Winter in Full Bloom

by Anita Higman

  “Now, almost forty years later,” Camille went on to say, “you expect me to forget everything and make merry as if nothing happened. As if you can wipe away the past with a few pretty words. You’ve come to take a piece of my heart, but you might as well be asking for a slice of the moon.” She covered her mouth with a handkerchief and coughed. “That’s my message to you and your mother. I’ve been practicing it for a very long time.”

  “Oh, I see. Well …” Even though Camille and I spoke the same language, and all the words were at my disposal, I stammered, feeling bewildered and spent.

  Before I could find the right words, Camille said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lily Winter, I’m going to finish living my life.” And then Camille turned away from me and hurried down the sidewalk. Like a rock thrown into the sea, she was absorbed by the undulating crowd.

  I turned to Marcus. “I don’t want it to end this way. It just can’t. What should I do?” I took hold of his arm, nearly tearing his sleeve.

  “Lily, I’m so sorry,” he said.

  “I can’t let her go. I’m going to run after her.”

  “You can’t run anywhere with that wounded knee, but I can.” Marcus took off after Camille, but I limped behind him. When some of the people walked on by and the crowd opened up, I got a better view of Camille and Marcus. He’d caught up with her, and they were talking. I stopped, watching intently. Marcus looked as if he was trying to convince her of something. Camille nodded slowly. She no longer appeared to be in a flight mode. Maybe Marcus could save the day, salvage the moment.

  After a few moments, which seemed like time without end, he walked back toward me. With a smile on his handsome face.

  Camille looked back at me. She didn’t smile, but she gave me a nod and then strode on her way.

  I limped up to Marcus. “What happened?” Please let it be good news.

  “She’s willing to meet with you,” Marcus said to me.

  “Really? How did you do it? What did you say?” I latched onto the sleeve of his jacket and didn’t let go.

  He glanced away, paused, and then looked at me. “I told your sister that there was a car accident a year ago that killed my sister, and it was my fault. And that I would give anything to see her again. Just one chance to say I was sorry and to tell her how much I love her. Please give Lily this one chance … the chance I’ll never get.”

  A hundred emotions erupted inside me, and I could do nothing but let them out. I gave Marcus the hug that Camille would not accept. “Thank you.” As if he were still connected to my sister, I didn’t want to let go of him.

  He wrapped his arms around me, creating a little cocoon from the noise and the crowds and the fresh remembrance of watching Camille walk away from me in an attitude of hurt and anger. “I realize I’m making a blubbering fool of myself out here on the sidewalk, but I don’t care,” I said into his jacket.

  “It’s all right.” He rubbed my back and made soft noises that consoled me as I continued to bury my face in the curve of his arm. Camille, why did you run? We need each other. How can you not see what I see? A car honked and then screeched to a halt in the street, jarring me from my little womb of daydreams. I eased away from Marcus and asked, “Where am I supposed to meet her?”

  “Tonight. She’s going to play her flute. She’ll be in her usual spot.”

  “That’s wonderful. Thank you again and again.” I shook my head. “But I don’t know what went wrong earlier.”

  “I think she’s scared. Maybe your sister had planned to tell you off and then be rid of you, but now that she’s met you in person it wasn’t so easy. She’s scared to get involved … to care about you.”

  “Do you think that’s really it?”

  “It’s just a guess,” he said. “How’s your knee?”

  “I sort of forgot about it.” I offered him a lukewarm smile.

  “You might remember your knee again when we start walking. You still need to get it cleaned up and bandaged.”

  “We’d better go back for now.” I knew we’d miss our fun outing, but for me the joy had ended when Camille walked away.

  “Here, lean on me.” Marcus held out his arm to me. “And if you don’t, then I’m going to pick you up in front of this whole crowd and carry you back. Okay?”

  It wasn’t a request, so I quickly took Marcus’s arm and put some of my weight on him.

  When we’d made it back to the lobby of my hotel, I said, “I suddenly feel the full load of what just happened with my sister and the news about my parents, and to be honest, I’m worn out.” Someone at the front desk looked over at me with concern. Since I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, I lowered my voice. “I think I’d like to clean up and rest.”

  “Do you want to talk about it? Would that help?”

  “I will sometime, but right now I just want to be in bed. I want to be unconscious from this day.” I didn’t even want to dream, fearing it wouldn’t be a happy one.

  “All right then. I understand. It must have been quite a blow today. I know it wasn’t what you’d expected.”

  “Maybe I was hoping for one of those family reunions like you see on TV.” I let out a chuckle. “Nothing ever really works out like we plan … does it?”

  “No. But sometimes things turn out much better.”

  “Yes, that’s true. Easy to forget that on a day like this.”

  Before Marcus turned to go, I asked, “How about dinner? Would that be okay?” I couldn’t believe I suggested a date, but that was exactly what I’d done. And if Marcus said no I would go to my room and cry like a baby. I was that wound up emotionally from my encounter with Camille. And I was that fond of him.

  “But tonight is special,” Marcus said. “You don’t want me to tag along. You should wait and eat after you hear Camille play. Your sister might be able to eat with you.”

  “Now that’s thoughtful,” I said.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I would love to take you out, but your sister seems skittish, and with me there you won’t be able to really talk, and it sounds like you both have a great deal of road to cover. This evening needs to be about twins bonding for the first time, not a date with me, even though I’d love to be selfish and say yes. But I’d just clog up the works. Am I right?”

  “When you word it like that I see your point.” If my heart were a flower it would have withered just then.

  Marcus raised his chin. “But you will miss me, no doubt.”

  “Yes. You will be missed.” The same teasing and cocky attitude that had been so irritating when I’d first met Marcus no longer felt that way. It was funny and endearing. I would have smiled brighter, but my injured knee felt like it had been fed through a meat grinder.

  “Do you need help in the lift?” he asked.

  “The lift?”

  “Sorry. The elevator.” Marcus grinned. “Can you make it upstairs okay?”

  “I can. Thanks.”

  Marcus seemed to be stalling. Perhaps he didn’t want to go, just as I didn’t really want him to go. “Are you sure you know the spot where your sister will be playing this evening?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Don’t forget your sweater or you’ll be cold.”

  “You mean my jumper?” I smiled.

  “Your jumper.” Marcus cleared his throat. “Well then, I guess I’ll go. You need your rest.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Good. That’s good.” But instead of backing away he stepped closer to me. “This has been quite a day.”

  “It has.” I perked up again. “Crazy. Memorable. Terrifying. Hopeful.”

  Marcus hovered near me. He smelled like coffee. Loved that scent.

  I thought he might dip a little lower and a little closer and kiss me, but at the last second he pulled away. “I know you’ll want to keep your calendar freer now because of your sister, but if you don’t schedule anything tomorrow night, I would love to take you to one of the finer dining places here. Something very special.”


  “Okay. I would love that,” I said just above a whisper.

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow evening at six then, since Houstonians eat at a civilized hour.”

  I grinned. “I’m already looking forward to it.” I watched him pause again and then walk toward the hotel’s glass doors.

  Just as he neared the exit, he turned around and looked at me one more time. He gave me a playful wink.

  He’d caught me staring at him, but I didn’t care. A tingling sensation trickled through me with that look of his, and I knew then that the never-been-worn, little black dress would no longer be in search of an evening …

  I woke up to a noise so loud it frightened me. It was me—snoring. Must have come off as feminine as a tobacco-spitting lumberjack. Then I looked at the clock on the nightstand in my hotel room. Seven p.m. No! I’d planned on a short nap, not hibernation. I’d slept through lunch and almost dinner. And if I wasn’t careful I’d miss meeting my sister. I was hopeless.

  Speed dressing, I threw on some fresh clothes and limped-raced—my knee still smarting with every step—out of the hotel and along the promenade. When I arrived at the spot where I knew my sister would perform, a crowd had already gathered. I slowed my pace and then, as amicably as possible, I nudged my way through a cluster of people.

  There she was, my sister, standing by the river, dressed in white, and playing her silver flute. Camille looked like a fairy straight from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Marcus had been right. People stood still, mesmerized by her music. Even though she had a downcast expression, her face appeared luminous and ivory and as delicately carved as a cameo. She held a faraway gaze as her ebony hair, shimmery like a raven’s wings, danced around her face in the breeze. The sound floating from her flute was pure Celtic magic, and like the curling waters close by, the music slowly wound its way around our hearts.

  This is my sister.

  I wanted to shout it out, but of course I merely listened with a grateful heart. To find my sister made me feel as if I was more in sync with life, and yet how could that be? The thought seemed a little dramatic, and yet I knew it to be true. My life would be forever changed by my discovery, and I was glad for it.

  How could Mother have done such a thing—keep one twin and give away the other? And what about Father? He was equally guilty, and yet I’d barely thought of his role in the affair. Mothers always seemed to take the brunt of the blame when it came to the neglect of a child. What had been their excuse for such behavior? Lord, please help me not to hate my parents.

  When Camille came to the close of her melody she stood perfectly still, as if the music needed a moment of awe before she moved on. After several seconds, people broke into applause. Others dropped money into a bowl.

  Camille looked up and noticed me but didn’t return my smile.

  When the crowd realized she was finished playing, they strolled on down the promenade.

  I walked up to Camille as she took her flute apart and then gingerly set the three pieces into her case.

  “That was amazing. I’ve never heard anything so beautiful.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I play the piano, but no one wants to hear it.” Except Julie.

  “Oh?” Camille gaped at me. “Sorry. This identical twin thing takes some getting used to.”

  “I know what you mean. We could have caused quite a ruckus growing up … switching our names and fooling everyone. Although I’ve never been one to tease people. I’m usually a pretty serious person overall.” Oh, dear. I was turning into a motormouth. I prayed she wouldn’t bolt again.

  Camille didn’t reply but picked up the cash in the bowl and stuffed it into her purse. Then she turned and looked out over the river.

  I went to stand next to her and gazed toward the water along with her. Quiet was better anyway. This moment called for feeling not yammering.

  Camille finally spoke. “I guess you think I’m a bad seed, don’t you?”

  “Not at all. How do you mean?”

  “Well, you came all the way from the US to find me, injured yourself in the process, and then I basically told you to go jump in the river.”

  God, give me the right words. “It wasn’t easy to hear what you had to say, I admit. But you’ve been through some terrible traumas in your life. Things I cannot understand.”

  Camille set her instrument case down by her feet. “But I ruined what you’d hoped to be a happy reunion. It’s just that there’s been this buildup of suffering for a long time and no one to blame. No one to yell at. And here you came. It’s like you were this tiny tremor that set off an earthquake.”

  I breathed again, glad that we were really talking. “I’m sorry I said all the wrong things. It’s just that I was so excited to see you.”

  “Yeah, I could tell.” She smiled, just a little smile but it lit her face.

  “Do you think there’s any way we could start over? Maybe I could do better the second time around.”

  “All right. I should give you that, since you came all this way.”

  “I don’t have much family left, so finding you was very important to me.”

  “You said you were a widow?” Camille asked.

  “Yes, my husband passed away a year ago. I have a daughter named Julie, but she’s in college now. She’s the joy of my life.” I pulled my hair back in a scrunchie, since it was whipping my face. “So, did you ever marry?”

  “No, but I have a boyfriend … Jerald Waldgrave. He claims he’s going to propose to me soon, but soon never seems to come.” Camille straightened her dress.

  A deeper meaning trolled just below the surface of Camille’s admission, but I let it go. I instead began picking at my fingers.

  Camille looked at my hands. “How long have you done that to your hands?”

  “Ever since I was a kid, whenever I got anxious.” I glanced at her hands. “Do you pick?”

  “No, but I have TMJ from stress. Guess it all has to come out somewhere.” She paused and then said, “Let me ask you something. What was Father like? I mean, the man who would have been my father?”

  What could be said about him in just a few words? “He was a good man, but I think he suffered from depression some. He never seemed to want to play with me much or be a part of my life. I think he loved me, but I’m not sure he really liked me much. As I mentioned, he died when I was nine. To be honest I think it was Mother who made him depressed.” That part reminded me of Camille’s youth. “They didn’t have a very happy marriage. But then every life she’s touched has been made less happy by being near her.”

  “Including yours?”

  I nodded. “Including mine. It’s as if she’s been living under a cloud of misery, and she wants to make sure everyone else’s life is too. I never really understood it until today … maybe until that moment … when you told me the truth. It’s not just a cloud of misery, but of guilt, over what she did … what they did.”

  Camille gathered a ribbon from her dress and wound the fabric around her finger until the tip turned an angry red. “So, you think she’s sorry for what she did to me?”

  “I can’t know her mind for sure. We’ve never been close, but I see it now. It all makes sense. Perhaps this sin has slowly been eating away at her all these years.”

  Camille looked up at the sky. “I’d like to say it makes me glad to hear it. That she deserves every bit of misery that comes her way. But I can’t. I know it would hurt God’s ears to hear it, so I won’t say it. But it’s tempting.”

  “Aren’t you freezing out here without a jacket?”

  “I’m a little cold, but I’m used to it.”

  “Mother did a terrible thing, Camille, and she needs to confess her sins to God. But she’s an agnostic, so that’s a tragedy. And she needs a friend she can talk to about it, but she doesn’t really have friends. But recently she hired one.” I shivered and snuggled down into my jacket, thinking how absurd and hopeless it all sounded.

  “What? Really? You can do
that? Hire a friend?”

  “Apparently. Mother’s never been very interested in talking to me or making me a friend. In fact, when I went to visit her and she told me about you … we hadn’t seen each other in a decade.”

  Camille gave me a heavy pause. “Really? Your relationship was that bad?”

  “It was and still is. So, I can’t say that I was ever put on a shelf and treasured. More like just put on a shelf and left to gather dust. But I’d like to make things right somehow. I want to …” Tears came then. I was about to embarrass myself, but I couldn’t help it. “Isn’t there anything I can do to help you? I mean, to ease the pain of this terrible thing Mother did to you? She—” My voice caught in my throat. “I’m sorry to be so emotional.”

  “You’re all right. I used to cry like that. All the time, actually.”

  “You did?” I dug out several tissues from my purse, blew my nose, and cleaned up my face. “Do you mind if I ask how you got over the tendency to get weepy?”

  Camille gazed out over the city. “They say that sometimes the orphan babies in China are left to themselves with little care of any kind. They cry for help until they cannot cry anymore. The tears and weary pleas for comfort and food are replaced by vacant stares. Their little spirits are broken—utterly. Those who’ve seen it say it’s eerie … unnatural … that kind of silence. I think of those sweet babies when I play my music. I guess I’m playing for them and for the lost little girl inside me who never got to grow up.”

  I closed my eyes briefly, letting the full sensation of that great sadness work its way through me. The chasm between us grew deeper. I had known coldness in my youth, but I couldn’t fathom the level of my sister’s pain. Would I ever understand her suffering or know that young girl who was left alone with a villain? “I don’t know what to say. ‘Sorry’ will never be enough.”

  Camille clasped her hands behind her back and faced me again. “In answer to your question, I can’t see how there is anything you can do to make up for what happened. What was done cannot ever be undone.”