The Other Sister, page 21
I suppress my impatience. I’m going to have to talk to her, as soon as there’s time. Once I have calmed down.
“Mr. Pendarves called.” Bethany peels a sticky note off the side of her monitor and hands it to me.
The message is brief:
Please Call. Important.
And just like that I’ve forgotten my plans to talk with Walt, and Carla, and all the other things I meant to do in my father’s office before he gets here. I hurry into my own office and let the door swing shut behind me.
I have David’s number on speed dial.
“It’s me,” I say as soon as he answers. “Is something wrong?” Is it Robbie?
“No, no, everything’s fine. It’s just, I wanted…I was hoping we could talk.”
I’m glad I’m sitting down. Relief has robbed me of all my strength, and the better part of my diplomacy. “It’s not a good time, David.”
“Yeah, I guess not, but, look, can we just…please?”
No. No we can’t just “please.” I have too much to do.
But I cannot turn David away. I need him. I have never stopped needing him. The dream of being together again with David has driven my plans, almost as much as Geraldine. When this is done, we will all three come together as a true family. We will share a real home where nothing is painted or plastered over, and no one has to pretend not to see what is really happening.
But there is so much work to do before that happens, and I am so tired.
“I’m sorry, David,” I tell him. “It’s just been one of those mornings. What did you want to talk about?”
“Marie…this would really be better in person, but…I’ve been talking to Geraldine.”
I suck in a deep breath. I am ready for this, of course I am. After all, I’m the one who sent Geraldine to David. That was always part of the plan. I cannot refuse to hear the result.
“Well, David, now you have to tell me what’s happening, or I’ll just spend the entire morning worrying.”
“Geraldine said something might be up with Martin.”
“Yes.” I manage a regretful sigh. “She…well, some money went missing and Geraldine has worked up an entire conspiracy theory about it.” An idea occurs to me. “Did Walt tell you about their argument?”
This is a shot in the dark, but given how quickly things are moving, I should try to cover all possible bases.
“No. Haven’t heard from Walt recently.”
Good. Then I can manage that part, at least.
“But yeah,” David’s saying. “Geraldine told me about the money and what she suspects. I got worried, so I made a couple of phone calls.”
“Who did you call?”
David’s silence reaches out from the phone. I can feel its fingers sliding through my hair and digging into my scalp.
“David, please. Whatever it is—”
“Did Geraldine tell you she got fired?”
4.
Calm descends. It is complete and perfect. I can admire it from this place I seem to have been put, in the back of my own mind. The reflection of Marie, the Marie I put on every morning, is speaking now.
“I’m sorry, David,” that Marie says. “You’ve made a mistake. Geraldine’s on sabbatical.”
She told me she could get the time. She told me it wouldn’t be a problem.
“Yeah, I’d heard, but I know some guys who know some guys who work at Lillywell. Campus security and stuff. They put me onto somebody in the administration staff and…”
“That’s quite the chain of somebodies.” Marie gives a little laugh.
“It wasn’t just a downsizing or like that.” David’s words have taken on an edge. This is bad. I try to open up, to be present and focused. But Marie from the mirror is blocking me. “People were hedging when they talked about it. So, I haven’t found out exactly what happened yet, but I probably could if you wanted me to.”
Marie from the mirror is making me smile. I have to get past her. I do not want her here. She is only supposed to be my mask. Why is she here now?
“She’s using you, Marie,” David says and for a moment I wonder if he’s read my mind. He might have learned that trick from Dad when we lived together. “I didn’t…I’m sorry. This isn’t what I wanted to find out.”
“Yes. I know. Thank you.”
“I was trying to make sure things were okay. But I didn’t…I don’t want to see her hurt you again.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
There is another pause. “Marie? Are you even listening?”
Do you even listen? The memory of Robbie’s accusation stabs through that other Marie.
“Yes, David. I’m listening.” At last, I am wide open. I am in past and present all at once. I am aware of all the details, as if they were lake stones I cupped in my hands.
Geraldine and I swore from the beginning that we would speak only the truth to each other. We would not say anything that could be misunderstood or misinterpreted. Even when we were alone, we would speak our lines and wear our masks. Because we might have to detail our conversations to the police and the lawyers when everything was over and done with.
But if what David says is true, then Geraldine—my sister, whom I loved and missed and worked for and saved all this time—she has lied to me not one time, but two, and maybe more.
She said she would help me. She said she understood the plan and agreed it was the only way.
Did she lie about that, too?
“Do you want me to find out what happened?” David is asking.
“Let me do it,” I tell him, and the words feel hollow. “But I promise I’ll call you and tell you anything I learn.”
David’s silence tells me he does not think much of this answer. In response, I do the only thing I can. I change the subject. “David, have you seen Robbie today?”
“Not yet. Is something wrong?”
“No. I was just wondering.”
“If I do see him, I’ll make sure he calls.”
“Thank you.”
I hang up the phone. For a long time, I sit where I am, stock still.
You played the hero for her. You saved her life. You could have drowned, and you didn’t care.
That was why I married you. Neither of you ever understood that. I didn’t want you in spite of the fact you fucked my sister when she needed it. But because you did.
You saved Geraldine. You were supposed to save me, too.
Of course, that’s just what he thinks he is doing. From his point of view, he’s protecting me from Geraldine’s predations. Because like everyone else, he knows I am helpless. They can all tell by the way I live—so careful and sheltered and fragile, always at someone else’s command. I am obedient and therefore must be weak. Everybody knows that. I have spent years making sure of it.
That was why my plan was going to work. It uses what everybody knows.
Just like everybody knows I am helpless, everybody knows Geraldine is a troublemaker who hates her family. Everybody knows that if Geraldine got a whiff of wrongdoing in my father’s business, she would immediately make it public.
Everybody knows my father has danced on the edge of legality before. Everybody fears that he might decide to do it again, especially those Monroes who are dependent on him. Because Dad’s actions affect the businesses, the jobs, and the Monroe family trust.
So, all that needed to happen was to create a mismatch between the paper trail and the online accounts. Once that was ready, Geraldine could come back and make the right kind of noise. There would be visible attempts to make her go away, or discredit her, or both, but being Geraldine, she would just keep on making her noise.
I would watch, of course, and be horrified. I would try to smooth things over and, reluctantly, try to help discredit my sister’s rumormongering. But instead of answers, I would find questions, and more worries.
Alarmed by this confluence of events, Walt—sturdy, reliable Walt—would eventually find the discrepancies. And the missing money. And my father would have no way to explain any of it.
And with that, the protected life that I have lived, the shelter I have known under my father’s loving, patient gaze, would be stripped away under the landslide of a sordid small-town scandal. There would be nothing left for me to do but try to pick up the pieces and begin again. With my sister. With my husband. With my son.
Geraldine swore she would help. Geraldine agreed the time was right.
Geraldine owes me.
I have to find out if David is right.
5.
“Marie!” Lawrence Kappernick greets me at the door himself. Mrs. Lopez, his housekeeper, must be busy elsewhere. He takes my hands as I step across the threshold, and kisses me on both cheeks. Not air kisses, real kisses. It’s something he’s always done and I am used to it. “Lovely to see you, as always. Come in. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.” I telephoned Lawrence from my office. Even when I met him at the Cherry Tree, I had hoped I would not have to make use of him, but David’s revelations left me with no choice. Lawrence has information I need, or, at the very least, he’ll know how to get it.
Lawrence leads me to the lovely, open-pattern living area. I decorated this house, a favor to an old friend of my father’s. I am perfectly comfortable in this place and with Lawrence’s old-fashioned courtesies, like how he holds my hand as I sit in the chair he offers.
“Now.” He scoots the vintage wing-backed chair I found for him on a buying trip down in Grand Rapids. “What can I do for you?”
I cross my ankles and fold my hands, letting him see how I am taking the time to collect myself.
“I’m afraid it’s…it’s a little delicate.”
“I see.”
“I wouldn’t be here except, well, my father…”
“Marie.” Lawrence lays his hand across both of mine and gives them a little shake. “I hope you know you can tell me anything.”
I pat his hand so he knows I am grateful before I remove my hands to brush back my hair. “I’m going about this all the wrong way, I’m afraid. You see, it’s not really about my father. It’s about my sister.”
“Oh, yes. I’d heard Geraldine was in town. On leave from her college, or something?”
“Yes. And I think I remember that you’re on the board of trustees for the University of Michigan…?”
“That’s right.” His eyes narrow shrewdly. “I hope you’re not going to ask me to find your sister a job?”
“Oh, no, no, it’s nothing like that. I was just wondering if you might know…anyone at Lillywell.”
The gentle paternity of Lawrence’s manner shifts. “Marie, what’s this really about?”
I have to phrase this correctly, but it’s surprisingly hard for me to find the words. “Geraldine has been telling us that she was on sabbatical. But, well, there’s a possibility, that wasn’t quite true. My father…I…we’re afraid there might be some serious trouble of some kind.”
“I see.”
“She’s my sister,” I whisper. “Despite everything. We want…we want to help, but we can’t if we don’t know what’s going on.” This is almost honesty, and it frightens me. What if I am showing him too much?
Lawrence smiles, beneficent and benign. “Now, now, Marie. I’m sure it’s nothing. If she has been laid off, she probably just didn’t want the bad news to get in the way of Robbie’s graduation. Lecturer is hardly a secure job. It’s not like being a tenured professor. Generally speaking, it’s one of the first positions cut if a department has budget problems. But!” He reaches out to give my hand another quick pat. “If it’ll make you and Martin feel better, I’ll make some phone calls. See what I can find out.”
“Thank you, Lawrence.” I smile in slightly misty gratitude.
He pats my hand once more. This time he lets his fingers linger, just a little, before drawing them off slowly. It’s a meaningless caress, the kind old men take when they think they’ve earned it.
“I really wish you’d call me Larry, Marie. We’ve known each other long enough, don’t you think?”
“Larry,” I agree, and I get to my feet.
“Already?” He struggles a little to rise with me. “I was hoping we could have a drink.”
Now he’s just being silly. It isn’t even ten o’clock. “I’m sorry, my father’s expecting me.”
“Well, I guess I’ll have to let you go then.” He moves just a little closer. “Although it is with great reluctance.”
Lawrence brushes my hair back from my collar, and leaves his hand on my shoulder.
“You’ve always been very special to me, Marie. I hope you know that.”
I suppress my impatience. Men of my father’s generation enjoy a little detour over the line now and again. There are tried and true methods for dealing with it. Usually, the best thing to do is make a joke of it. Gently, of course.
“Oh, dear, Larry.” I sigh, as I take his hand and give it a squeeze before I let it go. “Don’t you think I’m a bit old for you?”
He touches my cheek. “You’ve never looked a day over eighteen.”
“Flatterer.” I dip down to collect my purse and briefcase. “Thank you so much for being willing to look into things at Lillywell for me. I’m sure you’re right and that it’s all nothing.”
He sighs as he steps back. “You know, Marie. I had hoped when you said you were coming here, because you needed me, it might be for…a little more.”
It is time to end this. “Larry, you shouldn’t tease a poor old lady like this. Now, I really do have a thousand things to take care of. It’s our busy season, as I’m sure you know. We’ll see you at my son’s graduation party, won’t we? Do tell Dottie I won’t take no for an answer. And I do appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”
He takes my hand. “Well, I can see we’ll just have to talk about that later, won’t we?” He kisses my knuckles and smiles into my eyes.
I should be able to find an answer to this, but I cannot. I draw away and he lets me find my own way to the door. Behind me, I can feel his delight at the fact that he has disconcerted me. He thinks I am flustered, and flattered.
I cannot correct him.
Because of course this is my own fault. During all the years that I have been made to sit at the table with the women like Ashley Dickinson, I have also been made to sit in the rooms with their husbands and boyfriends. While they chatted with my father about their money and their possessions and how he can help them, I have come under their curious eyes and fleeting touches.
Men appreciate a gracious woman, my father has always told me. It’s not politically correct to say so, but it’s true. I can count on you, right, Marie? You’ll be my finishing touch, to put the deal over.
I came here intending to use this fact for my own ends. And I have to accept the consequences.
I cannot be angry like this. This red-black anger like blood on the snow cannot be mine. I have to smile instead. I have to love and be patient and perfect and understanding of everybody. It’s the only way.
I cannot be angry.
I cannot be.
If we’re attempting a real critique of the Household Tales, we have to save at least some attention for the good sister. She knows at least as much as the wicked sister about their family circumstances. After all, she has suffered for them. One would hope, in those stories where she’s not confined to a coffin and so on, she takes a moment to explain to the prince what he’s getting himself into.
Unfortunately, that seldom proves to be the case. Being good, in the world of the household story, does not necessarily include being honest.
—Out of the Woods: Musings on Fairy Tales in the Real World,
Dr. Geraldine Monroe
GERALDINE, PRESENT DAY
STACEY B’S SANDWICHES AND STUFF
1.
The third time I wake up, it’s nearly evening. Long, amber sunbeams slant across the floorboards and the open sleeping bag where we’re lying. Tyler’s sprawled out, half on the sleeping bag, half on the floor. His face, and the rest of him, is slack with sleep. He snores.
What am I going to do with you? My handsome prince. My would-be hero. My lover who has no place in this tortured story of mine.
I got my first book of fairy tales from Aunt Trish. Or, to be completely accurate, I stole it from her. It was one of the times I snuck up to the Rose House to see her, back when she was still alive and we were both pretending she could keep the place from falling down around her ears. Or rather, I should say, all three of us were, because Uncle Pete was there too, sometimes. Doing what he could.
The great room was a library then. Old Addison had painted looming pine trees and black crows between the built-in bookshelves.
“In the pines, in the pines, where the sun never shines,” Aunt Trish would whisper in my ear. “And I shiver as the wind blows cold.”
And I did shiver, but I loved it, too. It was one of our secrets.
The books themselves were rotting, like the house and Aunt Trish. Some of the shelves had given way, making their contents slide down to one end. But I’d go in there anyway, and trace the outlines on the boarded-up rose window with my fingers. Sometimes I’d try to organize the books, but half the time they just fell apart in my hands, so, eventually, I stopped trying.
I don’t even know why I took the fairy tales. I think I was afraid Aunt Trish was going to fall apart, too, and wanted something to hold on to. If she ever even noticed, she never said a word.
But I did take it, and I read it until the pages broke away from the spine. These were the unexpurgated tales, the ones where murdered boys get fed to their fathers, and Cinderella lets her birds peck her sisters’ eyes out, and Snow White is saved because the prince’s servant drops her coffin and jolts the apple slice out of her throat.
All those strange, convoluted stories of death and magic and blood and guts made instant, perfect, sense to me. I knew, if I could just dig down far enough, I’d find myself there.
