The Time Between

by Karen White

  This room was so different from Bernadett’s. I wanted to know what she’d been like, if her room was an indication of her personality as Helena’s was of hers. And I wondered how two such different sisters could have been as close as they were. I thought of Eve and myself, and the years between our childhood and now, and how time could sweep through our lives like a flooded river, taking all the sediment with it.

  I noticed with some surprise that this room had only one piece of art on the walls, an eleven-by-fourteen-inch framed painting of Moses, its artist and time period unknown to me. Like the other paintings in the house, it hung loosely in its frame, the beauty and power of the art diminished by the uneven fall of light. I tilted my head, wondering what it was that seemed so off-kilter about the painting, why my gaze kept coming back to it as if trying to answer a repeated question.

  I stretched and listened as my stomach grumbled. The smells of something cooking in the kitchen drifted to me, and I wondered who’d thought to stick something in the oven for dinner.

  Tiptoeing through the room, I went into the deserted kitchen. A crumpled rectangular piece of foil lay on its back on the counter, frozen circles of what looked like marinara sauce clinging to it in spots. I sniffed the air, catching the distinctive aroma of garlic and cheese. I remembered Teri asking me earlier if I liked lasagna, but I knew she hadn’t been out of the room to stick it in the oven.

  Listening to the sleeping house, I slowly walked into the foyer, peeking into the dining and music rooms, both as deserted as the kitchen. I was about to make my way back to the sunroom when I decided to check to see if Finn’s car was still there. I opened the front door and stopped short.

  Finn sat in one of the rockers, so focused on what he was doing that he didn’t immediately register that I’d come outside. He’d pulled another rocking chair in front of him, and as I watched he put a piece of paper down on the seat of the chair in front of him and made an exact diagonal crease in the paper. On the floor by his feet his BlackBerry buzzed and was summarily ignored.

  “Are you making a paper airplane?”

  He looked startled and then, remembering his manners, immediately stood. With a boyish smile, he said, “Guilty. I can’t seem to shake the habit.” As if also just becoming aware of his BlackBerry, he picked it up and, after looking at the screen, typed something into it, and then shoved it in his pocket.

  “Are they still asleep?”

  I eyed him suspiciously. “How did you know they were sleeping?”

  “Because last time I checked, they were sound asleep. You looked like you were enjoying the story, so I didn’t interrupt.”

  I smirked. “Thanks. And thanks for remembering to stick the lasagna in the oven.”

  He indicated the rocking chair next to the one he’d been sitting in, and I sat down. Tapping his long fingers on the arm of his chair, he said, “Your Hungarian accent needs work, though. Not that I can help you. I once tried to mimic Aunt Helena and I received quite a tanning, as I recall. I never tried it again.”

  I scooted my chair closer to the railing, then slid off my sandals to rest my feet on the slats. He eyed me for a moment, and I was about to remove my feet when he took off his own loafers and imitated me. His legs were longer than mine, and he had to move his chair back.

  Grinning at him, I said, “If I knew how to use the camera on my new iPhone, I’d take a picture and e-mail it to Kay at the office.”

  His face sobered. “I don’t think they’d like that.”

  That hadn’t been the response I’d expected. “What do you mean?”

  He stared down at the half-finished plane in his hand. “I’m the managing partner in the firm, the person the employees see on a daily basis. Their employer, the one who signs their paychecks, so to speak. It’s important to maintain a certain persona so that everyone knows that the firm is doing fine and that their employment is secure. I learned that from my father, and he from his father.”

  I nodded, understanding, yet knowing, too, that underneath the black worsted wool was a man who wanted to prop his bare feet up on a porch railing and make paper airplanes.

  We sat in silence for a long time, listening to the cicadas and night birds sing the day to sleep as the sun slowly began its descent into the creek. In the fading light, Finn returned to his paper airplane, his graceful fingers tearing and creasing and folding.

  I put my feet down and scooted my chair closer so I could see better. “Who taught you to do that?”

  Without looking up, he said, “My mother.”

  That surprised me.

  He continued. “She always encouraged me to pursue whatever interested me, regardless of what my father thought. She bought me my first model airplane kit and my first how-to paper airplane book. And then she sat with me while we figured out how to make each one.” He held up the creation in his hand. “Voilà!” he said, holding up a plane I couldn’t identify. “A World War I Fokker Eindecker,” he announced.

  I felt like a little child, wanting to clap my hands. “That’s amazing! And you made that with a single sheet of paper.”

  He nodded shyly. “Yes. If I had scissors, it would look better—a little more even. But this will do.”

  “Can I see it?”

  He put it in my hands, and I held it up to the orange light that still clung to the sky like cotton candy. The wings and tail were so intricately folded that even if I’d unfolded it, I could never have figured out how to redo it. I looked back at Finn. “Will it fly?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  I followed him out into the wet grass, my feet quickly getting drenched. We made our way to the dock in the half-light to the place where the earth melted into the backwaters.

  Finn looked down at the plane in his hand, tweaking a fold or two, seeming almost reluctant to let it go. He looked at me, his eyes serious. “My mother always told me to make a wish before launching a plane.”

  “Do you?” I asked quietly, the sound competing with the wing rubbing of the crickets and the cry of a black-crowned night heron.

  He shook his head. “Not anymore.” He turned his head toward the river. “Ready?”

  I nodded. “Ready.”

  He drew back his arm and in a slow, steady movement set the plane aloft. We watched it as it caught the breeze, its paper wings floating delicately over the flowing water. I held my breath and found myself crossing my fingers, as if that would help it cross the creek to the tall spartina grass on the other side.

  A strong wind from the direction of the ocean blew at us, making the plane wobble, as if suddenly unsure of its decision to remain aloft. It tilted to the right and then the left, the wind catching it again as it struggled to right itself, sending it crashing ignominiously into the water.

  We watched as the current swept it away from us, the water cradling it until it sank from sight. We stared at the spot where it had disappeared for a long time, neither of us speaking. Finally, Finn turned to go and I followed him back to the house in silence, wondering if a wish would have kept the plane up in the air, carrying it to faraway places. And I wondered, too, what Finn had once wished for, and why he’d stopped.

  The front door of the porch opened, and Gigi stood there in the puddle of light, guiding our way back to the house as the night heron called out once more, bidding us good night.

  CHAPTER 13

  Eve

  I grunted as Eleanor moved me from my wheelchair to the passenger seat of the Volvo. Because the SUV was higher, it took a lot more out of my sister than she was used to. I was slight and kept my arms strong so I could help, which was why before now my lack of mobility had never seemed to be a problem.

  After stowing the chair in the back, Eleanor climbed into the driver’s seat, then turned on the air conditioner to full blast. Sweat beaded her nose and upper lip, while tendrils of hair clung to her cheek. I looked away, unprepared f
or the stab of guilt.

  She leaned toward the air-conditioning vent. “Why can’t you be like a normal person and get a handicapped ramp and van to make it easier for all of us?”

  I turned my head sharply, surprised to hear her words echoing my thoughts. Since my accident, I had never heard her complain. Not once. But she’d been back to Edisto. The smell of the pluff mud and the salt air had become like wooden spoons, stirring old memories. I waited for her to say more, but she put her hand on the steering wheel and put the car into drive.

  I didn’t answer, perhaps because I didn’t even know anymore. After the accident, I’d resisted anything that made my injuries seem permanent, any reminders that advertised the fact that I was no longer a whole person. I didn’t want to drive in an equipped van or put ramps on the front of the house. My only concession was a HANDICAPPED hangtag that we used for parking—and that only because of Glen’s insistence. I was easy to carry and didn’t think it would be too hard to be lifted and carried the few times I ventured from the house. But even I had to admit that the pregnancy would have to change things.

  After checking her side mirror twice and the rearview once—something she’d never done as a teenager—Eleanor pulled out of the doctor’s office parking lot and onto Highway 17.

  “I still don’t understand why you changed doctors, especially for one in Mount Pleasant, when your old doctor was so close by.”

  I concentrated on the moving traffic around us. “My old doctor referred me to Dr. Wise.”

  I felt her looking at me. “A referral?”

  “Yes. It seems my pregnancy is considered a high risk.”

  “High risk?” Her voice rose a notch. “Did you know this before?”

  “Before what? Before I had unprotected sex with my husband?”

  She flinched. “Before you decided to become pregnant. Didn’t you discuss this with your doctor? Or with Glen?”

  I tensed, prepared for battle. I wanted a child. My wanting had become a physical thing, something I carried around in my arms and curled up with at night.

  “My doctor told me that if I got pregnant, she couldn’t be my doctor anymore.”

  “What?” She jammed on the brakes, and the person behind us honked and swayed to speed past us. Glancing in her rearview mirror, Eleanor crossed two lanes and drove into a shopping center parking lot. The sickly sweet scent of barbecue from one of the restaurants filled the car, making my stomach churn.

  “Why wouldn’t she see you anymore?” Eleanor demanded.

  I shrugged. “Apparently, anyone with a spinal cord injury above a certain nerve point—like mine—is considered high risk for pregnancy. Most doctors advise against it.”

  “Why?” she asked quietly.

  I stared down at the small diamond of my engagement ring. “Because we run the risk of developing something called autonomic dysreflexia. Dr. Wise gave me a lot of literature to go over so we can be informed and prepared.”

  I could tell she was trying to control her voice. “How serious is it?”

  “In a best-case scenario, my pregnancy will be normal with no complications at all.”

  “And worst case?” Her tone was cold.

  “It could be fatal.”

  She closed her eyes and didn’t say anything for a long moment, but I could hear her breathing in the silence of the car. “What did Glen say?”

  I looked out the side window, unable to answer her. The baby inside me was no larger than a pea, but it had already become my second chance to be the best part of me. To be the person I’d once wanted to be and who I still wanted to become.

  Finally, I turned to her. “You can’t tell him how serious this is. We’ll have to tell him that I’m a high-risk patient so he’ll know to look for the symptoms since I won’t be able to feel them, but he’s not to know that I could die, do you understand? And everything might be fine and I avoid any complications completely. Or I could have an AD episode and I get through it without any harm to me or the baby. But I can’t have Glen worrying about this—he’s got enough to worry about.”

  Eleanor slammed her palms on the steering wheel and threw open her door before jumping down into the parking lot. She walked away from the car to the slice of grass that separated the parked cars from the highway. Keeping her back to me, she bowed her head, but her clenched fists told me she wasn’t praying.

  Whipping back around, she stormed toward the car. “Why?” she shouted. “How? How could you be so stupid?”

  I glanced around and saw several shoppers returning to their cars and shooting curious glances our way. Being my mother’s daughter, I said, “Shut up. People are looking.”

  “God forbid,” she muttered as she climbed back into the Volvo and slammed the door. “God forbid that perfect strangers find out what an idiot you are.” She leaned forward, resting her forehead on the wooden steering wheel. “Why?” she asked again, her voice almost too quiet to hear.

  I placed my hand on her arm, grasping it with my fingers and feeling the muscles underneath. “Because I wanted something that was mine. Something that would make my life a whole lot bigger than it is.”

  She recoiled as if I’d slapped her. She shook off my hand. “You’re going to have lots of appointments over the next nine months. Are you going to make excuses to exclude Glen from all of those, too? You are planning on telling him eventually, right?”

  “I haven’t gotten that far in my thinking.” I turned my head away so I could hide the gathering tears. For the first time in my life, I’d climbed a tree all on my own, without anyone prodding me. I’d wanted to feel the ride, to experience sheer and utter joy again. I was just unprepared for the crash.

  “Great,” she said softly as she buckled her seat belt. “Just great.” She paused for a moment. “Does Mama know?”

  I shook my head, still unable to look at her. “No. It would be too hard for her. And she and Glen are so happy about the baby. I don’t want to take that away from them.”

  Eleanor leaned back against the headrest. “I’m glad you’re considering Glen’s and Mama’s feelings about all this. But you forgot about me.”

  I stared hard at my younger sister, seeing the person I’d once loved more than anybody, and tried to reconcile that image with the woman she’d become. But it was like looking at an old school photograph, unable to see past the different hairstyle and childhood face to recognize yourself.

  “I didn’t think it would matter to you.” I looked down at my hands. I was scared—I could at least admit that to myself—scared and aching for this one thing I wanted more than I’d ever wanted anything else. Scared and hurt that this one thing I wanted most in this world could be the one thing I could never have.

  As I’d learned to do in the last fourteen years, I turned all of my anger and hurt on the one person I knew who would take it. “I figured you might actually be happy at the news. If I die, you’d be free.”

  Her face registered shock, her eyes brightening with tears. Very quietly, she said, “You can’t die yet, Eve. Not before I’ve had enough time to make you forgive me.”

  I stared at her for a long time, understanding what she was saying yet unwilling to acknowledge it. It was too easy to continue with how things were instead of think about the way things could be. Forgiveness had become the door between the life I’d had before and the life I wanted. Maybe my pregnancy was a way of showing me the door. All I had to do was figure out how to open it.

  I felt my false bravado evaporate like a slow leak from a balloon, and I slumped in my seat. “Promise me you won’t tell them,” I repeated.

  Without looking at me, she nodded, then pulled out of the parking lot. We rode the rest of the way home in complete silence, both of us knowing there were no more words to say.

  Eleanor

  After dropping Eve off at home, I drove straight to Edisto, barely seeing the c
anopies of oaks as I headed down Highway 174. The feelings I had for my sister were jumbled together, like the monkeys in a barrel game we’d had as children. All the brightly colored monkeys with their curved arms tangled and entwined, so convoluted that it was almost impossible to separate them.

  As children we’d played together and fought together, but we never forgot that we were sisters, bound together by blood and circumstance. When we were fighting, our mother would always remind us that one day both she and our daddy would be gone, leaving just the two of us. We loved and hated each other with the same fierceness but never lost sight of the fact that we were sisters. I sometimes wondered if the accident had been inevitable, as if the vagaries of life had decided it was time for us to pick sides.

  I parked the Volvo behind Helena’s Cadillac. I didn’t expect to see Nurse Kester’s car, because her husband drove her and dropped her off every day, but I knew she was scheduled to be there. Still, I started as I recognized the person standing on the porch, the dark wood cane held firmly at her side.

  Nurse Kester fluttered behind Helena, flapping her hands. “She insisted on standing out here to greet you when you arrived. I don’t think she’s strong enough. . . .”

  She was silenced by a look from Helena, which I, thankfully, couldn’t see.

  “Good morning, Miss Szarka.” My voice sounded much stronger than I felt.

  “You’re late. Finn told me you would be here first thing.”

  I swallowed back the words I really wanted to say. “I’m sorry. I had to take my sister to the doctor—”

  “Can’t she drive herself?”

  I climbed up onto the steps. “No, actually, she can’t. She’s in a wheelchair.”