As Close as Sisters

by Colleen Faulkner

  “Hey, Mom. Having fun?” It was Mia now. I only knew that because I heard her take the phone from her sister while complaining that there was no cream cheese for bagels.

  “Hey, honey. I am having a good time.” I took my cup of tea and walked out of the kitchen, into the living room. “It’s just Aurora and me right now, but Lilly and Janine will be here later today.”

  “Aunt Janine bringing Fritz?”

  Janine’s German shepherd. Mia adored animals. They both did. But Mia wanted to be a vet. Maura, on the other hand, aspired to be an NBA player’s wife. Needless to say, I was a little concerned about her career path.

  “I imagine she is.”

  “But not Betsy?”

  “Not Betsy,” I repeated. Betsy had been Janine’s partner for five years. They had broken up the previous summer, got back together, then broke up again. For good, this time. I thought.

  “Guess she’s really gone. That’s too bad,” Mia said. “I liked her. I thought she was good for Aunt Janine. She made her laugh. Aunt Janine doesn’t laugh enough.”

  I walked out onto the porch, carrying my tea. “I liked her, too.”

  “Did Maura tell you about the guy she met last night? Viktor,” she sang loudly, obviously for her sister’s benefit . . . or detriment.

  “I told you not to tell!” I heard Maura holler.

  “He’s one of the Russian guys who just started working with us at the pizza place. Viktor,” Mia said again, using her Natasha Fatale accent.

  I slid into my green chair and set my tea on the arm. I loved these moments with my girls. I kept thinking about how much I’d miss them. But would I? When I was dead, would I know I was dead? Who do you ask?

  “If we’re going to the beach, come on,” Mia yelled to her sister. Then to me, “Gotta go, Mom. Call you tomorrow.”

  “Have a good day. Wear sunscreen,” I said. “Make your sister wear sunscreen.”

  “Bye. Love you.”

  “Love you!” Maura echoed.

  “I love you.” I gripped the phone. “I love you both so much.” My voice was shaky. Luckily, Mia had already hung up. She didn’t hear my desperate words.

  I sat on the porch and drank my tea. With no sign of Aurora, I went into my creepy bedroom to grab a book. I’d brought a whole canvas bag of them. In the year and a half since my cancer diagnosis, I’d been trying to make better choices about what I read. I’m a librarian, for God’s sake. I should be reading the classics. Banned books. Books that have impacted the world. There are actually lists on the Internet of books you should read before you die.

  I laid my hand on Moby-Dick, then a sweet Amish romance caught my eye. I hesitated, then chose the skinny paperback instead of the hefty, loftier book. It felt deliciously wicked to leave Melville behind.

  I made another cup of tea, grabbed a towel from a basket in the living room, and returned to my chair on the porch. The towel smelled slightly mildewy. I made a mental note to throw the whole basket of towels in the washing machine later. Right now, that wasn’t how I wanted to spend my limited energy.

  It had come down to this in my day-to-day life, making decisions as to what was physically or emotionally worth my effort and what wasn’t. People were worth the energy: my family, my friends, even the lady at the post office. Usually, things just didn’t seem worth the bother.

  I spread the suntan-lotion-stained blue and white towel on my chair and sat down. As I opened the cover of my book, I considered going down to the beach. But from here, the seventy-five yards seems like seventy-five miles. My busy morning had tired me. More likely the trip from home. The excitement of seeing Aurora again. The walk down to the ocean last night. And the long walk back, slogging through the sand.

  I felt like I wanted to close my eyes and just enjoy the heat of the sun. But I was afraid to. Afraid I’d fall asleep and waste the morning. A morning I’d never get back again. Instead, I watched the way the sun sparkled off the ocean’s surface and then I read the first page.

  I didn’t look up again from my book until I heard the sound of a car. I was too caught up with what was going on with the Yoder sisters in Kent County. I loved the series, partially because it took place locally, but mostly because the simple life of the Amish families took me far from my own life, which was definitely not simple. No Yoders were dying of cancer. At least not so far.

  I put down my book, crossed the porch, and went down the steps. I followed the narrow footpath around the side of the house to the backyard, which was really just a sandy parking lot. I spotted Lilly’s car, tugged at the brim of my ball cap, and hurried, hoping to surprise her.

  I was the one who got the bigger surprise.

  Lilly spotted me and grinned ear to ear. She’s pretty, our Lilly. Maybe not beautiful in the conventional sense of the word, but she has an amazing presence. Heads turn when she walks by. Her mother was Japanese, her father is Somalian; she has gorgeous sun-kissed skin, black hair, and the blackest eyes. I always thought she looked like a shorter, healthier version of the supermodel Iman.

  “McKenzie!” She threw open the door of her Mercedes and popped out in a sweet floral sundress and a baby bump.

  A big baby bump!

  I stopped so fast that I practically slid in the sand. I stared at her, unable to believe what I saw. I’m rarely struck speechless, but I was, just for a second.

  Her hands went to her belly, and when I met her gaze, her dark eyes were brimming with tears.

  “You’re pregnant,” I said, knowing it sounded stupid, considering that was obvious. I said it anyway.

  “I’m pregnant,” she repeated.

  I opened my arms to meet her and hugged her tightly, reveling in the feel of her taut, round abdomen against my bony hips. For just a slip of a second, I remembered my own big belly and what it had felt like to carry life inside me. As I hugged her, I tried to feel that life, life that would carry on beyond not just me, but my Lilly, too.

  She had to be six months along.

  I found my voice. “Lilly, I’m so happy for you.” Her arms were warm and secure around me. She smelled of gardenias. She’d started using the perfume years ago when I thought she was too young for the scent. Now, anytime I smelled gardenias, I thought of Lilly.

  I savored her embrace another moment longer, then took a step back, grabbing her hand. Unwilling to let her go, yet. “Why didn’t you tell me? I only saw you, what? A month ago? Six weeks?”

  She slid her big, white sunglasses that were perched on her head down over her eyes. “I don’t know how you didn’t notice. I was already out of my clothes, covering it with tunics and baggy jackets. But two weeks ago, I really popped out. There’s no way I can hide it now.” She laughed and stroked her belly. “I don’t know how those girls in that reality TV show have babies without knowing they’re pregnant. I feel like I swallowed a watermelon.”

  Lilly was a Chatty Patty. Especially when she was nervous . . . or happy or sad. Lilly had always been the talker. She was the one who used to get detention all the time in school for talking. Of course one of us would inevitably get detention, too, because she was always talking to us.

  I looked into her eyes. I was a little disappointed that, for the last six months, I haven’t had the enjoyment of knowing she was pregnant. I’ve had some pretty lousy days. Days when I could have used something cheerful to think about. Lilly had been trying to have a baby for years. First with husband number one, then husband number two. (Sounded like a game show.) Polycystic ovary syndrome. She’s had five miscarriages. I thought she and the hubby were considering adoption.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I didn’t mean to sound whiny, but it came off that way.

  She made an apologetic grimace. “Didn’t want to worry you, I guess. Not until I was sure.” She searched my gaze, her eyes still teary. “I’m sorry, McKenzie. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” She squeezed my fingers. “I was just . . . trying to protect you, I guess.”

  I took my hand from hers and sm
oothed her dress over her belly. I stared at it, at the wonder of it. “Boy or girl?”

  “We don’t know.” She shook her head. Laughed. She was giddy. “We want it to be a surprise.”

  I was still rubbing her belly. I couldn’t get over the magic of it. A baby. At forty-one years old. Our Lilly was going to have a baby. In all these years, I was the only one who’d ever had children. And kept them. I was immediately excited to have this connection with Lilly. Being mothers. And for a moment, the years that will follow flash in my head: being in the hospital when Lilly gave birth, going to the baby’s birthday parties, comparing her experiences to mine so many years ago.

  Then I remembered. Would I even make it to the baby’s birth? What if I took a turn for the worse?

  “When are you due?” I asked, refusing to feel sorry for myself right now. I’d do it later, when I was alone and could hide my shameful thoughts.

  “I’m twenty-seven and a half weeks. Almost seven months. October fourth.”

  October fourth. I can make it until then. I wasn’t even breathing that hard right now. With Lilly about to have a baby, I had to make it until then.

  “Let me help you carry things in,” I said.

  She gave me a look, a Lilly look. “You shouldn’t be carrying anything. You need to save your strength to get better.”

  Lilly didn’t understand that I was dying. Or refused to believe it. I wasn’t sure which. From the beginning of my diagnosis, she’d been Miss Polly Positive. Even when the lab results, lung biopsy, and specialist consultations turned out to be less than positive. I’d tried to talk to her about it, about my chances of survival. Or lack thereof. But she hadn’t been willing to listen. And if I was honest with myself, I guess I hadn’t been totally forthcoming with information, as of late. It was that guilt. Feeling guilty about disappointing her. Anyway, the good thing was that since she didn’t think I was dying, she didn’t treat me like I was. She babied me like I was sick, but not like I was headed out the door.

  Of course I was going to have to talk to her about it. I had to make her understand. But I didn’t want to. I was going to make her cry. Sob. Aurora and I talked about it last night. Aurora said I needed to make Lilly understand. She said I couldn’t just die on Lilly without her knowing it was coming. I thought it was interesting that Aurora had put the burden on me. Why didn’t she make Lilly understand?

  I eyed Lilly through the lenses of my sunglasses. “I want to help you,” I said. “I can carry a bag to the house.” Now, I actually was feeling a little out of breath. If I could hear it in my voice, she could, too.

  She looked at me for a second too long, then leaned into her car and pulled out an enormous handbag. Lilly had always had a thing for expensive handbags. And shoes. Sometimes, I got her hand-me-downs. The bag I was carrying now was an old bag of hers. But it wasn’t this big.

  Her white bag felt heavy as she dropped it into my arms. She grabbed a big wheely case from the backseat and lowered it to the ground. “We’ll get the other stuff later. Am I the first one here?” She headed for the back steps, pulling her designer luggage behind her; she was light on her feet, despite the big belly.

  “Nope. I got here last night. I wanted to open things up for everyone. I didn’t get a lot done,” I confessed, following her. “And Aurora was already here. She’s been here for days. Apparently, she got bored in Rome.”

  Lilly threw me a different Lilly look; she had a whole repertoire of them. She climbed the steps, dragging the suitcase. “Bored in Italy. We should all be so lucky.” She grinned over her shoulder at me.

  I grinned back.

  “She here now?”

  “Nope.” I took the steps one at a time. Riser, foot, foot, riser, foot, foot. I was really winded. But I wasn’t going to give in to it. I wasn’t. My Lilly was here. With a bun in the oven. I wasn’t going to crawl into my bed and pant the day away. “She was gone when I got up.”

  “Ah. So who knows when we’ll see her? Janine?” Lilly held open the door for me and waited.

  “Working today.” I stopped at the top of the flight of steps and took a couple of breaths before forging ahead. “She’ll be here as soon as she gets off.”

  Lilly led the way through the laundry room to the kitchen and left her suitcase next to the dishwasher. “I’ll be right back. I have to pee. I’m not going to tell you how many times I had to stop between Annapolis and here.”

  When Lilly came back from the bathroom, she heaved a sigh of relief. “That’s better. Anything to eat here? I’m starving.”

  “I brought a few things.” I had set her handbag on the counter and taken a seat on the nearest stool. “I thought we’d plan some meals, then go to the market together. Tomorrow, maybe.”

  She opened the refrigerator. “Any word on that lawsuit against Janine? She e-mailed me earlier in the week, but didn’t mention it.”

  I shrugged. “She was cleared for duty. I can’t imagine it will come to anything.”

  “It’s so unfair. The whole abusive cop stereotype.”

  I wanted to say that there was almost always a reason for stereotypes, but I didn’t. Lilly believed in the best in all of us, even when we didn’t deserve it.

  Lilly took out a ball of mozzarella cheese and a tub of pesto from the refrigerator. “You bring fresh tomatoes?”

  “From the farmer’s market.” I pointed to a wooden bowl by the sink. Aurora had put the peaches, bananas, and tomatoes in it the night before while she was making dinner. I didn’t tell Lilly that I didn’t actually go to the farmers’ market. A neighbor in Newark had brought them to me. That little detail wouldn’t mean anything to her; for me, it was another chink in my armor. “Bread’s in the cupboard.”

  “I really hope that’s the end of it. The thing with Janine. Matt read in the paper that there were videos.” She grabbed the bread and carried all the ingredients to the counter in front of me. “You know, like cell phone videos from witnesses on the beach.” She retrieved two Fiesta dinnerware plates, one lavender, one yellow, and started making sandwiches. She didn’t ask me if I wanted one. Lilly had always been the mother of the group. She mothered us all. “What kind of woman eight months pregnant would get into an altercation on the beach?”

  I smiled at her innocence. “The kind who gets into fights with state troopers?”

  “But to accuse Janine of police brutality.” She shook her head. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail and bobbed back and forth. “That just seems crazy.”

  “Crazy times,” I said. “I’m sure the woman is just looking to make a buck. I’m sure Janine’s family history doesn’t help.”

  Lilly sliced a tomato. “You think? That was a long time ago. And Buddy wasn’t a state trooper. He was just a town cop.”

  “He was still a cop.” He had been on unpaid leave that night. Waiting to go to trial for the attempted murder of the young black man he’d beaten half to death; the case was dropped when he died. Over the years, I had wondered about Lenard Moore. Did he go on to have a happy life? Become a schoolteacher? Or had he succumbed to a life of crime? Was he even alive?

  “Chips?” Lilly asked cheerfully, a bag of Old Bay flavored potato chips in her hand.

  “You better hide them from Janine or there won’t be any.” It was an old joke that wasn’t really that funny, but we both laughed, and I wished Lilly’s laughter would go on forever.

  4

  Janine

  I pulled in behind Lilly’s fancy Mercedes, but I didn’t cut the engine in my Jeep Cherokee. I just sat there. Hands on the steering wheel. I stared at the house through the mirrored lenses of my sunglasses. I sat there so long that Fritz stuck his nose between the seats and gave me a nudge.

  “Back it up. Your breath smells like ass,” I told the German shepherd that cost me more money than some people paid to adopt a kid. I bought him in Germany from a world-renowned breeder. Had him flown over as a puppy. Trained him myself. He was a perfect specimen: strong and agile. H
e was my best friend. At least after Mack, Aurora, and Lilly.

  When that thought went through my head, I realized I still wasn’t sure where Chris fit in. Was I in love or just lust? Jury was still out. And if I was in love, then what? Did I stay and try to make it work? Did I take off before I screwed it up the way I’ve screwed up every other romantic relationship I’ve ever been in?

  So much to think about. So much, that sometimes I just wanted to put the heels of my hands to my temples and crush this stuff out of my head.

  At my command, Fritz scooted back on the seat. He continued to watch me. He tilted his head the way a dog does when he thinks you’re not following what he’s saying. I knew what my dog was saying. He was giving me permission. He was telling me it would be okay if I backed out of the driveway. Went home. We lived in a town house five miles inland. Chris would be there.

  Fritz knew I hated this house. I mother effing hated it. But I kept coming back. I couldn’t let it go. Why couldn’t I let it go?

  Chris had a psychobabble explanation. Chris has a psychobabble explanation for just about everything. Being a psychologist and all. When we first started dating, I thought it was kind of hot. This morning, at breakfast, when we talked about my coming here and the feelings that would come with it . . . not so hot.

  But right now. Being here. It felt worse than usual. Why did it feel worse? Because McKenzie was dying?

  Too simple. It was something else. Something this bastard of a house had in store for us.

  God damn it! I slammed my hand on the steering wheel. Fritz didn’t even flinch. I hated feeling this way. I hated that Buddy could make me feel this way twenty-eight years later.

  I looked up at the back deck. Closed my eyes. I had to go in. By now they knew I was here. Lilly was probably looking out the window. Waiting. Telling Aurora and McKenzie how hard it was for me to come in. Even after he’d been rotting in the ground all these years.

  Mom and my brother. They had wanted to have Buddy cremated. I wouldn’t let them do it. If I’d had my way, they wouldn’t even have had him embalmed. At the time, when he died, I had liked the idea of worms eating his guts. How sick was that for a fourteen-year-old? At forty-two, I still liked the idea.