Flying Home

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  Still clutching the letter with one hand, Clarissa reached out to touch Liana’s knees, her face earnest. “Honestly, Lara, I swear that I never knew Karyn loved him—and by the time I did, it was too late. Travis loved me, and I loved him. Not the fleeting kind of love, or the crush kind of love, but the real thing. It was so deep, so passionate, so . . . so right. I begged her not to make me choose between them. She refused to listen. I didn’t know what to do. I knew Travis didn’t love her. I knew that I’d never be happy without him. I thought I would die.”

  Clarissa took her hand away from Liana’s knee and covered her eyes. Her head bowed, her slender shoulders shook with silent sobs. Liana watched helplessly, her own feelings numb. Karyn and Clarissa had fought over Travis? Picturing her adoptive father’s face above the large belly he now sported, it hardly seemed possible.

  With one hand Clarissa wiped tears from her cheeks. “Then Karyn disappeared. I didn’t know where she was. She’d been careful to leave no trace. I almost broke up with Travis, but he wouldn’t go away. So I married him. Oh, Lara, it was right. We were born to be together!”

  That much Liana believed. She couldn’t imagine either of her adoptive parents with anyone else.

  “The next year I had Christian. It was a difficult pregnancy and birth, and I was a long time recovering. Mom sent a letter and a birth announcement to Karyn’s old address, hoping it would get forwarded—we’d done that with cards and letters before and they hadn’t been returned—but eventually that letter did come back.” Clarissa reached into the metal box with her free hand and retrieved another letter. She pushed the sealed envelope into Liana’s hand. The address had been crossed off and someone had scribbled moved. “I’ve kept it all these years. I don’t know why. At first it was to prove to her if she came back that I’d tried to reach her. And then I just couldn’t bear to part with it.”

  “So she never got the letter.”

  “Oh, she got it.” Clarissa’s lips pursed and she took a deep breath before continuing. “About six months after the letter came back, I ran into an old friend of hers, who said that she’d personally given it to Karyn.”

  “She had the letter and didn’t open it?” Liana turned the letter over, searching for signs of resealing. The outside of the envelope was worn, but it didn’t look like it had been opened. She let the letter fall to the bed beside the metal box.

  Clarissa shrugged. “That’s what it looked like. She’d obviously put it back in the mail with the address crossed off and sent it back as a way to tell us she didn’t want any contact. It broke my heart. I cried a lot then—I missed her so badly. Every time I thought about her, my heart hurt. But eventually I had to let it go. Travis and Christian filled my days. Besides, I thought there was still time to make up with her in the future.” She gave a bitter chuckle. “I was wrong.”

  “You didn’t look for her after that?”

  Clarissa shook her head. “I knew she wanted to remain lost. Besides, her friend had also said that Karyn was moving to Florida. In those days, with the resources we had, that was very far away.”

  Liana couldn’t look at Clarissa’s face and the pain so clearly etched on the fine skin. She stared at Karyn’s letter instead, watching as Clarissa finally held it out to her. Trembling, she took the envelope in her hands and withdrew the single sheet of paper. The letter had been folded and unfolded many times over the years, and a few tiny holes had begun to show in the creases. The lower left side was stained with water—or was it tears? But whose tears? Clarissa’s or Karyn’s? Hearing Clarissa’s story, Liana bet on the latter. The letters were small and precise, as though the author had thought out her words carefully before recording them.

  July 2, 1977

  Dear Clarissa:

  I know you didn’t expect to hear from me ever again, but here I am writing. I want you to know that I’m sorry. I see now looking back and reading my journal that what happened was my fault and that I’ve blamed you for too long. So much has happened here in India (can you believe me in India?) that has opened my eyes. Mostly it’s because of Guenter. He’s a doctor at our charity hospital, and the way he cares for the children impressed me from the very first. He swept me off my feet as Travis must have done to you. Oh, I feel so embarrassed now when I think about how I acted. I never loved Travis—not like you did. My relationship with Guenter has shown me that.

  Of course it wasn’t easy, shedding so many years of anger and hurt (no matter how imagined), but everything is all right now. Guenter Schrader and I were married nine months ago. And Clari, I’m going to have a baby. I’m sure it’ll be a little girl. I dream for the day when I’ll finally see her face. I think I’ll name her Lara. Or something else beginning with an L because she’ll always be my little love.

  Despite my joy in my work and all the babies I’ve helped bring into the world, I’m hoping we can somehow go to the U.S. before too long. There is so much I want to tell you face to face.

  I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. I’d like to be your sister again.

  I love you,

  Karyn

  Liana’s tears wet her cheeks. “She forgave you.”

  “Yes.” Clarissa’s voice was happier now. “In the years after her death, sometimes this letter was all that kept me going. But I still don’t know how she got to that point—of forgiving me. I have no idea what she went through in India or before. The friend I ran into that once had said she was working as a waitress, but this letter indicates that she’d been working at a hospital. Later, after she died, I checked and found that she’d gone back to the college where she’d met Travis. She’d become a nurse. She’d never gone to Florida, or at least not for long.”

  “Did you write back?” Liana asked.

  “Twice, but she never wrote again. Not knowing why has plagued me for a long time—I still wake up in the night and wonder.”

  Liana reread the paragraph that spoke of the coming baby, feeling sorry for her birth mother. To have yearned so much to have a child and then to have it all disappear in a day because of a plane accident. With reluctance, Liana returned the letter to Clarissa.

  Clarissa again held the letter to her breast, closing her eyes at a fresh onslaught of pain. “Sometimes,” she whispered, “I see Karyn as she was the last time I saw her all those years ago. She was so alive, so angry. And I ask myself why I didn’t do more to salvage our relationship then. I was the older sister. I should have made the effort. I will always regret that I didn’t.”

  There was so much sadness in her tone that it stung like an accusation. “I’m sorry,” Liana said in a low voice. “Having me around . . . it must not have been easy.”

  Clarissa’s eyes flew open. “No,” she said. “Don’t think that! Don’t ever think that. Oh, Lara, you are the daughter I could never have—and I wanted a daughter so very badly. I lost a baby girl once, between the boys. I was four months along. Christian was little. I was so happy to be expecting again . . . and then I lost her. It was devastating. That’s why I waited so long to have Bret. I thought I’d die if I had to go through losing another baby.”

  “I didn’t know.” Liana’s hand twisted in her hair, tugging the strands. One more secret festering in Clarissa’s soul.

  “It’s not something I ever told the boys about,” Clarissa said. “I mourned her alone—not even Travis understood how much the loss still haunted me. And then you came into my life.” Tears once more fell down Clarissa’s cheeks. “But I felt so guilty. Karyn gave me you—one of the greatest joys of my life—yet if I hadn’t married Travis, maybe she would have married him and she would be alive today. Maybe if I hadn’t interfered, something would have eventually blossomed between them.”

  “You are not responsible for her death.” The words felt dry in Liana’s mouth.

  “I know that here.” Clarissa pointed to her head, her face crumpling. “But here in my heart, I know it was my fault.” She sobbed as Liana watched, not knowing what to do. They had been m
other and daughter for twenty-five and a half years, but neither could comfort the other. Liana had needed only herself; Clarissa had Travis and the boys.

  Hesitantly, Liana slid closer to Clarissa and put her arms around her thin body. She smelled of lilacs and makeup and something else Liana couldn’t identify. She briefly saw Clarissa’s eyes widen in surprise before their heads came together. Clarissa clung to Liana. “I’ll never know what horrible thing happened that made her not write back,” she sobbed. “I’ll never know.”

  Liana had been thinking the same thing, but now an idea grew in her mind, an idea given seed by Mercedes. “Maybe there is a way.”

  Clarissa lifted her head, and Liana took the opportunity to escape the closeness that was still uncomfortable to her. “Let me see the letter again,” she told Clarissa. “Look here. She mentions a journal.”

  Clarissa nodded. “I gave it to her when she went to college. I thought she’d get a kick later out of seeing what her life was like back then.”

  “Where is it now?” Liana glanced down in the metal box, but there were only a few more envelopes and papers.

  “I don’t know. I’d hoped it’d come back with you. But it didn’t. I tried to write to the lady you stayed with before you came here, but she never replied. By now, the journal must be long gone. I’m so very sorry, Liana. It’s one more thing I should have done better. But I had three children to take care of, plus my teaching. I couldn’t just drop everything and go to India, could I?”

  “No.” Liana paused, her eyes fixed on the letter. “Not then. But you could now.” There, her idea was out in the open—or rather Mercedes’ idea—exposed to whatever reaction Clarissa might have.

  A sharp intake of air made Liana look up. The expression on her adoptive mother’s face was one she couldn’t decipher. Why didn’t she know enough about her own mother to recognize what she was feeling?

  “We could both go,” Liana continued, knowing it was something she had to do even if it cost her the rest of her savings. “You’re already teaching only part time now. You could get a substitute for a week, and I don’t have anyth—I mean, I can arrange to leave.” Now wasn’t the time to bring up her lost job, and Liana didn’t think Clarissa was likely to wonder how Liana could leave work so close to the tax deadline. “Dad will be fine without you. So will Christian and Bret. Well?” She waited, trying not to show how much this meant to her. Even if she refuses, I can still go, she told herself.

  Clarissa held very still, her tears abruptly dry. Every hair was in place, her white blouse unwrinkled, her skirt arranged becomingly on the bed. Only the streaks in her makeup and the reddened eyes showed any emotion at all.

  Liana looked away, anticipating her answer. She wouldn’t leave Travis. Not even her sister and her daughter meant that much.

  “Yes.”

  Liana’s head jerked up at the breathy whisper. There was excitement now in Clarissa’s face, obliterating much of the previous sadness.

  “We’ll go to India. I should have gone when she first wrote. It’s too late for that, but even if we don’t find her journal, we might be able to find people where she worked who knew her.” Tears once more glittered in her eyes. “At the very least I can visit my sister’s grave.”

  “Thank you, Mom.” For the first time in Liana’s life, the appellation slipped easily from her tongue.

  CHAPTER 15

  Diary of Karyn Olsen

  Thursday, May 5, 1966

  Clarissa (I’ll never call her Clari again) called five times and has left messages. I listened to them. She says she had no idea that I liked Travis in that way. She says she’s really sorry. Sounded good at first, though I can’t believe she didn’t know how I felt since I’ve been talking him up for three months. But then she went on to say that she doesn’t know what to do because she’d like to give him up, but she thinks they’re in love. “This is for keeps,” she says. “I’ve never felt this way before. Please don’t make me choose between you.”

  I’m not making her do anything. I want nothing from her. Nothing. I hate her. I wish I could hate Travis, but I don’t. This has to be Clarissa’s fault. She couldn’t be content with all her many admirers. She had to steal the one and only guy who liked me. I will never forgive her. I wish she would die.

  Saturday, May 21, 1966

  I quit school. What was the point? My grades were terrible, and I’d missed too much to make up. Who wants to go to school in the spring and summer anyway? Not me. To tell the truth, I don’t care about school anymore. After calling me a hundred times to leave lies on our answering machine, Clarissa doesn’t call me anymore. Angie said she came to our apartment last week, but luckily I wasn’t home. We’ve worked out a way for Angie and our other roommates to signal me (red scarf in the window) if she ever comes again. If she comes when I’m home, I’ll hide. Same thing for Travis, the worm, though he’s never tried to contact me. I guess that shows his true feelings.

  I’ve started working at In-N-Out. I know it’s not much, but now that I’m not in school, Dad’s trust fund won’t pay for my rent. That stinks big time. But I don’t really care, not about anything.

  Mom called me and I called her back, but I hung up on her when she started talking about Clarissa. I don’t want to hear it.

  Monday, June 27, 1966

  A knife is being twisted in my heart. Today I got an invitation to Clarissa and Travis’s wedding. It’ll be in July, just like I’d dreamed for my wedding. I won’t go, of course. I wouldn’t give either of them the satisfaction. I bet they sit and talk about me and how foolish I was. But I know Travis liked me. If it hadn’t been for Clarissa, I’d be the one marrying him. I wish I were prettier. Clarissa has all the luck. Too bad her heart is as black as tar. Travis will find that out soon enough. I hope before the wedding, but I don’t expect miracles anymore. Clarissa has killed everything.

  Friday, July 15, 1966

  Well, they’re married by now (it’s almost noon) and will soon be on their way to their honeymoon. I hope they get sunburned wherever they go so they’ll have a lousy time. I can’t believe Clarissa had her wedding without me. Growing up we dreamed about our wedding days and how we would be there for each other. But she didn’t wait. She didn’t even try.

  I moved out of the apartment I shared with Angie to a cheaper one nearer work, not only because of money but because it’s uncomfortable being there with all the students. I feel so much older than they are. Very old. But I still talk to Angie on the phone, and she said she hadn’t heard any more from Clarissa. I thought about calling Mom, but I just can’t. Oh, dear God, please stop this hurting. I’m so alone. I just want to die. At least I haven’t gained any weight. That’s the one good thing in this mess.

  There is a guy who comes into work sometimes—Boyd something. He’s so tall and muscular that I actually feel small around him. He keeps asking me out. I think I’ll go with him tonight. I need someone, and my lousy family sure isn’t here for me.

  Saturday, July 16, 1966

  I’m a woman now just like Clarissa. I thought it would be wonderful. I thought he would be tender and loving, but . . . Oh, I can’t even think of it. It was as though he took the very most sacred parts of my soul, stomped and spit on them, and threw them away. He got what he needed, and I was left empty and alone. Unloved. I cried, and he laughed at me. Then he asked if he could come over again. I told him to get out. I desperately wish I would have listened to what my mother taught me about waiting. How could I be so utterly stupid? If she could see me now, she would die. Oh well, join the club. I’ve died, too. I’m someone else now. I can never go back.

  CHAPTER 16

  Diary of Karyn Olsen

  Saturday, April 29, 1967

  I haven’t written in a long time, but there’s been nothing really to write about. I quit my job so I’d never have to see Boyd again. Now I’m working at Denny’s. I can make pretty good tips in the evenings. Sometimes a few guys ask me out, but I can’t go. I’m too afraid. I will
never trust another man again.

  I saw Angie today—or last night, rather. (It’s now about 3:00 A.M.) She came into Denny’s with some of our old friends. I haven’t seen her since she gave me the cards Clarissa and my mother sent me for my birthday in January. She asked me why I haven’t returned her calls, and I said I’d been busy. But I realized I missed her. She looked really good. She’ll be finished soon with college and start working in a hospital.

  While the others were ordering, Angie got out an envelope from her purse and gave it to me. It had my mother’s return address and the postmark was more than a month old. After work, I opened it and saw a letter from my mother and a birth announcement for Clarissa and Travis’s baby boy. He was born a month early, according to the letter, because of Clarissa’s high blood pressure. But he’s healthy.

  I have a nephew—it’s almost unbelievable. I know I should be happy for them. I know I should forget the past and go visit them. I know I should become resigned to being “the aunt” and find joy in getting to know that little boy. I know all that. My mother took me to church every Sunday while I was little, and it seemed that forgiveness was all the pastor ever talked about. But there’s just one thing that stops me. My heart cries out that it should have been my little boy in that announcement.

  The letter hadn’t been sealed well, so the envelope hadn’t ripped when I opened it. I carefully resealed the envelope, crossed off the address, and dumped it at the post office. Maybe if I pretend I didn’t open it, it won’t hurt so much.

  Before she left Angie told me she wanted to get together, but I said I was moving to Florida. I don’t want any connection to my old life.

  People rushed purposely from one place to another in the LAX International airport in Los Angeles. Every race and age group was represented—all of them in a life-and-death hurry to arrive at their destination. Loudspeakers blared out a gate departure in a woman’s flat nasal tone. Following quickly came a man’s all-important voice, informing Jonathan Reynolds that his party was waiting for him at the American Airlines front desk. The smell of cooking food, cigarette smoke, wine, and perfumes wafted through the air in varying strengths as Austin walked through the corridors.