The Sisters Chase

by Sarah Healy

  Mary smiled, and it felt as if ripples were moving through her body. “Her sister thinks you’re just okay.”

  They stayed on the boat all afternoon: Mary, Hannah, and Stefan, on their own buoyant, moveable world. As the sun started to sink toward another ocean, making a slow exit from its vast blue sky, Stefan turned to Mary, and whispered, “We better get going.” Mary could imagine the catering trucks lining the driveway and the florists unloading arrangements from their vans as Martina whisked around the house in her robe offering her particular brand of polite, precise German instruction to the various staff. Mary reached above her head and stretched, the sun having sapped her motivation. But Stefan straightened up, dutiful though reluctant. He pulled off his T-shirt, balled it up, and threw it toward the duffel bag that sat slumped on the deck. “Everyone will start getting there soon.”

  BY THE TIME MARY, STEFAN, AND HANNAH ARRIVED, the first wave of guests had been welcomed to Northton Avenue. Even among the privileged, the Kelly family seemed charmed. In a different era, Mary could imagine throngs of commoners lunging and grasping just to touch their hems in hopes of some transference of good fortune. Mary could hear the buzz of their laughter-spiked conversation rise through the air to mix with the music from the brass band that played from the gazebo. The sky was washed in a watercolor dusk, and Mary reached for Hannah’s hand as they made their way up over the thick carpet of grass. An atmosphere seemed to hover over the Kellys’ property like a pleasant hallucinatory haze. There, anything unlovely or troublesome seemed to cease to exist.

  “Is this a wedding?” asked Hannah, her voice quiet and unsure.

  Stefan laughed. “Not that I know of,” he said. And Mary understood his lingering smile.

  They walked past long buffet tables laden with food and surrounded by guests who feasted like unwitting peasants. Eyes brightened as they alighted on Stefan and hands covered overstuffed mouths. But Stefan simply nodded politely and kept moving toward the back of the yard and the rose garden, where the Kellys stood like reigning monarchs—Martina, the benevolent queen, and Patrick, the shrewd king. Teddy was there with Claire—all excellent posture and white smiles.

  Pair by pair, guests would make their way over to the Kellys. A hearty handshake would be exchanged, shoulders would be gripped, and cheeks would be kissed on each side. They had just finished such an exchange when Martina caught sight of her son. “Stefan, honey!” exclaimed Martina, waving him forth. “Come say hello to the Carlsons!”

  She saw Teddy meet his brother’s eye and subtly tap the face of his watch, his face reproachful. And Mary heard Stefan take a breath before he adopted a smile, rested his hand on Mary’s back, and led the three of them into the breach. Nice to see you. The pleasure’s mine. And when Mary was introduced, eyebrows flitted up in recognition. This was, after all, the girl they had heard about. She fit into the story of the Kellys so well: the girl on the doorstep, the handmaiden turned princess. Is Hannah your father’s daughter as well? Martina had once asked. And Mary just shook her head. No, she said. She’s not.

  Finally, after several introductions, Martina linked her arm through Mary’s. “I’m stealing the girls for a bit,” she said to Stefan, and she led Mary and Hannah off, leaving Stefan standing shoulder to shoulder with his father, watching them.

  And as they wove their way through the crowd—Martina clasping Mary clasping Hannah—they drew stares of envy and intrigue and every point on the continuum between. Mary saw Beth in her floral sheath and her French twist, standing with her mother, her eyes searching about for Stefan. And she felt a temporary pang of pity for the girl, who thought her backseat blow jobs and inner-circle status would be enough to keep Stefan. Theirs was a polite, tentative romance, one that ended before it really even began. Beth would never understand the part of him that Mary did, the part of him that would sail across an ocean to find her. The part of him that could fall to his knees and promise a girl that he would come back. The part of him that would follow Mary to the bathroom of a restaurant, hike up her skirt, and back her against the wall while his family waited for their crème brûlée.

  Martina put a wineglass in Mary’s hand and had the bar make a Shirley Temple for Hannah, who sucked it down until her lips were the artificial red of maraschino cherries. And laughter came like breath, unbidden and unconscious. And as they stopped in front of the gazebo, watching the black men in white shirts play golden instruments, Martina leaned her head toward Mary’s, her eyes still on the band. “I don’t know if Steffie ever told you, but my mother got Alzheimer’s when she was very, very young. I had to take care of her and my little brothers while my father worked. And we were not rich. My father was a teacher.” She reached for Mary’s hand and gave it a single squeeze. Mary waited for her to continue. “I know it’s been difficult,” Martina said, in her melodic Sound of Music voice. “Both raising your sister and having your job at the hotel. And I see what a hard worker you are. But . . .” She looked at Mary and smiled. “You’re not going to have to worry about that much longer. You’re going to be able to do anything you want.” Then Martina looked back at the band, and her head once again began to sway with the music.

  Then Mary felt a hand wrap around her waist from behind. “Hey you,” Stefan said, his breath near her ear. Martina let out a cluck of approval, and her hands came together in a single clap as she smiled, as she saw just how nicely Mary and Stefan fit together.

  MARY HAD HAD A FEW GLASSES OF WINE by the time Martina took to the gazebo, inching her way in front of the band, then clinking a salad fork against her goblet. “I just want to thank you all for coming,” started Martina, her accented English becoming more charming with drink. Patrick stood by her side, smiling and mute, but impressive all the same. “We love nothing more than to be surrounded by family and friends, and so you all do us such an honor by joining us for this every summer.” Martina clutched her heart and nodded at the faces she looked onto from her perch. “And because I always must lead us in a toast”—Martina raised her glass as her eyes searched the glowing dark—“this year I would like to honor our wonderful sons, Teddy and Stefan, who are making us so very proud.” Martina’s eyes found her sons, and Stefan nodded graciously toward his mother. “Cheers, my loves,” she said. And Mary felt her skin tingle; she felt the warmth of adoration as glasses were raised and the sound of goodwill rose through the sea of guests to honor the man her heart had claimed. And Mary pulled Hannah close to her, wanting her to feel it, too.

  “You know,” Mary said, leaning down so that only Hannah could hear, her voice like wind. “Someday I’m going to tell you everything, Bunny.”

  Hannah looked back at her sister, and Mary smiled, her eyes wild and twinkling things. “It’s such a good story,” Mary said, just as the crowd echoed a thunderous “Cheers!” and Mary stood and drained her glass.

  And after Stefan’s hand was shaken and his back patted, Mary linked her arm through his and held Hannah’s hand with her other, and the three of them whirled through the crowd under a ceiling of starlight. And perhaps it was the feeling of motion, of movement, that emboldened her, that dulled the dexterity with which she usually wove her tales, or perhaps it was the wine, but Mary’s stories came spilling from her mouth without thought of repercussion. Perhaps, for that one evening, Mary believed them. Oh! I love Paris, she said. I spent some time at the Sorbonne. And Yes, I met Princess Diana once with my father. Hannah squeezed her hand, a silent plea to stop, as Stefan gave her glances of amused confusion.

  And only when she heard Hannah’s gasp of recognition, the tiny intake of breath through her sister’s lips, did fantasy and reality fall apart as if cleaved by a blade. When Mary followed her sister’s eyes and saw through the shifting crowd the face of a ghost, her feet turned leaden, and all that lay in her wake seemed not distant but far too close. For one moment, they stared at each other, as the sea of bodies that had parted flowed together once again. “I think I need to go home. I don’t feel good,” said Mary, her eyes no
t moving from the spot where he had been, sensing his presence like scent. Because Mary had told enough tales to know the narrative of a fall, enough to know that on either side of an apex lay a steep slope down. That all someone would have to do was push.

  STEFAN TOLD ONLY HIS PARENTS that they were leaving before taking Mary to his car. “I had too much to drink,” she said, as he led her over the lawn, her steps unsteady.

  “Hannah Banana, how are you doing?” called Stefan, as Hannah walked behind them. Mary glanced back at her sister, and Hannah met her eyes, her face serious, intuiting that she should say nothing about who was there but not knowing why.

  “I’m okay,” Hannah finally answered, her dress dragging on the grass as she walked.

  “We’re gonna get your sister home, okay?”

  And Hannah nodded. “Okay.”

  Mary was silent as they drove, her head against the cool glass of the passenger’s window of Stefan’s car as it glided over Northton’s smooth black roads. And when they pulled up to the condo, Stefan got out without a word and began to walk quickly across the front of the car to Mary’s side. Mary turned back to Hannah, her chin on the seatback.

  Mary stared at her for a moment before speaking. Her face always softened when looking at Hannah. “Did you have fun tonight?” she asked.

  Hannah nodded. “I thought I saw someone,” she said. “I can’t remember his name.”

  “Shhhh,” she said, her voice like wind through grass. “It was no one, Bunny.” Then she turned back to the black windshield just as Stefan opened her door.

  “Thanks, Stef,” she said, taking his hand as he helped her out. “I think I just need to lie down. Hannah, can you get yourself ready for bed tonight?”

  Hannah nodded again.

  In her room, Mary got undressed, pulled on a thin white tank top, walked over to the bed, and pulled the phone cord from the jack in the wall with a tug. She climbed into bed, gathering the loose white covers up around her. Her teeth began to chatter, but not with cold.

  Hannah soon joined her, and so did Stefan later, bringing with him cushions from the couch. He arranged them on the floor next to Mary’s side of the bed and pulled off his dress shirt before lowering himself onto them. On her other side, Hannah laid limp with sleep. Mary kept her eyes closed, but Stefan reached up and stroked her arm until his movement slowed, then stopped. It was the first night that he had spent with the Chase girls. And when all was quiet around her, Mary opened her eyes and stared at the square patch of ceiling that was illuminated by the lights outside. “I’m sorry,” Mary said. Though spoken quietly, her words penetrated the room.

  She heard Stefan give a ragged intake of breath as he rolled to his side and repositioned himself. “It’s okay, Mare,” he mumbled. And Mary looked down at him, feeling an almost unbearable weight on her chest. “You just got a little looped.” Her stories, their sudden departure—Stefan blamed them on the very good gewürztraminer that Martina was serving. And Mary thought that perhaps it was all for the best, that the grace of the Kellys couldn’t change who she was. That our natures brought with them inevitability. That we were all blindly hurling toward our own like a boat barreling toward the falls.

  Throughout that long night, as Mary lay on her back with one hand reaching down toward Stefan, the other over Hannah, she felt the specific regret of a creature that had mistaken its opponent. And when sleep finally did overtake her, she dreamed of a long open wound in her leg. She dreamed of licking and licking and licking it clean.

  In the early hours of the morning, when her eyes opened with a jolt, she knew he was there. And Mary Chase lifted herself carefully out of bed and climbed over her sister. She left the bedroom quickly and took a blanket that she wrapped around her body like a cloak. Then she went down to the foyer and sat in the stairs, her leg bouncing as she waited for him. She stood before the bell rang, opening the door as soon as she sensed his presence, the hinges moving silently.

  “Hi, Tim,” she said.

  And his smile is one that she would never forget.

  Seventeen

  1983

  Tim Dackard stood before her, his eyes red-rimmed, his lips cracked. It appeared as though he had been up all night, if not for days. “I wish I could say you were a hard person to find.” His eyes were eager, wanting Mary to ask how, how he knew where she was. When she didn’t, he offered it. “My dad hired a detective after you left. To make sure you were really gone. I read his report.”

  Mary leaned against the door frame, the pristine white tile aligned perfectly beneath her feet, her skin visible through the loose weave of the blanket. “What are you here for?”

  Tim’s head fell back in a gaping but silent laugh, and Mary noticed the rash of pimples on his neck where his beard was coming in. When he looked at her again, she saw the delight he would take in this, in finally having power. “Are you serious?” he asked, with equal measures of hostility and amusement.

  Mary waited for his answer, her face impassive.

  With his arms crossed in front of him, Tim let out another scoffing laugh, then rolled his head to look around at the neighborhood. Squinting against the light, he let his eyes settle on the rustling leaves of one of the young oaks that stood in a neat curbside row. “It’s nice here,” he said, almost to himself. “Classy.” Then he turned back to Mary. “So where’s your sister?”

  A ferocity swelled inside Mary like a rush of blood to the head, but she answered Tim plainly. “Sleeping,” she said.

  “And your boyfriend?”

  Mary didn’t feign shock. Since he was here, of course he would know about Stefan. “He’s sleeping, too.”

  “Well, this will be cozy,” he said, as he went to step over the threshold.

  Mary moved her body in front of his. “You can’t come in,” she said.

  “I can, Mary,” he said quietly, all his wild, pulsing teenage anger radiating from him like something nuclear. Then from his back pocket he pulled out a Polaroid. She recognized it at once. Her face looking foreign and grotesque with feigned pleasure as Ron Dackard nuzzled her neck. “I absolutely can.”

  “Stefan knows I’ve seen other men, Tim,” she said, her voice emotionless.

  Tim’s eyes narrowed and she could see the eagerness of his lips, the wet anticipation of his threat. “Does he know you blackmailed them?” he asked. “Something tells me a family like the Kellys would frown on that sort of thing.”

  Mary shrugged, as if brushing away a mild concern. “It wouldn’t matter,” she said. “You wouldn’t be able to prove anything.”

  Tim leaned close until his lips were almost at hers. She could feel his stale breath, the warmth of it, when he said, “I wouldn’t have to.” Then he pushed past her and stepped into the foyer, looking around as he took it all in, as his eyes swept from ceiling to floor. “Nice carpet,” he said, letting out a single quiet laugh as he looked at the living room beyond.

  It was true, of course—any proximity to such scandal would be enough to sully her in the eyes of the Kellys. Mary felt her heart begin to pulse. “What do you want?”

  Tim smiled. “Not much, really,” he said. “A place to stay, to start.” Then he turned toward the hallway and began walking down it, tracing his fingertips down the white wall. “My parents kicked me out,” he explained, as Mary followed him. “Old Ron got tired of having me around.”

  “Do you have any money?” asked Mary, as they stepped into the kitchen.

  “I did,” he said, stiffening as he turned to face her. She noticed the red thread-thin lines of blood vessels rimming his nostrils. “But I ran out.”

  “Do your parents know you came here?”

  Tim let out an angry laugh. “No,” he said, crossing his arms in front of him and leaning against the counter. “Not yet.”

  From the stairs, Mary heard footsteps, the halting sort that marked Hannah’s one-by-one descent down the stairs.

  “You can’t stay here, Tim.”

  Tim’s eyebrows drew toge
ther in feigned hurt. “That’s not very cousinly.”

  Hannah was in the hallway now, and Mary felt the beat of her heart begin to build, but her voice was a flat line. “You need to leave,” she said.

  Tim shook his head, crossed one ankle over the over, and wriggled his haunches against the counter, settling in. Behind him, light poured in through the window that looked out to the other units and their identical rear decks. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, relishing the taste of the words in his mouth, letting them linger. And she imagined waking Stefan up, begging him to come with her and Hannah, begging him to leave. She imagined the three of them just driving, driving, driving. Because Mary knew that she and Tim were the same sort of creature. That she could see through to his bones, and he to hers. That she knew what Tim was capable of because she was capable of it, too.

  From behind her, she heard Hannah’s voice. “Mary?”

  She let her eyes remain on Tim for a single exhalation that came up through her throat like a silent roar. Then she turned. Hannah stood at the threshold of the kitchen, her curls matted on one side with sleep. “Come here, Bunny,” Mary said, the blanket falling from her extended arm like it was a wing.

  Hannah just looked at Mary.

  “Oh, that’s what you call her,” Tim said, nodding with recognition. “I couldn’t remember.”

  At the sound of Tim’s voice, Hannah shuffled to Mary, resting her cheek against her belly as she took in Tim. “You said he was no one,” she whispered, looking up at her sister.

  And Mary felt Hannah’s words sink down to her stomach like an anchor drifting down through a dark sea. “I was wrong,” she said.

  “I’m your cousin,” said Tim, cocking his head to see around Mary. “Remember?”

  Mary and Hannah both looked at him until Mary pulled Hannah’s attention back in. “Did you sleep okay?” she asked, lifting Hannah’s chin so that all each of them could see was the other’s face. So that everything else was in the periphery. So that it always would be.