While My Sister Sleeps, page 17
“It's true then,” Molly said because the flow of emotions on her mother's face, not the least of it guilt, left little doubt.
Kathryn shot Charlie another look before nodding, but that brief look told Molly something else. “You knew?” she asked her father in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“She cheated on you?”
“No. Your mother was pregnant when I met her.”
Which meant Charlie had been in on the secret all these years. Suddenly little things made sense, like his mystified shrug when Molly first mentioned the enlarged heart, his perplexed frown when she told him what Robin had told her doctor. He had never outwardly lied. Nor, though, had he told the whole truth.
Molly felt completely disoriented. “Are you my father?” she asked, because anything seemed possible now. Charlie shot her a chiding look. “I need to hear the words.”
“I'm your father. And Chris's. Your mother was with Peter Santorum once. Robin was the result.”
“Which makes her only my half-sister.”
“There's nothing ‘only’ about it,” Charlie said. “Her biological origin can't change thirty-two years.”
But Molly was shaken. “Does Chris know?”
“Not unless you've told him.”
“But you wouldn't have told him yourself, if this hadn't happened? And if Peter hadn't called Robin, she would never have known?” She turned on her mother, prepared to argue about honesty and trust—about fairness—but Kathryn was looking at Robin.
“She must have hated me,” she said, sounding devastated.
At least she was talking, Molly realized. If raising the issue of Peter had shocked her back to life, it couldn't be all bad. “We'd have accepted what happened easily if you'd told us when we were kids.”
Kathryn spoke in a beseeching tone. “I couldn't, Molly. Times were different when Robin was born—or maybe it was just me and the values I was raised with. There was a stigma. Then the years passed, and with each year it would have been harder to say. Call me a coward, but I'm only human. Robin knew for eighteen months, and she didn't tell you either. What does that say?”
Molly hadn't thought it through yet. “Maybe she was embarrassed. Maybe she was afraid that if I knew she was only a half-sister, I wouldn't do her wash. I don't know, Mom. What she said was she was afraid that if she told you, you wouldn't tell her the truth.”
“Wouldn't tell her the truth?” Kathryn echoed. “She made up her mind? Can I see the CD?”
“I have it at home.” It was a small lie in the larger scheme of things. The CD was in her computer, which was in her car. This was her connection to her sister now, and there were still other entries to read.
“Will you go home and get it?”
But Molly had questions of her own. “Peter Santorum implied he was a big-time tennis player. I've never heard of him.”
Kathryn gave her a tired smile. “If you were into tennis, you would have. He was top tier for a short time, not long before you were born.”
“Was he the reason you pushed Robin into sports?”
“Your mother didn't push her,” Charlie said. “Robin pushed herself.”
But Molly had seen too much, sitting on the sidelines all those years, watching the investment of mother in daughter.
Kathryn looked stricken. “I wanted her to shine.”
“Because she was illegitimate?”
“She wasn't illegitimate. I was married to your father when she was born.”
A technicality, Molly thought, but she was suddenly remembering dozens of sex talks that stressed abstinence over indulgence. And now to learn that her arrow-straight mother had been unmarried and pregnant? “Did you not use birth control?”
“I didn't think,” Kathryn said awkwardly, but Molly didn't stop. She was picturing her grandmother, whom Kathryn criticized for holding hands with a man. Holding hands.
“Do as I say, don't do as I do? That's horrible, Mom. Did you love him?”
“It was only once.”
“But you knew who he was before that. Did you have a crush on him?”
“No. It happened out of the blue. He was charismatic. And I was young.”
“He told Robin you called him when you learned you were pregnant. Did he want you to get an abortion?”
“No, but I wouldn't have even if he'd asked. Single motherhood wasn't common then, and I didn't have much money. But I wanted the baby. I figured I'd do what I had to.”
“So you married Dad,” Molly concluded, angry on her father's behalf, but also angry at him. He was standing silently by—perhaps then, certainly now. Surely he had thoughts on the subject.
“I married your dad because I loved him,” Kathryn replied. “And he loved Robin from the start. He never once favored you or Chris.”
“You favored Robin. You poured all of your energy into her.”
Kathryn hung her head and for a split second Molly regretted the charge. Robin was being kept alive by machines. In a matter of hours—days—weeks she would be dead. This wasn't the time for accusations, particularly ones rooted in jealousy. But she was too raw for self-restraint.
Raising her head, Kathryn sighed. “Maybe I felt she was starting at a disadvantage. That I had to give her a little extra to make up for it. Maybe I felt like you and Chris were inherently stronger.”
“Stronger?” Molly was amazed. “Are you kidding? Robin was always the strongest, always the best. She was the one who gave you the most pleasure. She was the one who made you proud.”
“You make me proud.”
“Mom,” Molly protested, “Robin wins. If she'd gone to the Olympics, she'd have won gold.”
The words hung in the air, a hope that would never be. Robin wouldn't go to the Olympics. Not next year. Not ever. The tragedy of that tore into Molly, and in the next breath she felt the walls closing in. Needing air, she went out to the hall. She was bending over, hands on her knees, when her father joined her. He massaged the back of her neck until she regained composure and straightened.
Bewildered, she asked, “How did things get bad so fast? Have our lives been built on a deck of cards?”
“No, sweetheart. We're just lucky. Most families face crises earlier and more often.”
And through it all he stayed calm. She studied him. Oh, he was pale. But definitely calm.
“Are you comfortable with this?” she asked.
“With knowing Robin isn't my biological daughter? It never made a whit of difference.”
“Because you knew from the start.” He nodded. “Did you ever wish you could talk about it with Robin?”
“It wasn't my place to wish. I took my lead from your mother.”
“But were there ever times when you disagreed with her about it? What if Robin had gone to the Olympics? Would you have thought Peter might want to watch?” He shrugged a maybe. “Would you have called to tell him?”
“Your mother would have had to do that.”
“She wouldn't have. What if Robin wanted it?”
“Robin could have done the calling.”
“What if she really wanted him here but was afraid of upsetting Mom?” Molly asked. “And what about now? Do you think someone should tell him what's happened?”
“Your mom will call if she thinks it's right.”
“What do you think?”
“I think your mom should decide.”
“But what about what Robin wants?” Molly asked, frustrated. When Charlie simply shook his head, she said, “I just came from seeing Nana. I thought I had it figured out—accepting and letting go. Nana's not going to remember the past. I accept that. I'm at peace with it. No more what-ifs. Let it all go. With Robin, it's harder. I want to accept. I want to let go. But the ground keeps shifting under my feet. When will it settle?”
KATHRYN looked up when Charlie returned to the room. She gestured at Robin. “She knew. All these months. How could I have missed it? Wouldn't there have been anger? Tension? Maybe an odd question? I've been sitting here trying to remember; but I swear, I didn't notice anything. Was I that obsessed with everything else not to see it?”
Charlie put an arm around her. “If you didn't see it, she didn't show it.”
“Something like this—how could she not? She must have been furious with me. I never imagined she'd learn about it that way.” She waved a hand, trying to explain. “It was just so irrelevant to our daily lives. I would have told her at some point, maybe if she was getting married or having a child. Charlie, how could he not have called me first?”
“She was thirty, Kathryn. A grown woman.”
“But I'm her mother.”
“A grown woman.”
Kathryn heard him this time. Leaning forward, she touched Robin's face. “I'm sorry, baby,” she whispered through a sudden rush of tears that blurred Robin's pale features. “You should never have had to deal with this alone. I was wrong.” Taking the tissue Charlie passed her, she wiped her eyes. With the next breath, exhaustion returned; but it wasn't the debilitating lethargy from before. This was one that cried out for sleep.
But first, she asked, “Is Molly okay?”
“She will be. She has a solid head on her shoulders. Right now, she's Robin's surrogate.”
“And Chris? Do we tell him?”
“I will,” he offered.
Kathryn was grateful. She didn't think she had the strength. “Won't that put you in an awkward position?”
“As the father who wasn't?” he chided softly. “Come on, Kath. You know better. I've always been fine with it.”
Yes. He had been. Always. “It's been me,” she said with resignation. “Mothering is precarious. You try to do the right thing—you think you have—then wham.” Her eyes returned to Robin. “I don't know what to do here, Charlie.”
“You will in time.”
She sighed. “How long?”
WHY I Hate My Mother. Molly was intrigued. Looking at Kathryn and Robin together was seeing two people in total sync. Molly was the one who went from love to hate and back, not Robin. Why I Hate My Mother?
With her laptop resting on a small table on the hospital patio, Molly opened the file. It was written several months after Robin had learned about Peter Santorum.
This is new. If you'd have asked me two months ago, I'd have said I LOVED my mother—why not? She's been behind me in absolutely everything. I always thought she was my best friend.
But best friends don't lie to each other about the most basic thing in life. Well, maybe she didn't lie. I never asked her if my father was really my father—why would I DO that? But it's an interesting thing to consider. What if I had? Would she have told me the truth? No. The truth would have been a distraction, but she wants me focused.
“That's how you get things done,” she always says. “Focus. Make yourself good at that one special thing. Don't let distracting thoughts pull you away.”
So I didn't ask—and she didn't exactly lie. But she didn't offer the truth, and, PLEASE, the thing about distraction doesn't cut it. A person has a right to know who her father is. Did Mom think I couldn't handle it? Did she think I was so fragile I would break apart? Did she think I wouldn't love Dad as much? Did she think I wouldn't want to be with Chris and Molly? Like I really have somewhere else to go? Like this father of mine is calling and sending gifts and wanting me to be part of his life?
Yeah. I think Mom was afraid of all that. Because she doesn't TRUST me. Why else would she keep her finger on everything I do? And I let her. I tell myself it's nice letting someone else run the show. I just go along for the ride. I mean, I was never as smart as Chris or as reliable as Molly. Maybe I wouldn't be good at running my life.
But maybe I would. I'LL never KNOW.
I do know a couple of things. Learning about Peter Santorum changes the way I see things. Like sports. One of the reasons people think I'm so incredible is that I come from a family that isn't athletic—like I popped out of the womb with this incredibly fluky talent.
HAH. Turns out my biological father is an athlete. Same with a half-sister. And my aunt is a runner. Makes me less of a wun-derkind.
Molly paused. She remembered a conversation now: Robin wondering whether Charlie could have been a good golfer—a great golfer, she had actually said—if he played more regularly. Do you think it's strange, she asked, that I'm the only athlete in the family? To Molly it had seemed like a purely philosophical discussion, prompted by Charlie and Kathryn's trip to watch the Pebble Beach National Pro-Am the January before. Should Molly have read more into it?
I have athletic ability thanks to Peter. Turns out I got a bad heart from him, too—and there's another thing. I'm THIRTY, for God's sake. Don't I have a right to know what I've inherited? Mom kept her secrets, but did it ever occur to her that maybe I'd want to know if I have a family history of breast cancer or diabetes or HYPERTROPHIC CARDIOMYOPATHY?
Learning who I am changes the way I see things. Mom always says I'm the one driving my career—what does that mean, driving my career? What drives my career is expectations and pressure. MOM is the force behind both.
Why do I run? Why do I push myself? Why do I want to win? I do it because it means so much to her. And why is that? Maybe she wants to show HIM just how good SHE made me.
I hate her for doing that without telling me. I feel like a TOOL—like the one thing she withholds from me is the one thing that makes her run. She imagines him seeing the pieces in Sports Illustrated and in People. Both of those magazines had pictures of us together, and her looks haven't changed much. She assumes he'll see my age and connect the dots. She wants him to know she raised me better than he ever could.
Well, what about ME? Aren't I a person? Don't I have a say in this? Who is living this life anyway—Mom or me?
“Molly?”
Startled, she looked up. Nick was there, standing on the opposite side of the small table, staring over the top of her laptop. He wore his usual open-neck shirt and slacks, but his face was pale, his blue eyes hollow. His trademark arrogance was gone, which should have satisfied her. But he was an intrusion.
Closing the laptop, she folded her hands.
“You hate me,” he concluded after a minute.
She made a show of considering it. “Close.”
“I'm sorry.”
She waited. “Is that it? You want to be friends again? Please, Nick. Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.” It was one of her grandmother's favorite lines. Thinking of Marjorie made her calm.
“I'm sorry for using you. I was wrong.”
Again, she waited. Nick was nothing if not glib. She had to hand it to him; he did look unhappy. But he had toyed with her before.
“I love Robin. I should have told you that.” He looked off. His hand was on the phone at his hip, fingers shifting nervously. “When you want something really badly, you forget there's a right and a wrong. I wanted Robin to see me. I wanted her to realize I wasn't giving up. I wanted her to know I would be loyal to her forever.”
“So you pretended to be my friend to get information on her?” Molly cried. “Didn't you think Robin would get it?”
He looked back. “Like I said, you forget what's right and wrong.”
Molly remembered what she had just read… like the one thing she withholds from me is the one thing that underlies everything she does. There were parallels here. Nick looked more than unhappy. He looked like he was in pain. Molly actually felt bad for him … but not bad enough to cave in. She wanted full disclosure. She owed that to Robin.
“What do you want?” she asked quietly.
His fingers shifted again. “To see her.”
“Not possible.”
“I want to tell her what I feel.”
“She won't hear.”
“I will.”
But Molly was protective of Robin. And of Kathryn. “Write it out. I'll read it to her.”
“It wouldn't be the same.”
“No one but the immediate family is seeing her, Nick. You're a writer. Someone else wouldn't be able to do this, but you can.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it and looked away. After a minute, he turned and walked off, just as he had done in the parking lot Tuesday night. Molly had assumed he wanted to make a phone call, but if she believed what he said now, he had simply been stunned by grief.
Alone again, she felt sorry for him—then foolish for feeling sorry. She wondered what Robin would have said. Reopening her laptop, she clicked this time on Why My Sister Is Wrong.
Molly is one of those people you want to shake. She can't see what's right in front of her nose.
Hell, I couldn't either until all this happened. I bought into the hype. I believed that Mom had spotted a skill in me and was directing me to greatness.
WRONG. She knew what the skill was when she saw it. She had cause to push me. Running was all I could do. I inherited athletic skill. I wasn't good at anything else.
That's where Molly comes in. She looks up to me—always has. She's like my little servant, an extension of Mom, helping me out. Okay, so she can be stubborn. And impulsive. And she can't run a mile—absolutely CANNOT do it—though she's been through it enough with me to OWN the motivational tools.
She calls me a star. But stars flare and fade fast, while Molly, she's the good earth. She's grounded. She renews herself.
Mom takes her for granted, but what would I do without Molly? She found the house. She keeps it up. She pays the bills because we both know I'd never do it on time. She also keeps things going at Snow Hill. If people there have a problem, they don't come to me. They go to her. I have a fancy title—Director of Community Events—but my assistant does all the work. She's MUCH better at it than I am. That's why Mom hired her.
Molly likes saying she's only a greenhouse person—HAH. Mom relies on her. Mom respects her. Mom doesn't look over HER shoulder at everything she does. Mom isn't constantly calling her to remind her of things, because she KNOWS they'll be done.
How can Molly not SEE that? She wants to think she's a flake who can't do much more than repot a plant. Maybe that's a good approach. When expectations are low, it's easy to exceed them.
