Sister Dear

by Laura McNeill

  Emma raised her voice. “Caroline, answer me!”

  A second later, her niece jerked the door open three inches. Music blared at Emma’s face, pushing her back. Startled, Emma gripped the door frame and caught her balance.

  Caroline was a beautiful girl, dark hair and long eyelashes—but when angered, her face vacillated somewhere between fury and pain. Her creamy skin was pale and blotchy, eyes red-rimmed. She’d showered and changed, traded her school uniform for shorts and a faded Ramones T-shirt that smelled of baby powder.

  Body prickling with concern for her niece, Emma motioned for her to turn off the song.

  After a beat, Caroline pursed her lips and pressed the volume on her phone. When the room was silent, she twisted an earring, unable to meet her aunt’s gaze.

  “I know you’re upset,” Emma said, keeping her voice calm. She reached out, pushed the door open farther, and tucked a strand of loose hair behind one of Caroline’s ears. “But we need to talk about your mom, and you might as well eat while we’re doing it.”

  There was a long pause before Caroline answered. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Honey.” Emma sighed. She knew what was best for Caroline. She’d raised her since she wore smocked dresses and matching hair bows. “You have to eat. We’ve talked about this.” Emma wouldn’t allow Caroline to turn into one of those anorexic girls who ate only lettuce and thought skin and bones looked beautiful.

  “I can’t. I’ll be sick,” Caroline protested, crinkling her forehead and punctuating the last two words with emphasis.

  Emma swallowed back another reproach. She would jot it down in Caroline’s food diary, the one she began when her niece hit puberty. Though Caroline didn’t know it, Emma kept track of everything. What she ate, her moods, her menstrual cycles. There was nothing that escaped her. It was for Caroline’s own good.

  “And I’ve got homework.” Caroline gestured to the large stack of books on her bed.

  After a beat, Emma nodded. It did look like a lot of homework, and Caroline had eaten breakfast. Skipping one meal was okay. She would allow it.

  Caroline murmured a “thank you” as Emma backed away and shut the door. The lock clicked into place. Seconds later, music started playing, blaring from her speakers. Emma stood still, one hand pressed on the wooden edge of the door frame, as if it were a connection and not a barrier to her niece. Emma would figure out another way of coaxing her out tomorrow.

  For now, Caroline’s unhappiness was apparently going to include a tribute to Druery, a band out of Athens, Georgia, that sounded like a millennial version of The Doors. The homework excuse was doubtful. Caroline was a good student and had likely finished any assignments at school.

  When the song started over, seemingly louder, Emma gripped the door frame and pressed her ear to the center of the smooth polished wood, where a peephole might be, imagining she heard her crying. Emma thought about her niece staring at the wall. Rocking on the bed with her arms wrapped around her knees.

  Emma stilled the breath in her lungs, almost willing her own heartbeat to stop. She strained to listen, but there was no sound, other than the lyrics.

  The world, in all its bitterness, sighs. It’s the end of everything we tried to hide. You’d rather run; I’d rather die.

  Emma hugged her arms tight to her chest, squeezing her rib cage, her fingers pinching her own skin. She hoped it would leave a mark. A reminder of how much she loved Caroline. How much she had sacrificed for the girl.

  They’d been through hell and back with Allie’s trial. She could live through a few days of this—both of them could. If it got much worse, she’d talk to Caroline’s school counselors or an adolescent psychiatrist.

  It was a fact: there wasn’t any good time to reacquaint with a mother who’d been gone for a decade. No feel-better poem or Hallmark card saying. There wasn’t any advice that would make a bit of difference.

  Caroline needed stability. The sort of stability only Emma could provide.

  In the kitchen, Emma uncorked and poured a Merlot-Syrah blend that boasted hints of cherry and chocolate on the tongue. Then, as she’d done more than a hundred times before, she logged on to the Internet and typed the URL she knew by heart and stared at the screen.

  Emma took a long sip of the wine, allowing the velvety liquid to slide down her throat. She swallowed and examined the screen. Even in her mug shot, Allie was beautiful. Sea-glass eyes staring serene and cool at the camera. Sleek blonde hair grazing the tan collar of her prison-issued uniform. A face that belonged in a Rembrandt painting.

  The exterior existed for everyone to examine, like taking turns with a science lab microscope. Allie was like a drop of blood between two slides. Something to be coded, checked, and recorded. Anyone could do the research, find the Lee Arrendale State Prison home page, and enter her name or inmate number. Allie’s color photo would appear, along with her height, weight, birth date, information about her incarceration, and current sentence.

  Emma scanned the details she knew by heart. Nothing had changed, except the release date had been verified. Added. And made official.

  Allie was home. Allie, who used to be perfect in every way. Allie, the A student. Allie, the great mother. The favorite daughter.

  But in the ten years Allie had been behind bars, Emma had become the good daughter, the one everyone counted on and respected for her sacrifices. She’d taken care of Caroline as if she were her own. She’d worked hard, done everything she was supposed to. She was now the shining star, the example to follow.

  And Emma wasn’t about to let that change.

  No one—not Allie, not her parents, not the people in Brunswick—would ever make her feel inadequate again.

  March 2006

  Allie and Ben were lying in the backyard hammock, heads on opposite ends, swaying to make any breeze in the still, Georgia afternoon. For a Saturday in late March, the unseasonably warm weather, above eighty degrees, had drawn everyone in Brunswick outside to enjoy the weekend. Allie’s small black lab, Molly, still just a puppy, with her shiny coat, dark eyes, and large paws she’d grow into, lay under the knotted ropes, dozing and shaded from the sun while Emma flipped through the latest issues of Vogue and Cosmo.

  “Your MCAT scores are stellar. You’re going to get in,” Ben said to Allie. He waved a hand as if to dismiss her question. “We could pack a lunch and go to Driftwood Beach. Forget about medical school, for a few hours at least.”

  Allie smiled. “Thanks. Wish you were on the admissions committee.”

  “What are you worried about?” Emma asked, raising her head an inch to look at her sister. She propped herself up in the chaise lounge on one elbow, grabbed the bottle of sunscreen, and squeezed a creamy dollop onto her open palm. As she rubbed it into her skin, warmed by the sun, the lotion scented the air with coconut. “You just mailed off the applications yesterday.”

  “I know.” Allie wrinkled her nose. “Even applying this early, replies can take a year. I might get a call in September for an interview to join next year’s class.”

  Emma finished coating her skin with sunscreen and dropped back into the lounge chair. She stared up at the canopy of leaves, tracing the shelter of thick branches and gnarled trunk. Why couldn’t her sister just be normal? Couldn’t she relax for one day?

  “What are the numbers for a first-year med school class at Emory?” Ben asked.

  “Five thousand students apply, more or less.” Allie paused. “They interview seven hundred, give or take. From there, they pick one hundred and forty, half of them women. Not exactly a slam dunk.”

  “If anyone can do it twice, you can,” Ben argued. “Besides, you’ve got the single mom thing going. You’re twenty-six years old, you’re smart, you’re a hard worker.”

  Emma twisted her lips in frustration. Did her sister have to have validation all of the time?

  “I was twenty when I applied the first time.” Allie lowered her voice. “A lot of things have changed since then. More competition—�
��

  “They accepted you before.” Ben brushed away her excuse with a wave of his hand.

  “Even if you don’t get in,” Emma interrupted, “Mom can keep Caroline and you can still work at Dad’s office.” She huffed a sigh, then went back to flipping through the magazine, smoothing down the shiny pages. She examined the lithe models, imagining how one of the gauzy dresses and strappy sandals might look against her skin and thinking it would surely attract some attention at one of the parties on St. Simons.

  From the corner of her eye, Emma could see Allie frown and exchange a quick look with Ben. Her sister was such a goody-goody. Such a worrier and, what was worse, upholder of a strict moral compass—a girl who expected everyone else to live by the same impossibly high standards.

  And her sister, of course, was too smart to stay in Brunswick. She would get out of this town and would leave everything, including Emma, behind.

  A rustling sounded near the shrubs, interrupted the resentment bubbling up in her chest. Emma sat up and ran a hand through her hair as Morgan Hicks stepped between the azaleas, carrying an open bottle of wine. Another girl, a freckled, strawberry blonde, and two guys trailed behind, each making their way through the narrow opening in the landscaping.

  “Um, how about using the front door?” Emma asked under her breath.

  Allie sat up. “Aw, Em. It’s okay, right?”

  Morgan kissed Allie’s cheek, said hello to Ben, then slid a glance at Emma. “Sorry, we’ll call next time.” She winked at one of the guys, who raised a six-pack of beer in response.

  “It’s fine.” Emma shrugged and heaved up into a sitting position, wiggling her legs so that her feet dangled close to the ground.

  “This is Kira.” Morgan slung an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Jack is her boyfriend, this is Alec, and . . .” Her voice slurred and trailed off. She paused, then snapped her fingers. “Chase!” she exclaimed.

  “When’d she meet them, five minutes ago?” Emma whispered under her breath. Morgan did spend her time shopping and dating Atlanta’s most eligible bachelors. Her family made tons of money. She never could decide whether to loathe Morgan or emulate everything she did. Morgan blew hot and cold with Allie as well. She was occasionally overtly cruel to her sister, a trait her sister refused to acknowledge, but one Emma found slightly amusing, especially when Allie was on her last nerve.

  “Please be nice?” Allie leaned over to nudge her sister. “Morgan likes you.” She gave Emma’s hand a quick squeeze.

  Morgan clapped to get everyone’s attention. “So, Alec’s mom and dad have a place on St. Simons,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “They’ve bought a new yacht and are docking it this morning.”

  Emma pressed her lips tight as Morgan continued her story. There was always a story or drama flaunting someone’s wealth. Allie and Emma’s own father had money, but not that kind.

  “So we decided to avoid the commotion and drama and swing through town to see you first.” Morgan struck a pose, hip out, a grin on her red lips, as if she’d just announced an unexpected space shuttle landing in the waves off Sea Island.

  “Great,” Allie exclaimed, nodding. “I’m so glad. Mom and Dad are out at the movies with Caroline. Ben, can you grab some extra chairs? Check the back porch.”

  Ben unfolded himself from the hammock and headed for the garage.

  Morgan plopped down in a chair and made a wry face. “I haven’t seen you in forever!” she exclaimed to Allie, then turned back to the group and smoothed a stray hair from her face. “So, I should make the formal introductions. Kira and Alec are attorneys at my firm. Jack’s at the DA’s office in Atlanta,” Morgan said with a sly smile. “And my friend, Allie, is going to be a doctor.” She raised her cup in a tipsy salute.

  Chase twisted off the cap of a beer bottle. “Just finished my MBA.” He turned to Allie as Ben returned with folding chairs. “So, med school, eh?”

  “Hopefully.” Allie suppressed a grin.

  Jack tapped his chin, finished off his beer, and pointed at Ben. “What about you? What’s your claim to fame?”

  Ben hesitated, glancing at the bottle in Jack’s hand. “Political advisor.”

  Jack sputtered, then laughed. “No way, man. Really?”

  “Really.” Ben sat on the hammock next to Allie and began rubbing her arm. He winked over at her. “If Sonny Perdue wins his second term as governor, there’s a good chance I’ll be tapped to join his staff.”

  Allie pulled him close and kissed him. “It’s going to be great. And Perdue’s going to win.”

  Emma pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. If Ben wasn’t so darn devoted to her sister, she would have made a move a long time ago. After all, Ben was hot, in a boy-next-door sort of way. But he was different. He had strict ethics, like Allie. He was a straight shooter. And had been positively smitten with Allie since they were little.

  Sighing, Emma tried to focus on the conversation around her.

  “So, a couple of lawyers, an MBA, one doctor,” Jack was saying, ticking off the careers on his fingers. “That’s a pretty good showing.” He paused and swung around to look at Emma, who jumped. “All right, young lady!” Jack stood up and lunged suddenly, pointing in her direction as if he were thrusting a sword at an opponent.

  Emma reddened and jerked back, almost falling off her seat. Everyone except Ben and Allie let out a giggle.

  After stalking back and forth, rubbing his chin, Jack stopped. “You’re a model?” He winked and gave her a long look. “Sure pretty enough to be one.”

  Emma softened a bit but rolled her eyes for effect anyway.

  Jack tipped his head and pretended to adjust his glasses. “A psychologist? Psychiatrist?”

  “She’s twenty-one, Jack, not thirty-five,” Allie interjected.

  Emma’s stomach twisted, and her skin prickled hot. Stop. Stop. Stop. She wanted to clap her hand over this guy’s mouth. She hated Allie for not telling them to leave right then. Goose bumps rose on her skin. Inside, her sister was probably enjoying it.

  “Come on, this is fun,” Jack retorted. He unscrewed another beer bottle and took a long swallow. “How about a pilot? That’s it. An airline pilot.” Jack wavered, waiting for applause or confirmation. “Right?”

  “Don’t,” Ben said, shooting Jack a warning look. “Quit, man. It’s not a game.”

  Emma sent Jack an icy glare. “Just a lowly office manager at a vet office. Guess you crashed and burned on that one, smart guy.”

  NINE

  CAROLINE

  2016

  Like walking a tightrope on roller skates, everything in Caroline’s life felt off-kilter. At any second, she’d swing to one side, lose her balance, and splat! on the pavement.

  Maybe that would be better, because in the past forty-eight hours, she’d spiraled out of control. Lost all sense of bravery, shut herself up in the house, and managed to lie to everyone she knew.

  Caroline lay back on the bed, arms stretched over her head. She stared at the ceiling, connecting specks of dust and dimples in the paint. Trying to make sense of what wasn’t making any sense. She was usually logical. And thoughtful. And a good friend.

  But when Maddie tried to drag her to the mall, Caroline made up an excuse about doing a favor for her aunt. When her grandparents called and asked her to dinner, suggesting her favorite she-crab soup, she invented a movie get-together with Emma. When her aunt suggested a drive to Jekyll Island to check out the Sea Turtle Center, which she usually loved, Caroline feigned a headache. She’d even refused an afternoon Starbucks run with Jake.

  She’d stayed in her room, window cracked, listening to the rain, the warm air thick and sweet with earthy foliage from the salt marshes. All because she couldn’t find the right words. The right time. A proper, reasonable explanation.

  Because nothing said “awesome” like your mother getting out of prison.

  Interlacing her fingers, Caroline covered her eyes, pressing her thumbs tight into her temples.

 
Sure, everybody—all of her friends—had awful stuff happen. Maddie’s mom was addicted to sleeping pills and painkillers. Another one of her friends had a dad who blew his family’s fortune at the dog tracks. The bank foreclosed on their McMansion. They took the cars, her mom’s jewelry, even the beds. Jake’s dad was an alcoholic and hit him. There were times, according to Jake, his dad would get so wasted he wouldn’t remember smashing plates or breaking the TV. One time he ran the family car into a tree.

  Caroline decided she’d rather have any one of those problems. Any day. In fact, she’d take all of it—combined—over a mother who’d spent the last ten years as an inmate. A parent convicted of killing someone.

  She pulled her sleeves past her fingertips and wiped at her damp cheeks.

  There would be no tender reunion.

  The best she could, she would stay away.

  Ignore her. And be invisible.

  There was a knock on her bedroom door. Firm. Insistent.

  “Caro?” Emma’s voice floated through the wooden barrier. “You okay? Can I come in?”

  Caroline took a deep breath and adjusted the messy ponytail on top of her head. “Sure.”

  Her aunt cracked the door, wide enough that Caroline could see half of her face. Her aunt was her mirror image. The same chocolate-brown eyes. The same shiny dark hair. “Hey there, sweetheart. Feeling better?”

  “Sure. Good enough to do my shift at the nursing home.”

  The door opened a few more inches.

  “You’re positive?” Emma scanned her face. “Want to talk about anything?”

  “No, it’s okay.” Caroline glanced at the clock, then pushed herself up into a seated position, crossing her legs on the bed.

  “If you change your mind . . .” There was a pause, and Emma tried to smile.

  “Thanks.” Caroline shifted uncomfortably. She knew her aunt was making every effort to help, and she loved her for it. She would do better tomorrow, she promised herself.

  Emma cleared her throat. “And I know you have to go soon, but I brought you a little something.” Her aunt held a small object from behind her back. She stepped forward and placed a gray velvet jewelry box on Caroline’s bed.