The Language of Sisters

by Cathy Lamb

  “It’s hot,” I said. It wasn’t actually that hot outside. Rather cool.

  “Way too hot,” Ellie said.

  “I’m burning up,” Valerie said.

  “I’m boiling,” I said.

  “I feel like my skin is coming off,” Ellie said.

  We knew what to do.

  * * *

  There is a pool of water, a tiny bay, in the Willamette River near Ellie’s house. It’s pretty and private. We call it Pool Paradise for Fun Russians. Kozlovsky cousins come here to play. There’s a rope over a tree branch that sails you right on out to the water, and grass to sit on. My sisters and I drove down a quiet street, then another, seeing no one. We stripped off our clothes and dove into the Pool Paradise for Fun Russians. Yes, we skinny-dipped.

  We laughed, we pretended we were dolphins, we drank our wine.

  I flipped over on my back and thought about Nick. Ellie started singing a song and twirling. Valerie swam out a bit, then back, out a bit, then back. She likes exercise.

  When I was having a particularly vivid daydream about Nick, I heard, “Toni! Toni!” in my head.

  I stood up and didn’t see Valerie out in the river. I tried to stuff the immediate panic back inside of me so I could think. Ellie stopped twirling, too, and searched the river.

  “Where is she?” Ellie asked.

  “Valerie!” I shouted into the dark. Her name echoed back to me.

  “Valerie! Where are you?” Ellie yelled. “Valerie!”

  I turned when I heard her gasp. She was flailing in the water, out farther than she should have been, stuck in a current, going downstream fast.

  “Oh no,” Ellie moaned.

  For a second I had a vision of another river, another time, a different sister’s near drowning, then it was gone, and Ellie and I both raced out of the water, and sprinted down the river bank. Valerie was fighting the current, which gave us time to grab a long branch off the ground. At a curve in the river, we stuck it out to her. I would give this one shot. If she couldn’t grab it, I was going in to help her. I could tell she was tiring.

  “She doesn’t get this, I’m in,” Ellie said.

  “I’ll be with you.”

  Ellie anchored the base of the branch, and I grabbed the other end and stretched an arm out, my feet not touching the bottom.

  “Come on, Valerie! Swim to me!”

  “Valerie, three feet!” Ellie yelled.

  Valerie went under again and I went out farther, holding the ends of the branch. Her fingers brushed mine, then pulled away. I stuck my leg out, and that stopped her enough so she could reach back her hand, kick, and grab my hand. She went down and came up sputtering.

  Kick, Valerie, Kick.

  She started to kick, as did I.

  Pull, Ellie, pull!

  Ellie immediately pulled the branch in, I held on to Valerie’s hand, and we both kicked as if we were being chased by the KGB. Again, another time, another river, another near tragedy, popped into my mind, but I shoved it right back out to Moscow. I needed no more fear.

  Within a minute we were all standing in the river, near the bank, leaning over, gasping for breath, spitting out river water. I latched an arm around Valerie, Ellie on the other side, and we dragged her through the water to land.

  She was sputtering, coughing up water. “Glad you heard me.”

  “Yes,” Ellie said, panting. “You were loud enough to wake my brain cells.”

  “I got the message,” I said, hitting her on the back to get more water out, my body starting to shake.

  “I am so glad you grabbed that branch.” Valerie made some gross gagging sounds. “Can you imagine? I would have had to get out of the river, downstream, totally naked, and walk all the way back up.”

  “The newspapers would have loved it.” I gave her one more whack. She gagged and spit more river water out. “Headline: Prosecutor found jiggling as she jogged naked.”

  “Naked prosecutor walking by the river at midnight,” Ellie said, trying not to cry.

  Sometimes we use droll humor to get by disasters that make our brains shake with fright in our family. It’s how we cope.

  “I want to hug both of you,” Valerie said, still struggling for breath from her exertions but also from what almost happened. “But I don’t want to hug naked sisters.”

  “Me either. Boob to boob is not my thing.” I put my trembling arm around her shoulders.

  “I do not want you pressed up against me, Valerie,” Ellie said, “but I’m thinking of hugging you in my head.”

  “Glad you’re alive,” I said. I heaved another breath, then bent over and got rid of the Willamette River and a whole bunch of fear.

  “Me too,” Ellie said. She lost her cookies, too, followed by Valerie. It was rather disgusting, we agreed.

  We scrambled up the bank.

  “Thanks, sisters.”

  “You’re welcome,” Ellie and I said.

  We headed back to Pool Paradise for Fun Russians. We hugged the edge of the river, ducked down when a car went by on the street above, skittered behind trees when we heard voices. At one point we started to laugh and had to stop and cross our legs so our bladders wouldn’t betray us.

  Now, it would have made sense for us to call it a night, get dressed, and go home. We Kozlovsky sisters are not known for making sense.

  “I have to jump in the river, one more time, to get rid of the fear I now have,” Valerie said. “If I don’t get back in now, I won’t again.”

  I grabbed the rope. “Same here.” I gave a Tarzan cry and plunged in, followed by Valerie and Ellie.

  It was insane to get back in the river, but Valerie was right. We would never return to this spot if we didn’t have fun.

  “Tarzanna!” I cried out, on my second jump.

  “Tarzanna!” Ellie and Valerie cried, on their second jump.

  Then we stopped crying “Tarzanna” and simply cried.

  “That was so scary,” Ellie said.

  “Thank you again and I love you, sisters,” Valerie said. “More than Mama’s Russian tea cakes.”

  * * *

  That night I had to spend an hour in my bathtub, trying to chase away the near drowning. Valerie’s is fine, I told myself, as I rocked back and forth in the hot water, lights off, candles lit, trying to control the images that kept crawling through my mind. It didn’t happen. Don’t dwell in the fear. Move forward. I ate popcorn. Then a donut. I chased it down with sweet tart snakes.

  She’s fine.

  * * *

  Nick brought me a bouquet of cotton candy pink tulips.

  There is something earthly sexy about a man who looks like Nick, broad, a few scars, a hard jaw, eyes that don’t give much away, holding tulips in his hand.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He held up a bag. “I bought Chinese. Have dinner with me?”

  I love Chinese food. “Yes.”

  “Here?”

  “No.”

  His eyes hide much of what he’s thinking, but I caught it. Nick wants me to invite him over. He wants to hang out in my tugboat and on my deck. He wants to tilt his head up to the sky and marvel at Anonymous with me. He wants to say hello to Mr. and Mrs. Quackenbusch, and to catch a glimpse of the Sergeant Otts as they swim on by, their fur shining.

  He wants to eat dinner in my bed, as we eat in his sometimes. He wants to go up to the captain’s wheelhouse and sit on my bench with the red pillows made from fabric from all over the world and have a view of the stars.

  I know this is what he wants, but I can’t have a man in my tugboat. I can’t have a man in my home. I had a man in my home, our home, he’s not there anymore, and I can’t have a new one there yet. It’s wrong.

  It is.

  Isn’t it?

  “Come on down, then, babe.” He linked an arm around my waist, pulled me to him, and kissed me on the lips. I melted right on in because he is like chocolate. Delicious. He is my guilty chocolate.

  I knew we wou
ldn’t have Chinese food for about an hour, and I was right.

  Nick has a huge tub. It fits two people and looks straight out on the river.

  * * *

  “On one hand, I think I know you, Toni. You’re brainy smart.”

  I snuggled into Nick in his bed and ate another pot sticker. I love pot stickers. “Thanks, Nick.”

  “You’re so quick on everything. You’re a gifted reporter. The awards you’ve won are well deserved. You’re a deep person, too. I can talk to you as I have talked to no one else in my life. I like being with you. You’re funny. I’d call it sarcastic funny. You see things in a different way. I respect you. I even respect your love of raw cookie dough.”

  I laughed, couldn’t help it.

  “And I like the way you choose to live on a tugboat and how you’ve named all the animals, like Dixie, your blue heron. I know you love your family, though they’re complicated, and I love how you watch out for Daisy and how you don’t judge Lindy. You’re sexy as hell and gorgeous, too.”

  “Ah. Glad to be that.” I reached for another pot sticker.

  “But you’re a mystery, too. I know you’re thinking all the time, and you don’t share everything. In fact, I don’t think you share much. There’s a lot I don’t know. I’ve asked you about your life in Russia as a kid, and you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve asked about your brother, and you don’t want to talk much about him, either. I know you don’t want to talk about Marty, even though he’s between us.”

  “No, he’s not between us.”

  “He is.”

  I put my pot sticker down, back in the Chinese food box. I didn’t know what to say to that, but I knew I didn’t want to be naked, in bed, with a pot sticker, next to Nick, talking about Marty.

  “I have to go.” I got up out of bed.

  “Please don’t. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

  “If you know I don’t want to talk about certain subjects, Nick, why do you bring them up?”

  “Because I want to know you. I want you to trust me. I want you to talk to me. I want to work things out between us. Why are you running away like this? Why can’t we talk this out?”

  “There’s nothing to talk out. I told you what I wanted from this relationship already. You agreed to it. I had a long day, tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

  “We both have long days, Toni. Stay, okay? You’re not ready to open up and discuss any of this, it’s fine. I’ll wait.”

  “You don’t need to wait. I don’t want to talk about it at all. Now or later.”

  I headed for the hallway, where my clothes had come off in wild, lusty abandon, and put them on. I was now tired, frustrated, and felt invaded and blindsided.

  I had wanted to hang out with Nick and eat pot stickers before I went back to my tugboat, but now he’d ruined it. He pulled on his jeans. He was ticked, I could tell. I was ticked that he was ticked.

  “Don’t walk me home, Nick.”

  He walked out his front door, and he waited until I was in my tugboat.

  I shut the door and did not say good-bye.

  * * *

  I drove to work still mad at Nick for pushing me. I had been honest with him from the start in terms of what I wanted and didn’t want in our relationship.

  About a week after I was on all fours trying to find my underwear and bra in the middle of the night in Nick’s family room after crying during almost-sex, we talked.

  It had been awkward, at least for me, after that night. I avoided Nick. He knew I was avoiding him. He gave me a week to be alone, then he said hello and asked if we could talk.

  We were in front of my tugboat and the sun was going down. I decided on blunt honesty. “I’m so embarrassed and I don’t know what to say to you or how to say it or what to do from here.”

  “I know what to say,” Nick said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have moved so fast.”

  “You didn’t.” It was true. He hadn’t. I wanted that man badly.

  “I did. And the whole night ended up being painful for you, and I feel awful about that.”

  “Please don’t. Nick, I’m not together here. My head is not ... functioning like a normal person’s. You’re hanging out with a woman who’s half-cocked, easily confused, and running along the edges of crazy. I’m also moody and irrational. I want to warn you away from myself.”

  He smiled, so sweet. “I don’t find you half-cocked, confused, crazy, moody, or irrational at all. There’s no need for a warning. Let’s back this up, Toni, okay? Slow things down.”

  I nodded. He was charming. He was understanding. We went back to chatting. He was friendly. He was kind. And soon I was right back where I started with him, like he was the flame and I was a dizzy, passion driven, out-of-control, moody, and irrational moth.

  I had dinner with Nick on his houseboat one night and I pulled him toward me and kissed him. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t resist him. The kiss was a gush of lust. A rush of rampant desire. My shirt went flying and my bra after that. I had his shirt unbuttoned and opened, my hands running up ... and I froze. I pulled away, my hands pushing on his chest, breathing way too embarrassingly hard.

  “Nick, stop, I’m sorry, I have to talk to you.”

  “Now?” He was breathing hard, too. I thought it was sexy.

  “Yes. No. Yes, yes. Now.”

  “Damn. Okay.” He took a deep breath, we disentangled, and he stepped back a few inches, though he had one hand on the counter to the left, one to the right, and I was between them.

  “I have to tell you something. You might not like it. You might like it. But I have to say it and then you can decide what you want to do. Hang on, I’m going to put my shirt on when I say this. Where is it? Never mind.” I shook my head. I could do this half-dressed.

  “What is it?” His chest was heaving. He looked adorable, all riled up and blond, but I had to say what I had to say so he could choose to have me leave.

  “I don’t want a relationship with you.”

  His head pulled back as if I’d swiped him, and his eyes narrowed.

  “I mean.” My hands fluttered. “I don’t want a relationship with anyone. I don’t want you to think that if we sleep together that we’re ... together.”

  I could tell that I’d hurt his feelings. It was a flash in those light blue eyes. A few rapid blinks. A hardening jaw.

  “I can’t do it, Nick. I don’t have the confidence to be with you. I don’t have the strength for any turmoil or problems that relationships always have. I would not be a fun girlfriend, anyhow. Not that I’m presuming that you want me as a girlfriend.”

  “I do.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t do it. I can’t. I only want ...” I waved a hand. “This.”

  “You want to make love.”

  “No. I want sex.”

  “Then we have a problem.” He pulled back and crossed his arms. His muscles were so grippable. “Because I don’t want just sex, I want to make love.”

  “Well. You can make love, I’ll have sex.”

  “I would prefer we were both making love.”

  “Nick—”

  “What?”

  “You’re already making this hard. This is exactly what I don’t want, stress and problems, emotions, and that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I want easy. I want uncomplicated. I want a reprieve from life.” I tried to find my bra. “I’m leaving. This was a bad idea.” My bra had landed on Nick’s toaster. He stepped in front of me. Man, he was quick.

  “Toni.” He tipped my head up with one warm, gentle hand.

  “I don’t want to talk about this.” I was going to cry. Dang. “I want to go.”

  “You’re free to go, but I’d like to talk.”

  I blinked, and the tears fell down my cheeks.

  “I’m sorry, babe. I don’t ever want to make you cry.”

  “It’s not you. I’m a half-cocked crazy lady. Don’t call me
babe.”

  “Listen, Toni. You told me what you wanted. You want to have sex. You don’t want to be my girlfriend or anything else. I heard you. I understand. And I’m telling you what I want. I want a relationship. I want you. I want us. I want to make love. If you want a relationship in the future, I’m here.”

  “But then it isn’t fair.”

  “Fair?”

  “You want something I don’t.”

  “I’ll risk it.” He kissed me gently. “You’re worth it, babe, so I’ll go for what you’re offering.”

  “Only sex. Nothing more.”

  “I can’t help it if I feel more, Toni, but I won’t crowd you, I won’t push you, I’ll respect where you are now.”

  I cried. The tears ran, he kissed them, but then I met his kisses with my own, and that gush and rush came back like a firestorm, and I went for his belt as he yanked my skirt down.

  We had sex/made love, depending on whose perspective, that night.

  Nick was magic in bed.

  It was like being sex transported. Orgasmic fantasy land.

  I had to make sure I didn’t scream, or groan too loud, or moan like a maniac. Sounds carry over the water, and I knew the river would not hide my noises for me.

  I did not spend the night.

  When I flipped the covers off to leave, he said, “Please stay, Toni.”

  “No. That I cannot do.”

  He linked an arm around my waist and pulled me back down to him. “What if I promise not to speak at all? It’ll be a sleepover. I’ll make popcorn.”

  “No, no sleepovers.” I started feeling emotional and my voice cracked.

  I heard the silence between us, then Nick said, “Okay, babe.”

  I got up and dressed, and so did he.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m walking you to your door.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  “It’s late. And yes, I need to.”

  So he did.

  He always does. As if something could happen to me. I have to admit that I like it.

  Even after sleeping with Nick Sanchez for the last almost four months, I still find him intimidating. A little scary.

  Hard to handle.

  Scratch that, a man like Nick could never be “handled.”

  But he’s so hot, and he’s kind and protective, and I look at him and lust, and when we’re naked I lose my mind, which is what I want to do—lose my mind and forget everything that has happened, and, truthfully, I simply can’t stay away from him, head case that I am.