The Other Sister, page 24
—Dr. Geraldine Monroe (margin notes)
MARIE, PRESENT DAY
THE ROSE HOUSE
1.
When I finally lock up the office, the sun is setting over the lake in a blaze of melting gold. It is absolutely glorious, but does nothing at all to lift my mood.
Robbie has not texted me, let alone called. I do not know where he is, or if he kept his promise to be home tonight. I am trying to remember if he even did promise when I pleaded with him this morning, and I cannot. Too much has happened since then, and very little of it good.
Walt had already left by the time I got back to the office from seeing Lawrence Kappernick. Bethany was vague about where he had gone. I couldn’t tell whether she genuinely didn’t know or whether she’d been told not to tell me. I considered calling Carla, but decided against it. That would only make things worse.
I spent the rest of the day in my office. The whole afternoon wore away underneath a tide of party details, and there was still no word from Robbie. Dad did get in touch, though, to say he would not be home for dinner.
Night off for you, he said. Enjoy.
I decided to keep working and eat a quick salad at my desk. There was of course, a mountain of paperwork—accounts and receipts and other details. Online documents need to be printed out so the hard copies can be double-checked and filed. These were not things I could I couldn’t delegate to Bethany.
By the time I snapped the lights off and locked the doors, there was still nothing from Robbie. Or Walt. Or Geraldine. They had all left me alone to manage as best I could.
But when, really, had it ever been any different? Maybe when we were younger. Maybe before Aunt Trish…but not since then. Not really.
I have to pass the old house on my way home. I pull into the parking lot. There’s another car there, and for a moment, I think Geraldine must be home. But the house is dark and silent. The car isn’t Geraldine’s yellow Outback. It’s a battered old Toyota I don’t recognize.
My hands curl around the steering wheel. My cut stings and then burns beneath the bandage.
What is she doing? Where is she? Why is she…why is she…?
No. I stop myself firmly. I will not lose control again. It does not matter what Geraldine does today or where she is now. The plan can still be moved forward. I will not neglect my responsibilities.
I pull the Escalade around the back of the house, where it cannot be seen from the road. I have a little work to do yet, and I see just where I can begin.
Calmly, quietly, I climb out and extract the baseball bat I keep under the passenger seat.
2.
There is satisfaction in a job fully completed. I am glad I have this to cushion me, because as I pull up the smooth, winding drive of the Rose House, I see Grandma Millicent’s Town Car parked out front of the garage.
I park and sit for a moment in the dark gathering my thoughts. This is not unprecedented, but it is unexpected. My grandmother generally does not come up to the house except for the large family gatherings, like last Sunday’s barbecue.
I check my phone. I have not missed any messages.
I need to think. She must be in there with Dad. I cannot walk in on them with no idea what is happening. Not now. I need to know…something. Anything. I have to know which face to show them.
Contemplating sneaking in to my own home might seem a little childish, I suppose. But enough has happened that I feel a little extra caution is warranted.
I circle behind the garage and skirt the tree line up the slope, and then slip around through the manicured flower beds in the back. It takes a minute, but I finally get to the door in the old children’s wing. We keep that locked, but of course I have my keys.
I quietly move down the long hallway to the front room. No light shines under the pocket door, so I assume I am safe. I open the door slowly, so its rumble is lessened, because it is after all, next to Dad’s study and I don’t want to disturb him if he is in there.
I slip inside and close the door.
And turn to see a woman’s shadow on the sofa.
I slap my hand across my mouth to stifle the scream. The shadow raises a wineglass to me, and drinks.
Aunt June.
She’s sitting alone in the dark. There’s a bottle of wine on the table beside her. In the deep summer twilight, it looks like ink. The only light is leaking from around the edges of the closed study door.
“You sure you don’t want anything?” Dad is saying from the other side. “I don’t know what’s keeping Marie, but I think I still remember how to make a cup of tea, or if you want something stronger…”
“No, thank you, Martin,” answers Grandma. “I’m fine.”
I look at Aunt June. Aunt June looks at me. She tips her wineglass up and drinks down the night-black liquid like water.
“So what brings you all the way up here?” Dad asks.
I do not have a lot of choices, so I cross the flagstone floor and sit down beside Aunt June. She holds up the bottle. I wave it away. She shrugs and pours herself a fresh glass.
“Martin, it’s time to finish,” I hear Grandma Millicent say from the other room.
“I don’t understand, Mother.”
“I mean you’ve done enough.”
Aunt June stares out the picture window and makes little circles with her ankle as she listens to the voices from the study. The sunset’s brilliant colors have darkened to purple and gray.
When Dad speaks again, I have to strain to hear him. “Do you really think that’s possible?”
“I am not interested in a philosophical debate. I am saying we have enough. You have done it. You have succeeded.”
Dad’s little chuckle sends goosebumps crawling across the back of my neck. “I really don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the moment that should come to any man who has worked hard all his life. It’s the time to say ‘I have enough. There is no need to keep trying so hard.’”
The corner of June’s mouth curls up. It occurs to me that if my mother had lived, she would be about June’s age. I do not think about that much. To me, Mom’s always been unchanging, eternal. It is a jolt to suddenly imagine her in front of me instead of behind me, where I could watch her age and die, where I could talk with her and everyone else could admit that they do see her, rather than constantly pretending they don’t.
I wonder if I would like that. I wonder if it would have been better.
Dad is talking again. “So, you’re saying I should, what? Sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labors?”
“If you like. Or start something new. Something for yourself. You’re free, Martin. You have more than adequately provided for the family, and we are grateful. And I am proud of you.”
“You are?”
“Yes. Very proud. I hope you know that I always have been.”
Silence falls again. Aunt June drinks and circles her ankle. She’s impressively silent. I find myself wondering how often she’s sat like this, just drinking and listening, with nobody to see, or to care.
“What do you want, Mother?”
“Nothing. That is what I have been attempting to explain. You have taken care of—”
“Yes, yes, and you’re telling me I’ve been such a good boy. Something you never bothered to do when I actually was a boy, by the way. So, I guess I could be forgiven for asking, why now? Why’s it so important that I give up everything right now?”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“I mean, it’s a little hurtful to hear you talking like this, Mother, when I’ve got so many plans for us.”
“I’m sure you do, Martin, but that’s not—”
He isn’t listening, or at least, he’s pretending not to. “I was going to save this for after the graduation party, but since you’re here…what is it the kids say? Spoiler alert? As soon as Robbie heads off for college, you and June are moving in here. Think about it! All my girls, together in the family seat.”
Aunt June arches her brows at me. She gestures at me and then at herself, and then raises her glass to heaven. Salut! Her smirk is sharp.
My cut hand twitches.
“I suppose you’ve consulted Marie about this.”
“Marie will be thrilled. You know her whole life is taking care of people.”
“Well, it’s a very generous offer, Martin—”
“It’s what you’ve always wanted.” Dad says this calmly, patiently. It’s the same voice he used to correct us when we were children. “To live here, in this house, with the whole world at your feet.”
“Martin, I never wanted anything to do with this house, or anyone in it.”
That can’t be right. I lean toward the door, frowning. Grandma has always wanted this house. I’ve heard her talk about the Rose House, about how it really belongs to the Monroes. She’s said that. I’m sure of it.
The darkness presses against my skin. It’s slimy. And cold. I try to shake it off, but it won’t go.
Aunt June watches me, and she’s still smirking.
“Martin, this house was always your obsession.”
I can picture the exact way my father shakes his head at this. “I understand you don’t want to inconvenience Marie. Or maybe you think she and June’ll butt heads. Well, you’ll sort them out, Mother. That’s what you live for.”
“Martin, I am very well settled right where I am.” There is a tinge of fear beneath my grandmother’s irritation. “I do not choose to go through the trouble and upset of moving house at my age.”
“Oh, we’ll do all the work, I promise. All you’ll have to do is sit back and watch it all happen.”
“Martin, stop this.”
The snap of command makes my breath catch in my throat.
“But I don’t want to stop,” says Dad. His voice is buoyant, cheerful. He is enjoying himself. “This is my life, Mother. Working for my family. Making sure the Monroes have the lives they deserve.”
“I told you, I do not want—”
“No, actually, you didn’t.” His interruption is so very gentle. “You told me something is wrong, and that you’re frightened of something.” There is a pause. I can picture him crossing to her, putting down his drink, taking her hand. “What is it, Mother? What’s worrying you?”
“You worry me, Martin, and you refuse to listen to what I’m saying.”
“But you’re not making sense. I wonder if you’re a little tired.”
“I’m fine. I came up here to…”
“As soon as Marie gets home, I’ll have her drive you back. Probably not the best idea for June to take you at this point. I think we’re going to need to talk to her about her drinking. It’s not good for a woman her age.”
There’s a pause. Aunt June raises her glass to me and slugs more wine back.
“Or, I’ll drive you myself, just to make sure you’re both all right.”
“Martin, I’m only asking you this one more time. What are you doing?”
“Do you remember when Dad died, Mother? How you sat me down and told me I was responsible for the family name now? No? I remember. I’ve never forgotten. It was just me. Not Pete, or June. You knew even back then that they didn’t have it in them. I’m really surprised you don’t remember. You kept telling me and telling me, with every look, every word. Every time we didn’t have enough and had to keep pretending that we did, every time you saw Lisa Burnovich and her kids in tow and had to remember they had this house and everything that went with it. You never said a word out loud, but you told me anyway, and I understood.”
Grandma Millicent says nothing. What, I wonder, could she even want to say?
“I know you had to put on a show when I married Stacey. That was a hard time, wasn’t it? But we got through it, and just look how everything’s turned out. We’ve got the house and all the money and the Burnoviches…Pfft! All gone. We wiped them right off the map.”
“It was never about the money, Martin. And it wasn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me, Mother.” Dad’s voice is soft as snow and just as cold. Even Aunt June pauses with her glass halfway to her lips. “It was entirely about the money, and the family name, of course. But then, they’re one and the same, aren’t they? Money, name. Name, money. Makes the world go ’round, right? Only now, you’re saying you don’t care, and I’ve got to admit, I’m kind of confused. Either you’re starting to go a little senile, Mother dear, or something’s changed, after all these long, long, long years. Now, what could that be? Maybe you’ve been gossiping with Geraldine?” He chuckles again. “No shame in that. She’s your granddaughter, after all. I’ll bet you two have had some lovely, cozy little chats since she got back.”
“I haven’t said two words to Geraldine.”
“Well, I hope that’s true. I’ve been meaning to warn you and June. Geraldine’s come back to make trouble—no surprise, there!—and she’s spouting some really twisted lies. Awful stuff. Now, I know you know better than to believe any of it, unless, you know, you’d been getting tired, or, well…We’re not any of us as young as we used to be are we?”
Cold silence. Hard silence. It pours across the shadows, oil on troubled waters.
“You know, the more I think about it, the more I think there’s no reason to wait for you to move in. We can start right after the graduation party on Sunday. Robbie can even help. It’ll be good for him to have something useful to do. What do you think?”
Silence.
There’s the distinct thwap! of Dad slapping his thigh. “Well, I’m going to go get June. We need to get you home. I wonder what’s keeping Marie.”
Aunt June gets to her feet quicker than I can. It’s as if she were waiting for her cue this whole time.
“Oh, Marie,” she says as she flips on the light. “You startled me! For a second, I thought you were old Addison’s ghost!” She holds out the wine bottle. “Drink?”
There are a lot of princes who never get to go home. They go out and make a new place for themselves. Which means they are as trapped as the princesses. Because if they fail, there’s nothing left for them to do.
—Out of the Woods: Musings on Fairy Tales in the Real World,
Dr. Geraldine Monroe
GERALDINE, PRESENT DAY
THE COLOR MILE, M-131
1.
Well. It could be worse.
Robbie isn’t actually hurt. His pupils may be the size of black basketballs, but they’re the same size. He’s wobbly on his feet, but there’s nothing broken. And if he’s not entirely coherent, he’s very responsive.
“Don’t tell Mom,” he says, as we shove up his sleeves and peel back his eyelids so we can shine the flashlight into them. “Please, please, don’t tell Mom.”
His car isn’t actually wrecked. One headlight is out, and a chunk of the bumper is missing, but otherwise it seems to be fine. It takes a bit of swearing and heaving, and the strategic application of flattened cardboard boxes to get some traction under the wheels, but Tyler and I both have some experience with this. Together we manage to get the Mustang convertible, which has to be another gift from Granddad, back onto the shoulder. Tyler gives the engine and the undercarriage a quick once-over, before offering to drive it back to the house while Robbie rides with me.
“I’m assuming you two need to talk,” he says.
We do. I am so angry I could spit nails. I could rear back and smack this stupid, screwed-up, scared, spoiled baby boy. Does he know what his mother goes through every single day for him? What we’ve all done? All the secrets and the waiting and the pain, just to keep him safe?
“You going to tell Mom?” he asks.
“No. I’m going to shove you into the goddamned lake!” I keep my eyes fixed on the road. “What the hell did you think you were you doing?”
His silence lasts long enough that I think either he’s not going to answer or he’s drifted off. But, finally, he mutters, “I was running away from home.”
“You’ve got, what, three months until college? And now you decide to run away?” The road curls sharply between the hills and the lakeshore. The striping is bad here and I have to focus very hard to keep us in our lane. “What kind of dumbass move is that?”
“I’m not going to college.”
“What?”
“I am not going to U of M. I am not going anywhere near it!” he squawks.
I sigh and try to keep my eyes on the road. I’m going fast enough that if we meet a deer out here we are going to be back in trouble. Back in the ditch if we’re lucky. I shouldn’t even be having this conversation until he straightens out. I know that. But I can’t stop myself.
“Look, Robbie, I know what it’s like to want to just throw it all in their faces. But you can’t really want to hurt your mom. It’s just until August. Then you’re down in Ann Arbor and your granddad can go fuck himself.”
“I am not letting that old man keep my balls in one of his fucking slings!”
I glance at him. A passing car’s headlights hit us. For a second, Robbie’s floodlit, and I can see all the anger and the misery written across his young face.
“But he won’t…”
“It was me,” he says, and his voice is flat and dead.
“What was?”
“The ‘trouble.’” He makes the air quotes. “At the old house, with the pills and shit. It was me.”
We come to a four-way stop. I’m distantly proud of the fact that I don’t slam the brakes. “You were dealing.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I had to get money from somewhere.”
I’m going to kill you.
“And you got caught.”
I’m going to drive us both into the lake. Save your mother the trouble.
“Dad did a drive-by checkup, and the fucker who was with him told Granddad what they saw.”
You goddamned little idiot!
“So, he comes to me all sad and disappointed and says there’s no need to tell Mom. As long as I’m a good boy and do what I’m told, she never has to find out her darling son is selling other people’s pills for five bucks a pop.”
