by Marti Green
When we were done, Ben paid the bill—turning down my offer to pay my share—and we walked outside. Ben had called an Uber, but it wasn’t there yet, so I waited with him for it to arrive.
“She’s ruining both our lives, you know,” Ben said.
“Well, she’s certainly made me feel miserable.”
“I asked you earlier whether you thought it was unfair that you had to struggle while Charly always had it easier. I’d like you to answer that,” Ben said.
“It is what it is. My mother made a choice. That can’t be undone.”
“What if it can be?”
I stared at him, an uncomfortable feeling starting to spread through my body.
“What if you could have more money than you ever dreamed possible? What if you could study art at the Sorbonne? What if you could travel to every museum in the world and study the paintings of the masters up close?”
I shook my head. “I don’t believe in what-ifs.”
“Charly’s been cruel to both of us.” He looked around to make sure no one was near us, took my arm, and pulled me closer to him, then whispered in my ear. “I was thinking over lunch: What if Charly died?”
That uncomfortable feeling spread to my chest, and it began to tighten. “Is she sick, too?”
Ben shook his head. “What if someone killed her?”
I pulled away. Despite the brisk air, I could feel my face become flushed. I had no idea what to say to him.
“You could take her place,” he went on. “We’ll split her father’s inheritance. He’s worth over two billion. That’s one billion dollars for each of us. Just think what you could do with that money. Your life would completely change.”
He has to be mad, I thought. Completely and utterly crazy. I can’t be involved in this.
“No one knows she has a twin sister,” he continued. “We’d need to wait until her father dies. Then, after the killer makes sure her body can never be found, you step into her place and pretend you’re Charly. First, you’d revoke the prenup. Then, maybe six months later, a year at the most, we would divorce. Split the assets down the middle. You’ll go away then, wherever you want. Anywhere in the world.”
I could feel a rising panic and was having difficulty breathing. His proposal was terrifying and so very, very wrong.
“Just think about it. A billion dollars.”
I wanted to slap him, spit in his face, tell him how horrid he was. I wanted to run as far away from him as I could. Then, I thought about Charly’s rejection of me. She’d put money before me. Why shouldn’t I do the same? Why should I have to keep waiting on tables just to finance my art education? Why shouldn’t I have renowned artists’ paintings adorn my walls? I stepped closer and asked, “Just how would this work?”
CHAPTER 12
My heart raced the entire walk back to my claustrophobic room, and once I reached it, I locked the door behind me and lay down on the bed. Calm down, calm down. I hadn’t committed to anything, yet I felt as guilty as if I had.
I’d had so many questions of Ben, but he had to get back to his office. “We’ll talk again, soon,” he’d promised, before the Uber arrived and he left me, awash with fear and confusion. His parting words: “Promise me you won’t tell a soul,” he implored, “not even your best friend. I won’t do anything to Charly if you say no. We do this together, or not at all.”
I began to shiver and got underneath my blanket, pulling it up to my chin. I had planned to go to the Guggenheim today, before my art class, but now I felt paralyzed. Could I show up in class and pretend to Brian that everything was normal? Surely, he’d know that wasn’t the case just by looking at my hands. They hadn’t stopped shaking since I’d left Ben.
I had always been the good girl, the polite girl, the one who raised her hand in class and said, “Thank you” when given anything. I’d always worked hard and thought it was good for me, that it made me stronger. How could I possibly consider being a party to murder? To the murder of my sister, the only family I had left in the world. Yet, as I shivered under the blanket, I did consider it. I had no relationship with Charly, no ties other than our shared genes, and now never would. She didn’t want one. From what Ben had told me, she was nothing like me—not kind or polite or hardworking. Why did she deserve to be wealthy, and not me? Why did she deserve parents who showered her with affection when I was left with a mother too tired, or too burdened by guilt, to care for me? I thought of the kitchen in their home, the beautiful kitchen that I could spend hours in, cooking up delicious meals. I thought of her art gallery, and of the artists who were part of her everyday world. Why shouldn’t that be mine?
I didn’t go to the Guggenheim, and I didn’t go to art class. I stayed in bed, under the covers, and thought how lovely it would be to live Charly’s life.
Three days later, I took the subway into Manhattan. I transferred at East Fifty-Ninth Street to the Number 6 train, got off at East Sixty-Eighth Street, and walked over to Central Park. I was meeting Ben there in front of Bethesda Fountain at 10:00 a.m. It gave me two hours before I needed to report to work at Trattoria Ricciardi. It was a bright day, filled with sunshine, and the temperature in the low seventies made it unseasonably warm for October. At this time of day, the park was lightly populated. Mostly mothers and nannies with babies and toddlers. I got there before Ben and settled on a bench. I’d hardly slept since my last meeting with Ben, tossing and turning each night, trying to convince myself that Charly wasn’t deserving of the life she’d been given, then just as quickly acknowledging that it wasn’t my place to judge her and carry out the sentence. Then I’d think about Charly, about her callous rejection of me, and ask, “Why not? Why not be rich and be able to have and do all the things I’d missed growing up?” When I’d awoken this morning from the few hours of sleep I’d managed to get, I wasn’t any closer to an answer.
“Have you thought about my proposal?” Ben asked me when he arrived.
“I’ve hardly thought about anything else.”
“And?”
“I don’t think just looking like Charly means I’ll pass for her.”
“No, I don’t, either. It’ll take some work. My parents live in Florida most of the year, but they spend summers at a house they own in High Falls.”
“Where’s that?”
“About two hours north of here. It’s a country village with a sparse population, and no one there knows Charly or me. I never visit because Charly prefers to spend our weekends and vacations during the summer at her father’s beach house. My parents come out there when they want to see us.”
I wasn’t sure how a house in the country would help transform me into Charly.
“They’ve already left for Florida. They leave a car up there, and I have keys to both the house and the car. You can stay there. I have hours of video of Charly for you to study. Her accent, especially. Your voices are the same, but yours shows that you grew up in Scranton, not New York. Each week, I’ll send you reams of information about her friends, her business associates, her likes and dislikes. You’ll need to memorize it all.”
He stepped back and looked me over.
“I’ll give you a picture of her hairstyle, and you can get yours cut and colored to look the same. How much do you weigh?”
“One hundred twenty-two.”
“You’ll need to lose ten pounds. Join a gym up there.”
I’d been shaking my head slightly the whole time he was talking. “This is crazy. It’s never going to work.”
“Why not?”
“Do you even know someone who’d . . . who’d—”
“Kill her?”
I nodded.
“I might.” He opened his briefcase and took out a pen and notepad. He handed both to me, then instructed me to sign Charly’s name. When I finished, he looked it over and smiled. “This twin thing is amazing. Your penmanship is exactly like Charly’s. No one would question it.”
“How long would I stay there?”
“Until
Charly’s father passes away. The doctors give him three to five months.”
I felt myself getting drawn deeper and deeper into Ben’s plan. I clutched my sweater tighter around me. Despite the warm temperature, I had started to shiver.
“You’ll need to cut off all ties with anyone you know here. Make up some story. You’re homesick, or you want to try LA. Tell them anything so they won’t be looking for you. And then, no contact.”
“Not even e-mail?” I thought that Brian would find it odd if I didn’t keep in touch with him. Maybe Lauren, too, now that I’d reconnected with her. I realized how miserable my life had been that no one else would care if I disappeared.
“Maybe a little at first, then kind of fade away. You’re too busy to write in your new life; that’s what you’ll tell them.”
“What would I do for money if I’m not working?”
“I’ll give you spending money. As much as you need. So . . . are you in?”
Was I? My stomach was churning, and my fingers and toes tingled. I understood that if I said yes, I would be agreeing to commit the worst crime, made even more reprehensible because she was my sister. And I knew that once I agreed, I wouldn’t be able to back away from it.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
I tried to block Ben’s proposal from my mind. I returned to work, to my art classes, even to the Guggenheim. It helped to be busy. But at night, when I’d lie in bed, unable to sleep, I kept thinking about how different my life would have been if I’d been born second, if I’d been the daughter Rick and Sarah Jensen had adopted. I kept telling myself that a bad break didn’t justify murder, that she was my sister, and no matter how cruel she was, she didn’t deserve to die. Most of the time, I convinced myself to brush off Ben’s proposal. Then I’d picture her townhouse and imagine myself living there. I’d picture her kitchen and imagine myself cooking there. I pictured her art gallery and imagined working with talented artists.
When I’d met Ben at the diner, he’d asked whether I’d thought it unfair that Charly had grown up with so much, and me with so little. The more I dwelled on it, the easier it became to magnify the inequities. As Ben’s scathing description of Charly kept swirling through my mind, I began to think of her as unworthy of the riches she’d been given, simply by being born second. I had been offered a path to escape the hardscrabble lives of my mother and grandmother. Why shouldn’t I take it?
Ten days after I’d met Ben in the park, after Lou Castro had squeezed my shoulder every morning during breakfast at The Dump, after a table of four and then a table of six had stiffed me on a tip at the restaurant, and after, on the way home from art class, a homeless drunk lurking in the shadow of the subway platform exposed himself as I walked past, I decided I was tired of being the good sister. I was tired of struggling. It was my turn now.
I knew it was evil. I no longer cared. I called Ben Gordon. “I’m in.”
CHAPTER 13
I made sure to catch an earlier bus the next day so I’d have time to speak to Gus before customers started arriving at the restaurant. “I’m handing in my notice,” I told him when I arrived. “Two weeks.”
Gus looked at me with surprise. “What’s wrong, Mallory? I thought you liked it here.”
“I do. You’ve been great.”
“You going to another restaurant?”
“No. I’m moving to LA. I got a job offer. Art related. I couldn’t turn it down.”
“Well, if it’s good for you, then I’m happy. You’re too smart to do this for long.” He bent over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I would miss Gus.
Four days later, before leaving for my art class, I called Adam. He’d called me three times since we’d met for dinner, and each time I’d let it go to voice mail. Now, I had to let him know I was leaving town.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get to know each other better,” he said after I filled him in on my made-up plans. “If you ever find yourself back in New York, call me.”
The last person I needed to cut ties with was Brian. I’d never known a father, and he’d come closest to filling that void.
As soon as I got to the school, I told him.
“You’re leaving? But the class has another seven weeks to go!”
“It’s a great job offer.”
“Doing what?”
I’d practiced my lie in advance. I knew Brian would grill me. “They’re going to teach me graphic design. A friend from Scranton works for the company, and she recommended me.”
Brian put his hand on his hip. “Well, we’re just going to have to come to LA to visit you. Stan goes out there now and then for business, and I’ll tag along.”
“They have offices throughout the country. My training will be in LA, but I have no idea where they’ll send me afterward.”
Brian pulled me in to his chest. “I’m going to miss you, Mallory. You’re the best damn artist in this class.”
He let me go, and I stepped back. I was starting to get misty-eyed, and I didn’t want him to see.
“As soon as you know where you’ll end up, you’ll let me know, right?”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
I nodded.
“I mean it, Mallory. If you don’t, I’m going to hunt you down.”
I reassured Brian, all the time with a lump in my throat. I was going to miss him the most.
The home in High Falls that belonged to Ben’s parents was larger than any place I had ever lived. It was off a quiet, heavily wooded road, set back far from the street. A wall of windows overlooked Mohonk Preserve and its acres of trails. Ben had suggested I get a hiker’s pass for the preserve, and explore. “It’s a good way to walk off extra pounds,” he’d said. I’d never considered myself overweight, just curvy in the places it counted. At five foot six, my weight seemed just right. Charly, though, was model slim, wearing size 0 clothes, or sometimes size 2, depending on the cut.
Ben had taken me to the local supermarket, tiny in comparison to the supermarkets I’d shopped at in Scranton, and we’d filled up on food before he’d left me and driven back to the city.
Once he was gone, I set about exploring. In addition to the eat-in kitchen, which was at least twenty feet long, there was an equally large living room with a wood-burning fireplace, a master bedroom with its own bathroom, and two smaller bedrooms. The furnishings were simple but appeared sturdy—a deep rose-colored couch in the living room, with two gingham-slipcovered chairs on either side of the fireplace, a round wooden pedestal table with four wood chairs in the kitchen. The king-size bed in the master bedroom had a mustard-colored upholstered headboard and was covered with a patchwork quilt in colors of brown, beige, and gold. There was no TV reception—the cable had been turned off—but Ben had brought up a box load of DVDs, including home videos of Charly, for the DVD player. There was no Internet connection, or Wi-Fi, but I could use my iPad to access anything I needed.
The house was on ten acres of land, mostly wooded. There was a rocking-chair porch in the front of the house, and a screened-in porch with views of the mountains in back. It felt like paradise to me, a place I’d be happy living in forever. I grabbed my sketchbook, plopped myself down on the back porch, and began sketching the mountains. Before I knew it, hours had passed. The pale-yellow sun had deepened to an orange glow, then slowly disappeared. I went back inside, put a frozen dinner in the oven, then popped a DVD into the player. It contained a video of Charly’s twenty-fifth birthday party. It would be my first time studying the woman I was to become.
The next day, I took the car out of the garage and began exploring the neighborhood. Nestled between the supermarket and a drugstore was a liquor store. I stopped in and stocked up on wine. On the one main road that ran through the heart of the hamlet were three restaurants and several artisans’ shops. I pulled into one—a pottery store/workshop—and looked over the pieces. They were beautiful, so much more artistic than the standard pottery seen in the big-box retail stores.
&n
bsp; “Are you looking for a gift for someone, or for yourself?” a voice behind me said.
I turned and saw a middle-aged woman with short brown hair and a warm smile. “Are you the artist?”
She nodded. “My name is Katy Patel.”
“Your work is lovely.”
She took me through the store and pointed out some pieces that were her favorites. I picked up a vase and looked at the price tag on the bottom—$1,200. My first reaction was disappointment that I’d never be able to afford one of her pieces, and then it hit me that soon I would. In the not-too-distant future, I’d never have to look at the price of something I desired. I liked the way that felt.
CHAPTER 14
It had become easier for Ben to see Lisa after work now that Rick was no longer coming into the office, especially with Charly heading over to her father’s apartment after she’d closed up the gallery. In fact, most nights lately, Ben left work early and spent the evening with Lisa. Tonight was no exception.
“I could get used to this,” Lisa said, after they’d already made love and she lay cuddled up next to him.
“Me, too,” murmured Ben.
Lisa was silent for a minute, then sat up in the bed and looked over at him. “I mean it. I’d like this to be normal, not some secret rendezvous that needs to be hushed up.”
Now, Ben sat up, too. “You know it’s you that I love.”
She looked at him with eyes that seemed filled with sadness. “I’m not sure that’s enough.”
“What are you saying?”
“You’re married. You have a life. At some point, Charly will want a child. I want those things, too. And as long as I’m with you, in this lovers’ limbo, I won’t have that.”
“I’m going to leave her. We’ll be together. It’s just . . . I can’t do this now. Not with her father dying.”
“And after he dies? Won’t she be in mourning then, and need your comfort?”
“He has three months left—five at the most. Then, give me six months. After that, I promise I’ll divorce Charly.”
