The Secret Language of Sisters

by Luanne Rice

  “I picked them for you at Little Beach,” he said. He removed one from the bunch; hands shaking, he pinned it to my hospital gown.

  Are we really going back to Black Hall? I asked.

  “Only if you’re ready,” he said. “Otherwise we’ll stay right here. We’ll celebrate either way.”

  It was up to me. I stared into Newton’s face and thought of how recently I’d thought of giving up. Just weeks ago I had wanted to slip away. But now I was getting my life back, and that meant I wanted to make the choice that would keep me here.

  So I made my decision.

  That morning, the day of the Solstice Art Celebration, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the driveway. I was staring right at it when Nona, Emily, and Isabel showed up early to Casa Magica to volunteer. Isabel had given them a ride. It was a kind of old-time pulling together, and it made me feel emotional and grateful—even to Isabel. When she walked over, it was the first time we’d hugged since she’d found the cell phone.

  Slater and I showed them the barn and the studio, and the gardens that people might want to wander through. We set up a table near the herb garden for tea and cookies. Martha had bundled up tiny bouquets of dried herbs; whatever was sold would benefit Roo’s care.

  I wore a blue halter and long flowered skirt, dressed up for the occasion, and I blushed when Slater smiled and nodded, letting me know he liked it.

  “Where’s Newton?” Emily asked me. “I thought he’d be here helping out.”

  “So did I,” I said. “He dropped off Roo’s photos a few days ago and hasn’t been back. He’s on a mission.”

  “Is your mother coming?” Nona asked. “Considering Roo’s photos are part of the exhibit.”

  I didn’t answer. My mother and Newton were on the same mission. They had driven up to Boston that morning. Mom had told me that Dr. Gold was going to arrange for Roo to show up today. It was so much to hope for. Everything had to line up: Her vital signs had to be completely stable, which they hardly ever were, her brain scan had to be perfect, and a doctor, preferably Dr. Gold, had to be available to accompany her. That meant no emergency admissions or surgeries.

  More than anything, Roo had to feel well enough to make the trip.

  “Tilly’s in the art show, too,” Slater said. “Did she show you?”

  He led my friends into the barn, where Martha had set up a table for my dragon family. During the last few days, I had spent every spare moment with my hands in clay. After Sage, my first droopy dragon, I’d made ten more. All small, all with Lucan’s face, painted bright colors and fired to a high glaze. Some were flying, some were sleeping, two were fighting, two were kissing. They all had tails and wings.

  “These are adorable!” Emily said. “I want the orange one!”

  “How sweet,” Nona said. “The way you painted tiny daisies down the spine of the purple girl.”

  “And hearts on the spikes of the pink one,” Isabel said.

  “Do they have names?” Emily asked.

  “This one should be Squishy-Face,” Nona said, holding up my first dragon, the poor girl who’d melted in the heat before I’d figured things out.

  “That one’s Sage, but the rest have secret names,” Slater said. “She won’t tell anyone.”

  It was true. I’d named them after the emotions that had been swirling around while I made them. All were girls, and I thought of them as being my team, my club. Dragon Power, I thought.

  It seemed perfect that the dragons stood on a table by Roo’s photographs, as if they could protect her, and guard everything she held dear. It killed me that she was being honored this way, and she might be stuck in a hospital bed a hundred miles away. The dragons made that just a little better, as if they could spread their scaly wings and fly to her, carry to her my love and belief in her strength.

  And I felt happy, even a little proud, that the dragons had helped me realize maybe I can be an artist, too. In my own way.

  People began to arrive. I felt strange and a bit intruded upon—Slater and I had had Martha and her magical property to ourselves for weeks. If I were honest, I’d say the only person I wanted to be there was Roo. But I’d gotten no word from Mom. She probably didn’t want to give me the bad news. The idea of Roo actually showing up was so impossible, so heartbreaking to consider, I named the feeling Angst and decided she would be my next dragon.

  “You okay?” Slater asked as we watched Marlene and Debbie walk into the barn. It was strange how Marlene seemed changed by Roo’s accident. I had thought her collecting donations had been an act for the reporters, for the national Don’t Text campaign. But here she was today, and there were no TV cameras in sight.

  “I guess so,” I said. “Not completely.”

  “I can tell,” he said. “You get a very Tilly look on your face sometimes.”

  “What does it look like?” I asked.

  “Well, you look very determined, but there’s this little hint as if you’re afraid it won’t work out.”

  “That sounds kind of pathetic.”

  “Actually, it’s cute.”

  “Huh,” I said, blushing. “But in this case, it won’t. Work out, I mean.”

  “Your sister?”

  It was perfect June weather in Black Hall. The sun shined, the river and tributaries and Sound sparkled bright blue, and Martha’s roses and gardens were in bloom. People had come to celebrate Roo’s photos and Althea’s sculpture, but Roo wasn’t here.

  “Yeah,” I said. “It doesn’t look as if she’s going to get here.”

  “I’m sorry,” Slater said. He put his arm around me and kind of shored me up, a good-friend thing to do. Was it crazy of me, under the circumstances, to notice that his touch felt electric? I leaned into his chest to keep the charge going.

  “Slater, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  We turned, and there was his mother. I recognized her from that day I saw them at the Big Y. Dressed in black pants, a white silk shirt, and broad straw hat, she was in a wheelchair being pushed by a young woman with intricate beaded braids.

  “Mom, this is Tilly McCabe. Tilly, this is my mother, Yvonne Jones, and my cousin, Arlene Franklin.”

  “It’s really good to meet you, Mrs. Jones. Hi, Arlene.”

  “You too, Tilly. I’ve heard a lot about you. You and my son have done a great job pulling this day together.”

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling a big smile on my face when she said that. “He’s pretty great to work with.”

  “If my mother says it’s good, that’s something,” Slater said. “She worked at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. So I’ll take it!”

  “Me too,” I said.

  Arlene and Mrs. Jones went through the herb garden, stopping at each of Althea’s sculptures, regarding them from every angle. Other people from town came, kids from school, my friends’ parents, and total strangers. I watched them looking at Althea’s bronze dancers, then move into the barn to stop in front of each of Roo’s photos, and my feelings began to change.

  I felt proud. My sister’s photos were on display, and now I was glad crowds had arrived. I watched people stand in front of each of her pictures, taking in the beauty she’d seen and captured. It hit me once again how she had photographed local scenes but made them look so radiant, so important, they seemed to transcend the map. They were the whole world.

  Slater held my hand. We looked at Roo’s “Star Trails” photo. He put his arm around my waist.

  “This makes me want to go to the Hayden Planetarium together,” he said. “We can take a train from Old Saybrook, as soon as school gets out.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “To go to New York?”

  “Yeah. And for this school year to be over. It’s been the worst ever.” But I caught myself and gave him a smile. “Well, most of it.”

  He kissed me so lightly on the lips, I felt weak in the knees. I grabbed his elbows. I was filled with emotions, a whole new bunch of dragons: excited, euphoric, tempestuous, enthrall
ed, feisty, pumped.

  Just then a weird noise sounded—rhythmic beeps that I’d heard before, when Roo was being taken from New London up to Boston, when the ambulance had gone into reverse.

  “What’s that?” I asked, breaking away.

  “Here she is,” he said, staring over my shoulder, and I turned to see an ambulance backing into the property.

  We tore out of the barn, past the herb garden to the gravel drive. Behind the ambulance, driving slowly, was my mother’s car. She was behind the wheel, and Newton was beside her.

  A crowd began to gather. Martha came toward me, Lucan bounding beside her. He went straight to the back of the ambulance, as if standing vigil. Newton walked around back just as the attendant swung the door open. It was dark inside the ambulance, but Martha pushed me closer so I could see. Dr. Gold was there. She waved to me.

  Hello, Tilly came the voice, but it wasn’t Dr. Gold’s.

  I scrambled up the bumper, crashing past Newton to get into the back, pushing past Dr. Gold to throw my arms around my sister.

  “Roo, you’re really here,” I said, my voice breaking.

  She lay flat on a gurney, held in place by red straps. My mother had brought real clothes to the hospital, so Roo was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, her favorite beige cashmere sweater draped around her shoulders. Her hair was less than an inch long, just growing in after the chip implant, and her blue eyes were as wide and staring as ever. But I thought she looked beautiful.

  I am, Tilly. I wouldn’t have missed it, Roo said, her voice coming through the computer as Newton finished adjusting the cables.

  And Dr. Gold had to pry my arms from around my sister so she and Newton could lift her down into her wheelchair, her first time back in Black Hall since the accident.

  It smelled like home. The fresh air of the exact spot where the Connecticut River poured into Long Island Sound, and I felt surrounded by the fragrance of tidal marshes, and new leaves, and beach roses, and mountain laurel. Getting air into my lungs took all my energy at first, because the sight of my family, and so many friends, literally took my breath away.

  Newton held tight to one hand, Tilly to the other. My mother kept watching me, as if she was afraid this wasn’t real, she’d open her eyes and realize she’d been dreaming. I felt the same way. Isabel ran over to hug me, sticking right by my side.

  Martha bent down, kissed my forehead. Lucan nuzzled my hand. I held it together, but that was one moment that overwhelmed me: to be at the house of the woman I could have killed, whose dog I had injured, filled me with the knowledge of how close I had come.

  “You’re here,” Martha said. “And we’re so glad.”

  So am I.

  “Would you like to see the exhibit? Your photos?” she asked.

  Althea’s sculptures, I said.

  Martha pushed my chair. Tilly and Newton stayed right with me. We went down a narrow path lined with boxwood. Herbs grew everywhere, in tidy beds. I smelled sage, thyme, lavender, and mint. It reminded me of the little sachets Martha had brought me, and I savored the moment, knowing that from now on, their scent would remind me of this day.

  The sky was bright blue, the sun warm on my arms. Friends from school circled around, wary or shy. If I could have, I would have called them over. I felt them assessing me, saw them whispering as if I weren’t there. My stomach twisted; I thought of Laura, Patsy, and Ellen, of what they had said about how hard it was to enter into an ordinary life again, how it was all they wanted.

  I wanted it, too, I realized, more than anything. I wanted the ease of jumping up, running around the yard and seeing everyone, gazing at Althea’s beautiful statues as long as I could.

  “This is one of my favorites,” Martha said, stopping in front of two girls holding hands and dancing.

  “I’ve always thought it was you and Althea,” Tilly said.

  “It is,” Martha said.

  Willoughby Moon and Luna, I said.

  “Your nicknames?” Tilly asked, sounding delighted, getting it immediately.

  “Yes,” Martha said.

  “It captures what sisters are like,” Newton said.

  “How would you describe that?” Martha asked. “From the sculpture, I mean.”

  He was quiet for a moment. Although I couldn’t turn to look at him, I could imagine the pensive expression in his eyes as he regarded the statue, formulating his thoughts.

  “The girls are together. They’re individuals, obviously—one is taller, the other wears glasses; the tall sister has shorter hair and is wearing pants; the shorter one is laughing, wearing a skirt. Different personalities, but so obviously together. They’re almost one.”

  “Yes, they are,” Martha said.

  “We are,” Tilly said, squeezing my hand.

  “Do you know, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you two together?” Martha asked, looking at us. “You’re two years apart, and you have very different talents, but oh, you are so close. You are so alike.”

  “Thank you,” Tilly said. “I always wanted to be like Roo.”

  Not now, I said. You wouldn’t want to be.

  “I would,” Tilly said, bending down, putting her head on my shoulder. “I always want to be like you.”

  Martha pushed me around the garden to see Althea’s other work: a young girl reading, another kneeling, with her face tilted up toward the sky.

  Is she looking at the stars? I asked.

  “She might be,” Martha said. “She might be making a wish.”

  I stared at that little girl for a long time. She was kneeling just as a real girl would, the backs of her thighs resting on her heels, feet splayed out. Her arms were straight down, palms on the ground supporting her. She wore glasses. I glanced at Martha.

  It’s you, I said.

  “Yep. She always said I inspired her,” Martha said.

  My sister inspires me, I said. Besides Newton, she’s the person I most like to photograph.

  “Seriously?” Tilly asked.

  Your face, I said. You’re just like the weather, changing every second. I love to watch your eyes, see the emotions there. I was horrible; I sometimes teased you just to see your face change. I would say something scary, then happy, because I loved to make you smile.

  And Tilly smiled then, which made me happy.

  “You’re Tilly’s inspiration, you know,” someone said. He was standing out of sight but came around front so I could see him: Slater Jones, the kid who had started Black Hall High right around the holidays last year.

  “Roo, this is Slater,” Tilly said.

  I remember. Hi, Slater.

  “I’m glad you came,” he said. “Especially because Tilly’s over the moon right now. She saw you pull up and, wow.”

  “Yeah,” Tilly said. “It’s true. I essentially had the best nervous breakdown anyone has ever had, when I saw you pull up.”

  “You’re still kind of having it, aren’t you?” Slater asked.

  “Yes, about one hundred percent.”

  She likes him, I thought. A lot. Tilly has a boyfriend. I looked at them, saw them smiling at each other. Tilly’s face looked as if it might crack with joy and love, and I have never regretted not having a camera more than in that very instant.

  Martha began pushing me toward the barn, and when we went inside, I felt choked up. My photos were hanging on the wall opposite the door. They had all been matted and framed, and they looked professional. It felt like an art gallery. My mother, Dr. Gold, and Isabel were walking slowly in front of them, studying each one. Many other people milled about, too. I heard them whispering, saw them turn when I entered.

  “It’s Roo!” Marlene said in a loud whisper.

  “She better keep away,” Tilly said under her breath.

  But Marlene came right over, dressed in a tight pink tank and cutoff shorts.

  “Oh, Roo,” she said, crouching down so our faces were close. “Thank God you’re alive.”

  Her eyes were filled with tears, and amazi
ngly, now mine were, too. Marlene and I had never been friends, never had anything in common. I was shocked to see her act this way.

  Thank you, I said.

  “We’ve all been hoping you’d get better, that you’ll come back to school.”

  I’m trying, I said.

  “Marlene collected a lot of donations in the cafeteria,” Isabel said.

  “She did,” Tilly said, and that shocked me, too. She had never been a fan of Marlene, and she had never been one to fake her feelings—but she sounded genuine, and grateful.

  I appreciate it.

  “We’ll keep the fund going,” Marlene said. “Me and Deb.”

  She hugged me hard, seeming to not want to let go. I smelled perfume, gum, and powder, and I felt her shoulders heaving with little sobs.

  She had broken the ice, and now other kids and teachers came to say hi. Nona and Emily hugged me, Teddy Messina and Isabel’s cousin Melanie said they liked my photos, and Mr. Gordon told me he was very proud of me and looked forward to helping me return as a senior as soon as I was ready. My heart raced at his words, and I felt excited by the possibility of going back to my school.

  “You okay?” Dr. Gold asked, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “It can be very tiring to feel so much emotion. Just say the word, and we’ll leave.”

  No way, I said.

  She laughed.

  Martha and Lucan went to give new arrivals tours of the sculpture garden. Dr. Gold backed off, and went to view the exhibition.

  Newton and I admired Tilly’s dragons. They were arrayed on a table next to an old plow, small round creatures painted primary colors, their spines and tails decorated with stars, hearts. Their expressions were a combination of ferocious, tender, frightened, and brave.

  After a few minutes, Newton balanced the laptop on the table and walked away with Slater, leaving Tilly and me alone.

  She crouched down next to me, looking into my face.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said.

  Me too.

  “I wasn’t sure we’d ever be together again.”

  We’re sisters, I said, and that really did say it all.

  She put her arm around my shoulders, touched her forehead to mine. Her eyelashes fluttered against mine. I tried to breathe steady, because I could tell she was really agitated.