The Other Sister, page 12
They reached the end of the meadow. Somebody’d been up here with a riding mower or something and cut the weeds and wildflowers down almost to the sandy ground.
“Wait. Geraldine,” Marie panted as she kicked her way out of the flowers and sweet grass. “Did Mom really say she had a sister?”
“I can’t believe you don’t remember.”
Somebody had built a stairway into the hillside—broad, cracked concrete steps with brick walls and posts on either side. There were dead leaves and moss and bird poop everywhere. Shiny green poison ivy crept over one of the walls.
Geraldine started climbing on the non-poison side. Marie was still following. That was a surprise.
“If Mom’s got a sister, why don’t we ever see her?”
“Why didn’t we ever see Dad’s family ’til just now?” shot back Geraldine.
“He said they got mad at him, and they were too proud to ask for help. Like Uncle Pete is.” Uncle Pete stopped coming around once Aunt Florence, Walt, and Ruby vanished. He’d started living in the crappy apartment over the garage where he worked.
“But we always knew all about them,” Marie reminded her. “Mom never even mentioned a sister.”
She was right, in a way. Dad had always talked about his mother and siblings, and so it felt like they had always existed. That was the way it went. When Dad talked, things were real. When he didn’t, they weren’t.
The wind blew cold against Geraldine’s bare arms. She rubbed the goosebumps smooth. The light around them was fading from clear gold to watery gray.
Boy, would Dad be furious if he found out all that stupid stuff with his on-again, off-again family was what gave Geraldine the idea to come out here. If bits of families could be swapped around, why shouldn’t she go find Mom’s sister? Draw her out of the card deck and add her to the shuffled pile of relatives. Then Mom would have somebody else who could help take care of her.
And maybe Geraldine would, too.
“Geraldine,” said Marie in her most serious I’m-the-big-sister-here voice. “You know you can’t always believe what Mom says. She makes stuff up.”
“Not as much as Dad.”
“What are you talking about? Dad hates stories.”
Oh, good grief. “Dad hates other people’s stories. He’s always telling his own, though.”
Marie stopped in her tracks. “You’re wrong. He never lies!”
“He does and you know it!”
Keep your mouth shut, G. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t stand the idea that Dad had Marie fooled that badly. It felt like he’d stolen her. Geraldine could stand losing cousins and uncles, and she wished the whole stupid flock of Monroes were at the bottom of Lake Michigan. And sometimes in the depths of her heart, she wished Mom was with them.
But he did not get to take Marie.
“Dad lies. All. The. Time.”
“Shut up!”
“He lies about me and Mom, and you. About his family, about houses and Uncle Pete and the cousins!”
“You’re the liar! The big fat baby liar!”
“I am not! He is! He lies about everything!”
Marie hit her.
Geraldine never even saw it coming. She just staggered against the far wall, and the poison ivy. The leaves smashed against her hands and her bare legs. She jerked away so hard, she teetered on the edge of the stair.
Marie grabbed her and they stood like that, Geraldine open-mouthed and Marie looming over her, breathing so hard, it made her whole body shudder.
“Take it back,” Marie demanded. Her face was dead white. “You have to take it back!”
“No!” Geraldine yanked her wrists out of Marie’s grip and put both fists up between them. “You want to start something? Come on! You big, fat, dumb scaredy-cat!”
“What in the holy hell are you two doing down there?”
Both sisters jumped, and turned, and somehow crowded close together in the same move.
A woman stood at the top of the stairs. She wore jeans and a plain gray sweatshirt. She had a big, saggy bosom and planted both fists on her round hips.
But it was the hair that was the giveaway. The woman’s short hair was a blond so pale it was almost white. And when the wind gusted, it made a crooked halo all around her head.
It was all true. Mom had a sister. This was her. This was the witch.
2.
Marie grabbed Geraldine’s hand. “We’re really sorry. I was just…she’s my sister and I was coming to get her. We didn’t mean to trespass.”
Geraldine decided now was the time to ignore Marie. “Are you Patricia Burnovich?”
“Who’s asking?”
Marie was trying to drag Geraldine backward. “We’re leaving. Come on, Geraldine.”
“Geraldine?” snapped the witch. “Geraldine Monroe? Don’t tell me you two are Stacey’s kids?”
“And you’re our Aunt Trish.” Geraldine twisted her hand, but Marie was not letting go.
The witch trotted down the stairs to stand on the landing just above them. Marie shrank back, but Geraldine stayed where she was. It wasn’t easy. Trish Burnovich was a big woman, and when she bent close, she smelled like dirt, sour milk, and mint. Her blue eyes were strangely cloudy, and they flickered restlessly back and forth.
Then, she chuckled, a low, hoarse, bitter sound. “Well, well. Isn’t this a terribly interesting development? Did you tell your mom you were coming up here?”
“No.” Geraldine finally wrestled her hand out of Marie’s death grip. “She doesn’t know. Nobody does.”
The witch, Aunt Trish, chuckled again and bent even closer. “Now was that smart, Geraldine? Hmm? You’ve got to be careful. What happens if the two of you just…disappear?”
“We’re sorry,” repeated Marie. “We’re going home. Now!”
“Are you?” The woman sneered. Her teeth were gray and crooked, and for the first time real fear trickled into Geraldine’s belly. “Let’s see. If she”—she pointed, and Geraldine resisted the urge to duck—“is Geraldine, then you must be Marie.”
That was when the first hard raindrop smacked against the top of Geraldine’s head. Another splashed on her arm.
All three of them looked up, because that’s what you do when the rain starts. Another drop landed on Geraldine’s nose.
“Well, now you’re going to have to stay. Can’t show yourselves to the mighty Martin Monroe looking like a pair of drowned rats. Come on, let’s get inside.”
“We’re not allowed to go into strangers’ houses,” said Marie, even though she was ducking her head and wrapping her arms around herself.
“But I’m family.” The woman touched her nose. That was crooked, too, like Bobby Warshawski’s after he broke it. “Think about that for a second.”
Trish Burnovich began trudging up the stairs. Geraldine stared at the near panic on Marie’s face, but then turned and ran after their newest aunt.
3.
“Why’s it called the Rose House?” asked Geraldine. It wasn’t like the place had any flowers anywhere, unless you counted the weeds growing between the terrace’s stones. It wasn’t even pink, and somebody’d bolted a padlock onto the front door.
“Because of the rose windows.” Aunt Trish rapped on the plywood sheet as they passed. Geraldine recognized maybe four of the names spray painted across it. “They’re by Tiffany. Do you know about Tiffany?”
Probably she didn’t mean Tiffany Hausmann in the fifth grade, so Geraldine shook her head.
“Well, maybe I’ll show you sometime.”
The terrace turned the corner of the house. Marie crowded close to Geraldine, ducking her head as the rain started to come down harder. The grassy space had been turned into a vegetable garden, with tidy rows of bush beans, carrots, beets, and tomatoes and a big sprawl of zucchini vines, their leaves drooping and quivering under the rain.
“No rampion,” said Aunt Trish when she saw Geraldine looking.
“What?”
“Never mind. Hang on. I need to put these away.”
A rusted wheelbarrow full of rakes and hoes and stuff waited by the terrace wall. Aunt Trish trotted down the side steps to push it all into a brick shed that looked as old and battered as the house.
Marie yanked Geraldine under the eaves. Rain dribbled off the ends of her braids and ran down her neck.
“We are going home. Right now.”
“You want to go, go. And quit grabbing me.” Geraldine shook herself loose again.
Marie ignored this. “What about Mom?”
That just wasn’t fair, and Marie knew it. Geraldine bit her lip.
It’ll be okay, she told herself. Mom was asleep on the couch, which was allowed. Geraldine had counted the beer cans and checked the pill bottle and so she knew how much Mom had taken. She wouldn’t wake up for hours yet. But just in case, Geraldine had tucked her up under the afghan and put a cup of coffee and a glass of water on the table by her head. There was a wastepaper basket next to her too, in case.
It’s fine, she told herself. She’s fine.
Aunt Trish pulled a ring of keys out of her pocket and unlocked the door to the house. “Come on, if you’re coming.”
“What’s even in there?” Marie asked.
“The kitchen. How else am I going to bake you into meat pies?” Aunt Trish walked through, leaving the door open behind her.
“She’s kidding,” said Geraldine.
“How do you know?”
Out past the eaves, the rain started falling in a steady sheet now. Thunder growled and grumbled. Marie shivered, and looked at the sky.
“I’m going home.”
Lightning flashed. One, two, three…
Thunder.
“Fine. Run away and leave me alone with the cannibal.”
Geraldine scooted through the door before she had a chance to think about it again.
4.
It was dim inside, but Aunt Trish didn’t turn on the lights. The wind whistled under the eaves, and Marie jumped as she crossed the threshold. Geraldine didn’t know whether to shout or just roll her eyes. There was nothing to be scared of. It was just a big, old kitchen. Sure, some of it looked weird. The counters were wood, and there was a monster cast-iron stove like the ones on Little House on the Prairie looming over the smaller white one with normal knobs and stuff. The double sink looked deep enough to bathe in, but the fat, rounded fridge was barely taller than Marie. There was plenty of normal stuff, though. Like the Corelleware bowl upside down on the counter, and the coats on the hooks by the door, and the phone on the wall.
The whole place smelled like damp and dirt and…
Gingerbread? Geraldine wrinkled her nose.
Aunt Trish picked up the phone, dialed a number, and waited while it rang, and then waited again. Geraldine heard the beep of an answering machine.
“Mrs. Monroe?” said Aunt Trish. “In case you’re wondering, your daughters are waiting out the storm with me.” She hung up.
“Hungry?” she asked. Even though neither of them answered, she lifted up the bowl to reveal an unfrosted brown cake. “Get a couple plates, will you?” Aunt Trish picked up a knife and cut a huge wedge.
Marie wasn’t moving. Geraldine wasn’t sure she could. But the white cabinets had glass doors, so she could see the stacks of gold-rimmed plates. As she reached three down, more details started sinking in. Like how that huge sink was full of dirty dishes, and the wooden counters were heaped with mail and newspapers, and how grease and dried catsup splattered the top layers of letters. A folding cot with an olive-green sleeping bag stood in front of the Little House stove, and a Coleman lantern waited on the floor.
But that wasn’t what bothered Geraldine. Something important had just happened. Besides the phone call, and the fact that Aunt Trish had called Mom “Mrs. Monroe.” There was something else, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Aunt Trish finished cutting gingerbread slices and shoved a plate toward each of them.
Geraldine picked her piece up.
“Don’t!” Marie smacked her hand. She stared at Aunt Trish, waiting for punishment, or, maybe something worse.
Aunt Trish just rolled her eyes, and took a big bite out of her wedge.
“Okay?” she asked, spewing crumbs. “No poison, no drugs. Flour. Molasses. Eat. Jesus.”
The rain rattled the window panes. Geraldine ate. Marie didn’t. Geraldine looked at her aunt, and her aunt looked at her. Now, they both rolled their eyes. Geraldine giggled. Marie flushed red.
“Okay, okay, that’s enough.” Aunt Trish dusted the crumbs off her hands. “So. Tell me. Why’d Stacey send you two up here? It was Stacey, wasn’t it?” she added sharply.
“I told you. Nobody sent us,” said Geraldine. “We just came. Well, I did. Marie followed me.”
Aunt Trish waited for Marie to contradict that. She didn’t. “Okay. Why’d you just come?”
“We wanted to…” What? There were so many answers, and not all of them were things Geraldine could say out loud.
“Meet you,” said Marie, at the same time Geraldine said, “Find out if you were real.”
That made Aunt Trish look away. She licked her lips slowly, catching all the crumbs left around her mouth. “All right. You’ve met me and I’m real. Now what?”
“I just want to go home,” whispered Marie. “Please.”
Don’t joke. Don’t joke, Geraldine thought toward Aunt Trish. She’s really upset and you’ll make it worse, and I don’t want to have to yell at you.
But Aunt Trish didn’t joke. “Yeah. Okay. And believe it or not, I understand. At least let me loan you a raincoat?” She didn’t wait for an answer this time, either. She just headed toward the staircase at the far end of the kitchen.
“Can I come?” asked Geraldine.
“Nobody’s stopping you.” But Aunt Trish was looking at Marie as she said it. When Marie didn’t answer, she muttered something under her breath, and stomped up the grimy white staircase. Overhead, a door creaked open.
“I’m going,” Geraldine said. Marie shrugged both shoulders, and Geraldine felt a twinge. She probably shouldn’t leave her sister alone when she was so freaked out. But she might never get a chance to see inside this place again. Especially if Dad got home and checked the messages before Mom woke up.
That thought froze Geraldine where she stood. That would be really, really bad. She wouldn’t even be allowed to get out of bed for days. Last time, she’d had to pee the sheets because he was watching her and she couldn’t climb out the window to go like she usually did when he grounded her. Her whole body flushed with shame just remembering.
“I’ll be right back. Swear.” Before Marie could say anything, Geraldine ran up the stairs.
Which meant she ran into the dark. The only light was what filtered up from the kitchen and leaked around the shutters. Slowly Geraldine’s eyes adjusted and she saw…
The wild woods.
The walls were covered by a painted pine forest complete with meadow flowers, and birds: plovers and hawks and crows and jays and finches. But there was more than that. Little winged girls and boys peered out from the flowers and swung from the tree branches. They even rode tiny ponies between the blades of grass.
Geraldine’s jaw dropped. “The fairies.” Just like Mom said. “Did you paint these?”
“Nah. It was a guy named Addison Walters. He was a relative, about eighty years ago. Now, he really was crazy.”
“A crazy guy did all this?”
“Yeah, well, they kept him shut up in the house, so he had to do something.” Aunt Trish turned her head this way and that like she was getting her bearings. “Right.” She jerked open a door in the middle of the left-hand wall.
It was a closet, but in the twilight, all Geraldine could see inside was a bunch of blobs. It was hot up here, and it smelled like mildew and dust. Something she couldn’t see skittered away.
Geraldine shivered. Stay put, Marie.
“I’d give you a ride home, but I think Marie really would pass out.” Aunt Trish shoved her arms up to the elbows into the closet’s junk and started rummaging around. “Martin’s done one hell of a job on her, hasn’t he?”
Geraldine’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Nobody talked about Dad like that.
“You…I mean…he…” But she couldn’t figure out what she wanted to say.
“I know, Geraldine,” said Aunt Trish. “We all know, even if we won’t say it out loud.”
“Mom calls me just G,” she said, although she didn’t know why.
“Okay. G. Ah-ha. I knew I still had something. Here.” She handed Geraldine a bundle of thin plastic. Geraldine struggled for a moment to untangle it. It wasn’t a raincoat, but it was two opaque plastic ponchos. “Don’t worry about bringing them back.”
“Thanks.” Geraldine bundled the ponchos up again and crushed them against her stomach. The mildew smell got stronger.
“Now, you’d better get your sister home before she pees her pants, or tries to call the cops on me for kidnapping.”
“Can I come back?”
Aunt Trish looked around into the dark, like she was afraid somebody was waiting there. Geraldine hugged the poncho bundle closer and heard a clock somewhere, ticking.
Aunt Trish leaned forward. Shadows filled the lines and hollows of her face, but her eyes shone like they were lit from inside.
This was her. This was the wicked witch, the ghost, the bloody murderer.
“If you tell Martin Monroe you came up here, I will not only cut your head off and turn you into meat pies, I’ll bury your bones under the juniper tree where nobody can find you.”
She’s just trying to scare me, to see if I’m like Marie after all. “I wouldn’t tell him anything, ever.”
Aunt Trish nodded, and she pulled up, shrinking back into the shape of a (kinda) normal woman in blue jeans who happened to have Mom’s pale hair. “Go get your sister out of here, G.”
Geraldine did.
They slipped and splashed all the way down the hill and back into the house. Mom was still asleep. Marie changed clothes; Geraldine erased the message on the answering machine.
