Names My Sisters Call Me

by Megan Crane

  Cargo pants, a tank top, a sweatshirt, and I was ready to go. I grabbed my iPod and set out.

  I wandered down to the water and headed aimlessly along the piers. I could see a big bridge stretching across the bay. As it was not red, I felt very knowledgeable and identified it as the other bridge.

  My head was spinning a little bit. Make that a lot. I decided my choice of music wasn’t helping, and spun my iPod dial away from Neko Case singing about floods and toward my go-to Mood Enhancer: Vivaldi. Specifically, Vivaldi as interpreted by Yo-Yo Ma and his gorgeous baroque cello. I hit play, and let the smooth beauty of his mastery of our common instrument sweep me into its lush embrace.

  Eventually, I turned right into the downtown part of the city on Market, and followed along that road for ages. I walked and walked. There were tall buildings and busy shops. People, cars, the rush and clatter of the city all around me, and Vivaldi in my ears. After a long while, I saw the rainbow flags flying and figured I was in the Castro. Not long after that, I began to wind my way up into the hills, the cello urging me along, forcing my steps, around and around, until I found myself at the pinnacle.

  It had taken me almost four hours, but I had walked across the city. I was on Twin Peaks, and could look back at Market Street, which I’d followed almost the whole way in from the waterfront. My feet ached, but I felt a sort of exhilaration, too. I switched off my iPod and looked at the city spread out at my feet. To my right, the way I’d come. To my left, Alcatraz glittered in the bright water near the famous dark red bridge.

  Finally, I let myself wonder again if my sister was right. If my life was supposed to be bigger. Better.

  Because I knew where she was coming from, after all. That was what made her words echo so loudly in my head. Six years ago, I’d been sick unto death of classical music. Not the music itself—which would, I imagined, thrill me deep in my soul for the rest of my life, that was just how I was wired—but everything that went along with wanting a career in classical music. The neuroses, the fighting for position, the pettiness, the uncertainty.

  Matt Cheney had been like the antidote to all that. He alone could ward off all the boys I’d known, and the dreams they had, of seats on Big Five Orchestras, solo careers, recording contracts, and so on. Everyone I knew had the same fantasies. Matt alone could propose I do something completely different and, with a crook of his mouth, make the unknown seem so appealing.

  Six years ago, Matt Cheney had left for an entirely different world, and I’d been too afraid to go with him.

  I’d wanted to. That whole, hot summer I’d dreamed of the places we’d go, the music we’d make. Matt with his guitar and me with my cello. But when he’d announced that he and Raine were leaving, I’d balked.

  California, he’d said, as if we were already in the middle of a fight, while I was still caught up on the “leaving” part. Tonight.

  What? I’d dreamed about how we would dance at Norah’s wedding. The band had been playing a slow number inside at the reception, and I’d never danced with someone I loved before. I wanted, finally, for everyone to realize what was going on between us. That I didn’t have some schoolgirl’s crush on him. That this was real.

  But Matt hadn’t wanted to dance. He’d wanted to go to California.

  You heard me. He hadn’t looked at me; he’d looked across the grass of the country club lawn toward the trees that surrounded the lake. I’ve had enough of this place. I hate this town, and everything in it.

  I’d wanted to remind him that I was in this town, but I was terrified he’d already taken that into account. It had been as if I’d forgotten how to breathe.

  I don’t know what to say, I’d said instead.

  He’d looked up then, and had scarred me with that fierce glare of his.

  You said plenty right there, he’d retorted.

  And I’d never discovered what he meant by that, because I’d never had a chance to ask him. Because inside, the band stopped playing, and Raine’s slurred, drunken voice commanded the mike. We’d heard it even through the glass doors, shut tight to keep in the air-conditioning.

  Oh, no, I’d whispered, far more worried about Norah’s reaction in that moment than about Matt or what he’d said.

  I could talk to him later, I remembered telling myself.

  But there never was any later, I thought now, taking a deep breath and staring out at the city that could have been mine, if I’d been brave enough six years ago. Raine had staggered from her drunk, insulting speech to the gift table and after she’d splintered it, Matt had taken her home. He and I had exchanged only a few more sentences out in the parking lot, and by morning, the two of them were gone. I wouldn’t see them again until I rang their doorbell six years later.

  Who would I have been if I’d come with them? I wondered, letting the breeze caress my face, staring out across the sweep of hill and valley to the bay encircling the city like a hug. What would my life have turned out to be if I’d escaped the East Coast and come out here?

  I couldn’t imagine that other, lost life. The one in which Matt and I stayed together, and I’d thrown my loyalty in with Raine instead of Norah. Other questions followed: What if I’d never known my nephew? What if I’d stayed out of touch all this time? What if everything I’d ever known was inverted?

  Would I have stayed in love with Matt? If I had, I didn’t think I would have thrown myself into my playing the way I had when he left. And so I wasn’t sure I would have bumped up my skills the way I had, which meant I wouldn’t have found my seat on the Second Symphony.

  Which meant I wouldn’t have met Dennis, the violinist, who’d invited me to his sister’s party that night. The party where I’d looked up from stuffing my face with cheese to find a gray-eyed, latter-day Viking laughing at me from across the table. He’d offered me a cracker and changed everything.

  What would my life be like if I’d never met Lucas?

  If I hadn’t let Matt become the One Who Got Away?

  As if I expected the city to answer, I waited there at the summit of Twin Peaks for a long time.

  San Francisco was like a song to me. I felt its melody humming in my veins, coursing through my blood, getting stuck in my brain. I wanted nothing more than to keep on singing it, until I became it somehow, or it became me.

  I felt as if I should have started singing it six years ago.

  Heading back down was harder, for some reason, and not only because I’d stiffened up a little bit. I put on some Hem and let the folksy/country blend of their melodies transport me. I realized I was starving, so at the bottom of the hill I wandered until I found a coffeehouse in the Castro and snacked on a pastry and some strong, bitter coffee. Then I hailed a cab and collapsed in the backseat.

  I checked my voicemail on the ride back across the city. Three calls from Verena with demands for information. She hadn’t liked my cryptic text message: Yoga class w/ Raine and evil contortionist Bronwen. One call from Lucas at around noon, wondering what I’d decided to do with myself all day and telling me he was stuck with work people for dinner.

  I was feeling a little bit blue by the time the taxi pulled up in front of my hotel. I handed the driver some cash and then staggered toward the entrance, my legs protesting every step.

  I wasn’t prepared for the burst of activity when I stepped up to the door. A scrum of businessmen in severe suits burst through the glass doors, congratulating one another at top volume, so I had to either dive to the side or stand and be mowed down. I chose the former. This sort of thing happened, I knew, when I’d been lost in my own iPod bubble too long. The real world tended to feel like an implosion once I could hear it again. I was never prepared for how intrusive it felt with my earbuds out.

  I avoided tripping into a plant, skirted a selection of valets, and was preparing to make another run at the door when I stopped dead.

  Because Matt Cheney was standing on the other side of the pack of businessmen, those absurd eyes fixed on me, waiting for me to notice him.<
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  It turned out I wasn’t prepared for him, either.

  I swallowed, and it seemed as if doing so was more difficult than it should have been.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded, walking over to where he lounged against a pillar, no doubt giving the nearby attendants respiratory distress. “Where’s Raine?”

  “Sometimes,” he drawled, “I even go out on my own.”

  Since this was exactly what he’d said to me—in response to the same series of questions—on that May night when he’d appeared at my mother’s house to see me, thus starting off the entire heartbreaking chain of events six years ago, I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t clutch a little bit in my chest.

  I remembered that other night with perfect clarity. I remembered that Raine had been away somewhere, and I’d been cranky about that because it meant Matt wouldn’t come by as often. It had been raining that night, but still hot, a harbinger of the sweaty summer to come. I’d been wearing cutoff shorts and a green T-shirt. I remembered the exact shade of the T-shirt since I’d bought it precisely because its color reminded me of the way Matt’s eyes gleamed when he laughed. I remembered how the bricks in my mother’s front hall felt cool beneath my bare feet. I remembered that I’d been stringing my bow and so held it in my right hand, like a weapon.

  But more than that, I remembered Matt.

  I remembered how the water clung to him, coursing over his T-shirt and jeans. His hair stuck to his head, somehow making him brighter by contrast. It was as if he brought the night with him when I opened the door, the rain dancing against the hot street beyond, the crackle of thunder in the distance. He’d grinned at me, and it had made my spine tingle all along its length, from neck to rear.

  Want to take a walk? he’d dared me then.

  And look what had happened.

  I snapped back into the here and now.

  “Thanks for the flashback,” I said stiffly. “Is that why you came?”

  “Is that why you came?” he threw right back at me.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You left the bar the other night without even saying good-bye. Raine says you’re going back home tomorrow.” He raised his hands and then let them drop. “So that’s it? You wanted to rub your life in my face? You wanted to make sure I was still hurting?”

  I felt the scream I’d suppressed in the bar surge back toward my throat, and clamped it down with every bit of strength I possessed.

  “You were the one who left,” I hissed at him. “Remember?”

  “What I remember is how hard you didn’t try to find me,” Matt said bitterly. “You didn’t even call. Your appearance on my doorstep was great, Courtney, but it would have been a little bit more meaningful six years ago.”

  “I don’t understand this conversation.” I was completely confused, in fact. Was he trying to tell me I should have chased after him? Was that what he’d wanted? I sucked in a breath. “If you’d wanted me to follow you, you could have called me. I didn’t go anywhere. I was in the exact same place you left me. All you had to do was dial a number.”

  “And have your fiancé answer?” Matt’s mouth twisted. “No thanks.”

  “I grieved for you for years,” I threw at him. I felt as if I were yelling, but it came out a whisper. “How dare you stand here acting like it wasn’t enough somehow!”

  “Well, you seem to have gotten over me quickly enough,” Matt pointed to the ring on my finger. “It looks like everything turned out really well for you. Maybe you should thank me.”

  I willed myself not to cry. I’d cried over him for years. I never wanted to cry over him again.

  “I loved you more than I’ve ever loved anyone else in my life,” he told me then. My resolve not to shed any tears took another serious hit.

  “What am I supposed to say to that?” I asked him. “And what does it matter now?” The worst part was, I wasn’t even sure if I believed him.

  No, that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was, I wanted to believe him.

  “It matters, Courtney.”

  His attitude was beginning to make me mad. The casual observer might have missed the fact that he was the one who’d done the leaving, not me.

  “The only thing that has ever mattered to you is Raine,” I pointed out. “You chose her. So don’t tell me how much you loved me.”

  Matt made an angry sort of noise.

  “It’s not like that with Raine, and you know it. She’s my family.”

  “She’s my family,” I reminded him. “And you took her away from me.”

  “I didn’t take anything,” he retorted. “Raine made her own choices, just like you did.”

  He held my gaze for a timeless, angry breath, and then he broke away as if he couldn’t stand to be near me for one more moment. He walked off into the mist, like this were a movie and he was the hero.

  I stared after him for much longer than I should have.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning, Lucas and I jolted awake to the alarm and began the unpleasant process of packing to go home. I attempted to shove our clothes into bags that seemed to have shrunk over the long weekend, while Lucas tried to convince his clients that they didn’t need him to come in again before we headed back east.

  We were both unsuccessful.

  Lucas left for the office, and I continued packing. By the time I’d dragged our bags downstairs to the front desk and checked us out, I was feeling somewhat aggrieved. I shoved the claim ticket for our luggage into the pocket of my jeans and set out to find Raine for our final meeting.

  She’d told me to meet her by the fountain at Justin Herman Plaza, which had worried me slightly. What if I couldn’t find the correct fountain? What if I missed my last chance to really talk with my sister? What if that horrible yoga class was the sum total of our time together?

  I walked across the concrete plaza, making my way through the groups of people already clustered there. I looked around for a fountain, expecting something glorious and inspiring like the fountains along the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. All I saw was a huge structure that looked like cement tinker toys thrown haphazardly together. I’d walked by it before and assumed it was just more San Francisco public art.

  Of which there was plenty, in both human and other forms.

  Today, I noticed that there was also water in the gigantic structure, some of it cascading from a height. This, I would bet, probably qualified it as a fountain.

  I ventured closer, taking in the extreme urban look of the sculpture. If by urban I meant ugly. It looked like a jumble of upended pieces of other broken things, and made me think about earthquakes. In California, home of the earthquake. It would not have been my choice for the centerpiece of a high tourist area.

  I went over and sat on one of the wide concrete sides, near the water. I soaked in the cool breeze and the sun, and thought about sticking my feet in the water. I refrained, but only because I didn’t feel like wrestling my boots off my feet.

  I wasn’t sure I was ready to go home. I believed that this city was magical. That it sang to me. And it seemed to me that once you happened upon magical places you should stay there, happily ever after. I wasn’t sure why characters in the fantasy novels I read were forever battling to return to what they knew. They already knew it—what mystery could it hold? Maybe, if I stayed in San Francisco, I would discover who I was really meant to be.

  “There you are!” Raine sounded exasperated, as if I’d been hiding, right there in plain view of everyone who entered the plaza. I looked up at her.

  “Hi,” I said. I blinked. “Uh . . . were you painting something?”

  My sister was wearing paint-splattered white overalls and a bandana on her head. This outfit only made her look adorable, like she was some kind of house-painting mascot. She wrinkled her nose at me.

  “I’m experimenting with watercolor,” she said. “You can’t imagine how frustrating it can be to switch media. It can be super
rewarding, obviously, but there’s such a learning curve. I’m really having to trust the Universe.”

  “Yeah,” I said, trying hard to sound like I, too, routinely put my trust in the Universe.

  “Come on,” she said, holding out her hand as if I were still small. “Let’s get some coffee.”

  “It’s too bad Lucas had to work again,” Raine said as we sat on a bench outside the Ferry Building with our drinks. “I feel like I barely got to talk to him.”

  “This was a business trip for him.” I defended him automatically, and then wondered why I felt I needed to defend him at all. “I’m sure he wished he was on vacation, too.” I smiled at her. “We’ll have to come back when we can both spend more time out here.”

  Raine rolled her white cardboard cup between her palms. I watched her for a long moment, mesmerized, which felt comfortable. It was so familiar.

  “Our engagement party is next month,” I continued, looking away from her hands. “I was kind of hoping you’d come home for it.” My ring seemed to catch in the California sun then. I couldn’t tear myself away from it. “I know it’s a long way to come for a party but, I don’t know, I thought maybe we could look at it as a dress rehearsal.”

  “A dress rehearsal?” Raine sounded amused.

  “I’d rather not have a repeat of Norah’s wedding, if I can help it.” I felt myself flush a little bit. “Not that I’m saying it would happen that way, or anything.”

  “Norah and I have a lot of bad blood between us,” Raine said, as if mulling it over. “She has a jet black aura, Courtney. I’m not making that up.”

  “I really want to bury the hatchet,” I said. “No one’s saying we have to be the Partridge family. But I thought maybe you could do it for me. As, you know, a gift or something.”