

I looked down with green-eyed jealousy at the body I inhabited. “So what do I do? What
can
I do?”

Seth patted my hand. “I’ll call and ask him to come in. That’s the first step. I’ll get a feel for how much I think he can handle. Then I’ll call you.”

“Okay.” I desperately wanted to see Nick, damn all this careful planning. I thought of my turquoise earring. I could take it to him and test the waters myself. I didn’t share this plan with Seth, knowing he’d disagree.

“Okay.” I got up, exhausted by the drama and adrenalin of the past two hours.

Seth took out his cell and let me punch in Nick’s number. He showed surprise at hearing Cathy’s voice, my voice, on the recording. Neither Nick nor Zoë picked up, so he left a message. He smiled at me, the light glinting off his dark glasses. “Go home and rest. I’ll get in touch as soon as I see him.” Seth gave me a ferocious hug. “And welcome back, Cathy.”

Chapter 14

Thursday, July 28, 6 p.m.

Nick

“I’m sorry, Zoë. That wasn’t a very good birthday party yesterday.”

Last night we had come home after the disaster at Simone’s and not said a word to one another, just went to bed. This morning she was gone before I awoke. When I got home from work I found her in her bedroom, sitting in the dark, staring into space.

My sister turned to me. “Don’t worry about the birthday, Nick. But you better start concentrating on yourself and getting past this shit. You can’t freak out every time someone mentions her, or when you see Roxanne.”

I rolled over on my stomach. I was lying on Zoë’s cluttered, unmade bed. Her pillow smelled like weed. “Are you smoking pot again?”

“No. Yes, a little. But don’t change the subject,” she replied. “Maybe you should go see Dr. Seth. He left a message a couple of hours ago, by the way. And I’d been thinking about calling him myself. You know he helped you deal with stuff once before.”

I shook my head. “I don’t need a shrink.”

“He’s not a shrink. Cathy said he’s more like a priest. Without the religious stuff.”

“No.” There was no point in talking to anyone about healing something that couldn’t be healed.

My little sister stared at me with four-hundred-year-old eyes. “You’re hurting, Nick. If you won’t go see Seth, why don’t you talk to Roxanne without freaking out? Get your feelings out in the open. Give her a chance to make amends.”

“Make amends?” I pictured Roxanne, how shockingly sad her expression looked when we spoke. But her pain didn’t engender any empathy in me, it just made me furious.

I slapped my hand against the mattress. “Jesus fuck, Zoë. Roxanne was wearing Cathy’s earring.”

“What? Which earrings?”

“Those turquoise earrings I got her last Christmas. Cathy was wearing them the day of the accident. The hospital must have given one of them to Roxanne by mistake.”

“And she thought it was hers because she doesn’t remember anything. Is that why you were so mad at Bradley? Because you thought Roxanne was being insensitive about Cathy’s jewelry?”

“I guess.” My face twitched.

“Did you get it back?”

“What?”

“Cathy’s earring. Did you get it back?”

I pictured Roxanne, her hand outstretched. “No. No, I didn’t get it back.”

“That’s pretty sad.” Zoë chewed on her lip for a moment. “Did Roxanne mention anything about what happened at the insurance guy’s office?”

“No.”

“Her mom must not have told her. She seemed so spacey and, I don’t know, lost at St. Anne’s the other day. I wonder if she should still be in the hospital.”

I don’t give a fuck.
“She must be okay enough to go out drinking with Bradley. He was pretty lit. They were obviously partying. Short mourning period for some people.”

“We were partying, too,” Zoë said. “Bradley told me Roxanne asked him for information about everyone. Right before you came back to the table, Bradley said how strange it was to be with her, and that she seemed really different. Like she wasn’t the same person as before.”

“She seemed the same to me.”
Gorgeous. Self-centered. Dangerous.
I told my brain not to go there
.

“You never liked her very much, did you?”

Answering that question would involve a discussion too complicated to have with Zoë. “I’m not interested in talking about Roxanne.” I stood. “Wait here a minute. I’ve got something for you.”

I went to the closet for the present Cathy had bought for her a lifetime ago and returned to Zoë’s room. I handed her the thing. She watched me steadily as she ripped off the paper, and her eyes filled with tears as soon as she realized what it was. I didn’t have to tell her Cathy had bought it.

“This is so cool.” She sobbed, tears falling onto the glass frame. “Did she get it online?”

“Yeah, eBay. She fought with a couple of dealers for it. Which means she spent way the hell too much.” I grinned. “I’m sorry you didn’t get it yesterday. Happy Birthday, Sis.”

Zoë leaped across the space and hugged me. “She told me she saw this. It’s the poster they did for the twenty-fifth anniversary. Thirty-six inches by twenty-eight. It’s a weird size. She had to get it custom framed.”

I nodded. Zoë cried harder. I handed her some tissues.

“Hey, how about some food?” Now, I was famished.

Zoë blew her nose. “Okay. Did you bring the chocolate soufflé home last night?”

“No, I’m so sorry, Zoë. I should have had Jen wrap up the food. I’ll make it up to you next year.”

“I’m kidding,” she said with a huge sniffle. “How about you make pancakes tonight? With peanut butter.”

“Anything you want. I’ll make some eggs, too. Dry your eyes. I’ll see you in the kitchen.”

Zoë hugged the poster to her chest. I left her, relieved to have something to do besides watch someone else miss Cathy.

I snapped on the light and got busy. Pitty was asleep outside on the patio. She still didn’t want to come in the house. I glanced at the blinking message light on the phone but ignored it. Zoë must not have erased Seth’s message. I flicked the ringer off and prayed Zoë wouldn’t notice. I needed some more time away from conversations.

Then, despite trying to avoid it, I thought more about Roxanne.

She had
seemed different last night. More fragile, but also more vibrant than usual. I’d often thought Roxanne might actually be too beautiful. Her looks sucked all the air out of the room when she walked in, turning most people into tourists, gawking and plotting how to get a piece of her.

Since I’d known her, she had dealt with this attention with frosty indifference. Unless, of course, you didn’t stare.

As I cracked an egg into the pancake mix and put a pan on to heat, I remembered the first time I’d seen Roxanne.

That summer between sophomore and junior year in high school, my family had moved us from the east to Sierra Monte and I had made friends with the guys I would play football with. They were telling me about the girls I’d meet in school. Roxanne Ruiz was the prize they all coveted. Slivers of those long ago snickers and their descriptions of her: ‘hot,’ ‘great tits,’ ‘lickable,’ slid through my brain.

I was at the grocery store when my mom introduced me to her. I was pushing Zoë in the cart, helping with the shopping, and we ran into Betty Haverty. Mom knew her from the PTA events.

Betty was standing with this girl who looked like a model. Or a movie star. She was dark-haired and had perfect skin, along with an ass most guys would die to get their hands on.

“Nick, this is Roxanne Ruiz,” my mom had said. “Isn’t she a pretty girl? You’re in the same grade. Maybe Roxanne can introduce you to some of the kids at school.”

I could still feel my face burning as it had that day. “Hey,” I’d stammered. I wanted to turn and run away with the shopping cart and not look back.

“Hi.” Roxanne looked me over quickly. I heard indifference in her voice. I judged it to be only a tiny bit less than what she felt for herself. Despite the killer looks, she gave off fucked-up vibes.

While our moms chatted and Zoë stared at Roxanne as if she were a living Barbie doll, I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She was a perfect babe and held her head as if posing for unseen cameras. I remember flashing on the thought she might be suicidal or something, she was so tense. But I had no skills to ask if something was eating her, and I really didn’t care. My concern for Roxanne’s psyche was squashed by my fifteen-year-old male fantasy of wishing I could see her naked, which wasn’t going to happen.

She was completely out of my league and I knew I couldn’t handle any kind of relationship with Roxanne Ruiz, even if one were possible. And I wouldn’t have had one. Except that Cathy was devoted to her. And once I fell for Cathy, Roxanne became part of my life, too.

As I stood cooking Zoë’s dinner, a more recent memory of Roxanne ricocheted inside my head. She sat behind me at the table in this same kitchen, eating waffles, crying. It was the middle of the night and Cathy was asleep.

Roxanne had begged for help
. And begged me not to ever tell Cathy.

“How’s it coming?” Zoë asked behind me.

Startled, I dropped the spatula on the stove. Grabbing hold of it again, I banished Roxanne from my mind.

“Good, good,” I lied. “How many pancakes do you want?”

“A lot.” She’d washed her face and put on baggy PJs. She went to the back door and called Pitty. Shockingly, the cat jumped off the chair and came inside, meowing. Zoë picked her up and nuzzled her. “Look, Nick. She’s in and she’s letting me hold her.”

I glanced over. “You’re going to get cat hair in your pancakes. And I can’t believe she’s letting you pick her up.”

“I don’t care about the hair. Are you making bacon, too?”

I smiled. Zoë was grinning and the cat was purring. Pitty only tolerated being held. She’d never lay next to you, or beg to get up and sit on your lap. Except for Cathy, she wouldn’t let anyone hug her. She’d scratched Zoë numerous times over the years because the kid always wanted to kiss her.

“Be careful she doesn’t scratch you. And no, I’m not frying bacon. We’re out of it.” I flipped the pancakes.

“Ouch,” Zoë said. I heard a thump as Pitty hit the floor. A thin line of blood oozed on Zoë’s cheek where the cat had scratched her.

I sighed and handed her a wet paper towel. “You better put something on that. You know how dirty they say a cat’s claws are.”

Zoë took the paper towel and dabbed her face. “Nick, look. She’s limping.”

I looked. Pitty limped around in the middle of the foyer. I took the pancakes off the griddle and my sister and I herded her into a corner of the living room. I picked her up and we examined her for damage but couldn’t see much through the thick fur. The cat stared at us with intense suspicion and meowed as if in pain when I felt her right hip.

“We’ll take her to the vet tomorrow,” I said. “You can drive my car to work because I’m going to stay home and fix up the yard. After your job you can come get me and we’ll both go to the vet.”

This would be a new experience. Cathy always took the cat to the vet. The couple of times I had gone with her had ended in disaster. Cathy said my presence, along with our vet, was too much testosterone in one room for the hairball. The cat had an aversion to men after her treatment by Cathy’s stepfather. It was a reaction I’d been unable to change despite being good to the goddamned thing over the years.

Zoë nodded. “You don’t think it’s serious, do you?”

“No. Pitty’s tough. She probably sprained something.” I put her down and she skulked quickly to the back door and meowed. “Don’t let her outside, Zoë. She understands the word ‘vet.’ She’ll disappear and we’ll never find her.”

I washed my hands in the kitchen sink and started serving dinner.

“I couldn’t stand it if we lost Pitty, too,” Zoë whispered.

“We’re not losing Pitty. Come on, eat before the pancakes get cold.”

We ate in silence. I had planned to sing a belated happy birthday to her, and put a candle on the pancakes, but the night had lost its sparkle. Now
I
was worried about the cat.

Zoë went off to bed with a small hug goodnight. I stayed in the kitchen and cleaned up. Then I settled in a chair and stared out the window, trying not to think of the golden urn under my bed, but thinking of nothing else.

I wanted a drink. Bad. I pulled out my cell to call my AA sponsor, a gruff old guy who taught American history at Pasadena City College, but my cell was dead.

I plugged the phone in the charger and returned to the chair, closing my eyes, willing myself to sleep. Hours later I woke up, my neck aching in pain. I rubbed it, imagining my wife’s hands on me.

The house was dark, and outside the night was blacker still. I knew I wouldn’t sleep if I crawled into my own bed. I thought of Simone’s, of how Roxanne had looked walking toward me in the hallway, of the shock of seeing her wearing Cathy’s jewelry.

I replayed the scene at the insurance company, the catastrophic dinner party, and my conversations with Zoë about Roxanne. I was haunted by thoughts of two women who were best friends, one whom I loved with my whole heart, the other whom I had ever only tolerated.

And I thought again of what had happened last November, how I’d lied to my wife. Somewhere in the house, a clock struck three.

My mouth was so dry I could hardly swallow.

I need to go to the grocery store. We’re out of milk and bacon and cat food.
I got up and grabbed my keys and quietly went out to the car. I drove past the Albertsons and pulled into the parking lot of the only liquor store in the area that was open all night.

I was five miles away from where my sister lay, sleeping and worrying about a sick old cat. I bought a fifth of scotch, twelve-year-old McClellan’s, good stuff.

I went back to my car as if I were dream-walking, then drove a couple of blocks away and parked. My mind went on automatic as I pushed the seat back and opened the bottle, my hands shaking with anticipation.

Nothing chases ghosts away like booze.
As the flames of scent reached my nose, my stomach tightened and acid spurted up my throat in protest.

I took several deep breaths and looked out to the street. A donut shop killed its lights. The hair raised on my neck as I watched a group of kids walk around the shop, talking loud, drunk or high, their body language saying they were looking for trouble.

The amber smell and hum of liquor lingered even as I screwed the cap back on. I thought about surrendering to Fear and undoing years of sobriety without a backward glance.

I opened the car window. It was quiet then, and I felt all alone in the world. I unscrewed the bottle cap and threw it out the window as far as I could.

This would be a very bad decision. Not the first or the last.

Well, maybe the last.