The Other Sister, page 10
“She failed?” Marie whispered.
Dad nodded. “Yes, Marie. She failed and now we’re all stuck with it.”
Dad pushed both hands down on the chair arms and levered himself all the long way up. Marie tried to scoot backward, but she wasn’t fast enough. Dad’s hand dropped onto her shoulder.
“Now, since it’s so important to you, Marie, let’s go find out what’s really happening.”
3.
Geraldine was still curled up on Mom’s lap. Mom had stopped talking. She just smoked and stared at the empty highway. A fresh beer can sat on the ground beside her. Sun and shadow played across her pale skin and made her brown eyes flicker. Strands of white hair floated around her head. She looked strangely beautiful. She looked simply dangerous.
Dad walked Marie across the lawn to stand in front of Mom and Geraldine. He kept his hand on her shoulder. Geraldine scrunched her face up at Marie, and Marie felt her cheeks heat up with shame. But she didn’t know what for.
“Weeell, well, well,” drawled Mom. “Martin. Where have you been?”
“I’ve been working, Stacey.”
She snorted. “I can tell. Did you see the notice from the phone company?”
“I took care of it.”
Geraldine slipped off Mom’s lap, but she stayed by the chair, with both hands holding Mom’s arm down.
“Pete came by.” Mom reached down for her beer with the arm Geraldine wasn’t holding. “Seems he’s losing the house, and guess who he said was taking it?”
“It is not my fault he can’t pay, Stacey.” Dad’s hand tightened on Marie’s shoulder. Not hard or anything. It was just a reminder that she should be a good girl and hold still. “I don’t know why you’re getting angry at me. You were the one who said the financial game wasn’t going to work out. Not long term.” He smiled. “I should have listened to you and remembered how my family built Whitestone in the first place. The money, and our future is in real estate.”
Mom moved to pop the top on her beer can, but Geraldine was still holding her one arm down. Confused, Mom handed Geraldine the beer. Geraldine set it on the ground.
“You’re always going on and on and on about how we need the money,” said Dad. “And that is a valuable piece of property going to waste. Now, it’s going to be a revenue generator for us and our daughters.”
“We’ve got the store!” In a sudden burst of energy, Mom heaved herself to her feet. Geraldine stumbled backward.
Now she’ll run away, thought Marie. No one’s holding her. Nobody expects her to be good.
“I’m in there ten hours a day, every single day while you’re sitting on your ass…!” Mom lurched forward, flinging out one arm.
“And always telling me how it’s not enough,” Dad reminded Mom, gently. “You’re right, Stacey. This will be a new start for us. We need one, since you weren’t able to get the Rose House back like you promised.”
“Oh, here it comes!” Mom threw up her hands. “The house, the house, the goddamn house!” She stopped, she lurched left, then right. Geraldine gasped and started forward. “You’re scaring the girls, Stacey,” said Dad.
But Mom wasn’t listening. “Where did you even get the money to buy Pete’s place?” she demanded out of thin air. “If we’re so broke…” She stopped. “Oh, no. Oh, Jesus fuck, Martin!”
“What?” he said back, the word flat and heavy. “Why all the surprise, Stacey? You were there. You signed the papers.”
“I never signed anything!”
“You did. I sat down with you and we went over them and…oh…oh no.” Dad squeezed Marie’s shoulder again. Pay attention, that squeeze, said.
“What?” said Mom.
Squeeze. Pay attention, Marie. This shouting is because of you. You wanted me out here.
“Never mind.” Dad’s voice was soft, but his eyes were bright and hard, like glass, like ice.
“What?” shouted Mom.
Squeeze. This. This was about failure, and being dead, and the bad princess who became a witch and the real house on the hill.
“I think, maybe, when we went over the papers, you were drunk,” said Dad.
This fight was because she’d bothered Dad when she knew she shouldn’t. Things were bad, and she’d made them worse.
“When was I so drunk I don’t remember signing over our house?”
Marie was a bad girl. She made stupid mistakes.
Dad waved with his free hand. “It’s not your fault. Those pills for your back, they don’t mix well with the beer.”
“How did you…this place isn’t yours! What did you do?”
“We needed the money, Stacey. For the girls.” Squeeze. “But don’t worry. We’ll be fine. You know I love you and I’ll always take care of you and our daughters, no matter what.”
She should have found another way. One that didn’t bother Dad.
“You never loved me!” Mom shouted. “You hate me! You love that stupid fucking house and you hate me!”
“Why do you care so much about what happens to Pete, Stacey?”
Silence dropped down. A car roared by. Another. A crow cawed. Its brother answered.
Mom staggered forward, and sideways, and forward again. Dad didn’t even flinch. Marie shrank back against him. He was solid and warm, and all the skin on her back shriveled up where it touched him.
“I love you, Stacey. It doesn’t matter to me what you’ve done. I will never leave you alone.”
“Stop it,” whispered Geraldine.
“I can’t,” breathed Marie.
But Geraldine wasn’t talking to her. “Stop it!” She balled up her fists and her face turned beet red. “Stop it, now!”
Mom spun, but too fast. She screamed and toppled over, yanking on Geraldine so they went down together. Marie shrieked and lunged forward. Dad’s fingers dragged hard against her shoulder the entire way. Mom was laughing and sobbing and couldn’t find her feet. Geraldine struggled to get out from under her.
Dad didn’t move.
Marie dodged Mom’s flailing arms and pulled Geraldine out of reach. Mom crawled around in a tight circle, looking for something she lost. She didn’t find it and collapsed in a heap.
“Go,” breathed Marie into Geraldine’s ear. Geraldine was trembling, stiff as a board, glaring at their father. “Go on.” Go into the house. The tree. The woods. Anywhere.
Mom blinked helplessly. Then, in one abrupt movement, she rolled over on her side, and vomited, a thin, brown stinking stream. Marie whimpered and hid her face.
Dad still didn’t move.
“Just look at how ugly you’ve gotten,” he muttered. “How you teach our daughters to behave.”
Geraldine pulled out of Marie’s grip, but she still didn’t run. She took two giant steps forward and plopped down next to Mom on a clean patch of grass, arms folded, faceup.
“Geraldine,” said Dad. “Get up and go stand with your sister.”
Geraldine pushed her lower lip out and shook her head hard.
“This is how bad girls behave, Geraldine. You need to be good, like your sister. Marie obeys her father.”
Marie felt like she would split in two. She wanted to shout at Geraldine to run, to get away. She wanted to tell her to come here, like Dad said. Before things got worse. Before he really decided she was bad. Before…before…
Mom groped sideways and her arm snaked around Geraldine’s shoulder. She struggled to get up onto her knees. Geraldine flinched, but she staggered to her feet, a tiny, dark little thing helping her pale mother stand. She glowered at Dad, and Marie wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.
She just wasn’t sure which “her” should get swallowed. Maybe all of them.
“All right then,” said Dad quietly. “You pick her over me, Geraldine? Fine. She’s your responsibility now. Go get her cleaned up before somebody sees.”
Dad walked away and left them all there.
All of a sudden, Marie hated her mother. Hated them. The stink and the falling down and the beer and the pills. She hated the way Geraldine could decide to stand next to their sick, dirty mother and leave Marie over here, all on her own.
But she couldn’t hate. She had to be a good girl. Good girls didn’t hate anybody. Not their sisters or their mothers.
And most especially not their fathers.
Once upon another time, there was this other princess. You’ve never heard of her. The Brothers Grimm didn’t even record her name. When it came time for this princess to get married, this nameless girl’s mother pricked her finger and let the blood drop onto a handkerchief, which she gave to her daughter as a token of protection.
Along the journey, an evil servant caused that handkerchief to fall into a stream. After that, the princess is robbed. Her horse is killed. The prince marries the wrong girl, for a while, anyway.
What’s interesting here is that it’s not the wish that causes the trouble. It’s when mother and daughter lose control of the wish that all hell breaks loose.
—Out of the Woods: Musings on Fairy Tales in the Real World,
Dr. Geraldine Monroe
MARIE, PRESENT DAY
THE ROSE HOUSE
1.
Dinner with Dale and Deborah Watts goes off perfectly. I’m intensely grateful to be able to slip into my hostess role. This is absurd and I know it. But when I’m a hostess, I understand precisely what is expected of me. If Deborah remarks that I seem a little tired, I am able to laugh about how busy we all are with Sunday’s graduation party. I do not pull away when Dale takes my wrist to look at my injured hand, tut-tut, and run a manicured finger along the edges of the bandage. He suggests to my father that he should be taking better care of me.
We all smile, and as I pull my hand away, Deborah and I exchange a little eye roll. Men.
Dad changes the subject smoothly and hopes the Wattses will accept his invitation to the party on Sunday. This is a polite nothing, just a demonstration of how much he values them as friends and clients. They know this, and demur. So all the boxes are checked, and everybody leaves content.
“Well.” Dad sighs as the front door closes behind them. “I’m sure we could both use a drink.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer and heads to his study.
I do not refuse, although I really would rather be left to myself. The air is shifting uneasily around me. I thought Geraldine would have called by now, to let me know she’s settled in. But she hasn’t. She’s out there in the dark, and I don’t know what she’s doing or thinking.
I hope nothing’s gone wrong. I hope there hasn’t been any new trouble.
But of course, I will not let Dad know any of this. There’s absolutely no reason for him to worry as well. So, I make myself focus on the details of my surroundings. The foyer is broad and white. The old beams have been replaced by modern white bracket supports. The whole space was to be pure white to contrast with the dark slate floor, and—although this did not need to be said out loud—to cover over all traces of Aunt Trish’s final vandalism.
Once that was done, of course the accent tiles clashed with the clean, modern décor and had to be replaced with plain stone. The color here and in the front room comes strictly from the abstract art my father selected for the walls.
I am not hesitating, of course. I am centering myself so I can be fully present for my father. I must pay attention to everything—the change from slate to carpet under my stocking feet, the change of temperature against my skin as I pass through sunbeams and shadows. There may be signs in any or all of these, laid down by the house and my mother and all the other lives this place cradles. I do not want to miss them.
I must be ready for whatever is coming.
2.
By the time I reach the study’s threshold, Dad is already busy at the minibar, pouring two Scotches, neat. I have never liked Scotch. It tastes like acrid mud. I can’t remember if I’ve ever tried to tell him that.
I take the glass Dad holds out to me.
“So.” He sighs. “Did you hear anything from Geraldine? Debbie was beginning to joke about you leaving to check your phone so often.” He smiles and raises his glass to me. I take a little sip of my drink in answer. “I said you were waiting to hear from Robbie.”
“I’m sorry, Dad.” I really am. Dad abhors lies, even little social ones. My forcing him to fib will have soured the entire evening.
“I should have been paying more attention, but I had asked her to call when she got settled…at her motel,” I add, but slowly.
“Marie. When are you going to learn we can’t rely on Geraldine for anything?”
“Never, I suppose.”
I smile sadly. People say you can judge the sincerity of a smile by how it reaches the eyes. But eyes have no expression. They are damp marbles that take in light and block off the skull. Expression is created by the complex interplay of tiny muscles around your eyes. These can be controlled. Any actor knows this.
“So, are you going to tell me why you asked her back?”
Dad’s question does not startle me or challenge me. I know we have to talk about Geraldine. Despite everything, she remains family, and it is important I know what he is thinking about her.
“You know why I asked her. Robbie wanted her here for his graduation.” I press hard against the rising guilt that comes with bringing my son’s name into this.
“And so you decided to give him what he wanted, even though you knew she’d start making trouble the second she got here?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I study my father—how his gray hair slants across his forehead, and the way his shadow falls on the carpet. I am relaxed. We are just talking, the two of us, like we always do. We are so close. He loves me. I know he does. He demonstrates it in a thousand little ways. Some of them can be hard for those who don’t really know him to understand. But I do understand. I always have to.
“I was hoping this time…She loves Robbie so much…”
“And just how many more times are you going to let her do this to you, Marie?” He sounds so tired and so disappointed. “I keep trying to warn you, but it’s as if you don’t even listen.”
But I do listen. I hear every single word you say, Dad. I always have.
“You have to be strong, Marie,” my father tells me. “I know it’s hard, baby girl, but it’s the way things are.”
Yes. Yes, I know. I close my eyes to try to center myself. But it’s too late. It’s starting. The room is moving.
Around us, the walls bulge and shift uneasily, like ragged breathing. Like all the living and the dead in this house are breathing together. Rising to the surface. Listening. Watching.
Dad will pretend that nothing is happening. He is much better at this than I am. I have never been able to completely ignore the changes of pressure against my skin and my skull.
“So now, the question is, what are we going to do about the mess with that money?”
Breathe, breathe. Focus. It will be okay.
“You can’t be worried that Robbie will say anything in front of people?”
“Oh, no.” Dad waves this away. “We’ve raised him better than that. He won’t make a fuss. But Geraldine is another story.”
Beside us, the walls split, slowly unzipping themselves. They exhale cold and mildew.
It’s Mom.
I know it is. I never see her, but I always know when she’s behind me. I can feel her presence drape across my skin. She’s heard Geraldine’s name. She worries about Geraldine. She never worried about me, or trusted me. I should have tried harder when she was alive.
I set my glass down and clasp my hands. That’s appropriate. Outside, the roar of the wind in the trees dies away. Inside, I feel my mother press closer. I can stand it. I will stand it.
“I’ll talk with her,” I say, and for a bad moment I can’t remember whether I’m promising about Geraldine or Mom.
“You’re going to have to do more than that, Marie. She can’t come to the graduation party. Dozens of our best people will be there. What are you going to do if she makes a scene?”
Who? Which?
“And I don’t suppose you thought to ask her what really happened to the money while you were busy handing over the keys to the old house.”
My head snaps up.
Dad smiles wearily. “Oh, baby girl,” he breathes. “You think you’re so good with secrets. Did you really think I never noticed you kept the spare keys when we changed the locks?”
Of course he noticed. He sees too much. He sees what is happening with the walls and the floors. But he keeps it all to himself.
“Geraldine’s not actually at a motel, is she?” Dad asks. “She’s down at the old house.”
This time, he wants an answer. But he won’t wait forever. I have to give it to him before…well, before he decides he needs to try another tactic.
I can clench my hands a little. That’s appropriate. I can press my ankles together, too. I study the fiber patterns in the carpet. They spell out words, sometimes. All the house’s oldest secrets. I can read them sometimes, but I never remember what they say.
Mom is right behind me.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t know. Really. I didn’t.”
“But you gave her the keys.”
“And that was wrong. I know, but she asked for them, and I didn’t have the heart to turn her down.”
I blink up at him, my eyes are bright with tears. Mom is still now. The whole room is still. Waiting for my father to decide what he believes.
And, it seems, he believes I am incompetent.
“You should have gotten her to stay here, Marie.” Dad sighs and swallows the last of his drink. “I don’t know how you couldn’t figure that out. We have to be able to keep an eye on her while she’s home. For her own sake, Marie. If the gossip mill gets going again, it’ll chew her up and spit her out.”
