The Other Sister

by Dianne Dixon

  Now Matt was the one struggling to hold back tears. “Don’t call our wedding off. Please. Don’t.” That’s when he saw the flicker in Ali’s eyes and heard a catch in her breath, as though she’d just gotten unexpected, hopeful news.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened when you were gone?”

  She was asking the impossible. An eternity passed before Matt was able to give her a reluctant shake of his head.

  The instant he did it, he was shattered by the hurt in her eyes.

  The closest Matt had ever come to dying was watching Ali walk away from him. Again. And disappear into that church.

  • • •

  She was midway across the vestibule when Matt stepped into the entryway, his voice echoing under the vaulted ceiling. “Give me your hand, Ali.”

  Her expression was puzzled and, at the same time, brimming with love. Matt focused on the love. He put his arm around Ali, and she let him lead her into the empty sanctuary. As they walked together along the center aisle, they were haloed in light filtering down on them through slender windows of milky-white glass.

  When they reached the altar, Matt knelt in front of her. He placed her hand on his chest, over his heart. “Ali, I swear, here, in front of God, that I love you, that I will die loving you, and that I have not done, and never will do, anything to dishonor you or the love I have for you.”

  Ali stayed silent. And Matt asked, “Do you believe me?”

  She nodded, very slowly.

  “Good.” Matt took a breath.

  Then he looked up at her. “There’s something I need to tell you. I’m leaving the college. I won’t be teaching anymore. I’m starting a new job. In California.”

  Ali’s face was blank, as if she couldn’t comprehend what she’d just heard. “But we’ve always talked about our life being here, in Rhode Island. It’s where I grew up, where you went to college. Practically from the first day we met, we promised this would always be our home. Where we’d have our babies and raise our family.” She seemed confounded. “Why would you take a job in California?”

  “Al, listen to me. It’s all good. It’s the way for me to make enough money to give you what you want.” Matt was talking fast, gripping Ali’s hand—wanting this finished. “It’ll take us forever to get your restaurant off the ground if all I’m bringing in is an assistant professor’s salary. But doing it like this, we won’t have to wait.”

  With what sounded like a mix of curiosity and dread, Ali asked, “What are you talking about?”

  And Matt told her. “I wrote a script with Aidan Blake. We did it back when I was a grad student and he was a visiting professor. He called me, right after his book signing, to give me great news. The script’s been picked up by a television network. Aidan’s star power in Hollywood is attracting an enormous amount of money to the project. They’re ready to start developing it as a series. Aidan wants me in Los Angeles as soon as possible. He’s asked me to be his writing and producing partner.” Matt’s heart was pounding. “Al, this job pays huge money. It could make us rich.”

  Ali seemed surprised. “Do you really care that much about money?”

  “What I care about is being able to give you everything you want. And I know one of the things you want most is your own restaurant.”

  “I want my restaurant. I do, very much. But I don’t want it in California. That would be like having it in a foreign country.”

  Matt moved closer and whispered, “We’ll never have another opportunity like this. Aidan’s a huge player in Hollywood. He can take us places we’ve never dreamed of. This is a job I really want. Let me do it, Ali. Let me do it for you…and for me.” Matt waited to discover if he’d made her believe that everything he’d said was true.

  He’d kept her hand pressed tight against his chest. And as he studied Ali, while she was standing at that altar with his heart beating against her palm, Matt knew he’d won.

  He could see that she’d decided she needed to love him more than she wanted to understand him. He looked into her eyes and saw Ali tell herself that the mystery of a few missing days and the shock of leaving the safety of Rhode Island didn’t really matter, when measured against the happiness of a lifetime.

  That was when Matt stepped back—and watched—while Ali took a terrifying leap of faith.

  Morgan

  There seemed to be too much quiet. “Are you still here?” Morgan asked.

  Sam’s voice at the other end of the phone was mellow, gentle. “I’m always here.”

  Thank God for Sam. He was her lifeline, the only person she could really talk to. Morgan relaxed, slowed her ragged breathing.

  She was alone in the park. A young couple was strolling past, laughing, arm in arm. An old woman in a red felt hat sat solitary and vacant eyed on a bench a few yards away. A very tall, very thin boy, his skin shining and so dark it was almost blue-black, was perched on a boulder near the park gate, playing a cello, making soaring music that was infinitely sad.

  “Ali’s going to the other side of the country. She’s leaving. How can my sister leave me? How can she just walk away?” Morgan said.

  “I can hear it in your voice, how much this bewilders you, and wounds you. Tell me why.”

  “Because. She made a promise to me, and she’s breaking it.” Morgan’s attention shifted from the laughing couple to the vacant-eyed woman in the red hat.

  Morgan swallowed hard. There was a knot in her throat. She was struggling to survive the hurt. “When Ali and I were little, we promised we’d never be apart. She swore she’d never leave me. And…” Morgan’s voice trailed off. She knew what she was saying sounded childish, but the promise had been real for her, and she’d always believed that it had been just as real for Ali.

  “What?” Sam asked. “What were you about to say, my friend?”

  It was her aloneness—her fumbling inability to connect with people and the world—that was causing Morgan so much pain. But it was easier to stay jealous of her sister than to battle her way to becoming someone entirely new. “I have cuts. All over my face,” Morgan told Sam. “And it’s because of Ali.”

  The cuts were fading, but they were still there. Little wormlike welts Morgan was afraid would become a permanent mask of ugliness. The thing that would seal her fate. And keep her alone for the rest of her life.

  She pressed a fingernail into one of the healing cuts. Doing it slowly, hard enough to make it hurt. When the hurt finally brought tears, she said, “It was Ali’s fault that I ran…that I fell and landed facedown in broken glass. And now she’s abandoning me.”

  Morgan noticed the old woman in the red hat was gone and that absolutely nothing remained on the bench, not even a leaf or a scrap of paper. The space the woman had occupied was completely blank. Morgan groaned. “I don’t know how to be, without my sister.”

  And Sam, the gentle voice at the other end of the phone, said, “You have a lovely and sensitive soul. There’s so much more in you that you could show to the world…so much more than your injuries.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Just something for you to think about, later, when you’re calmer. Right now, why don’t you talk to me about the wedding.”

  “Ali says it’ll be small, just family. And it’s happening fast, in less than three months. Matt has a new job working on a television series. He’s flying to Los Angeles tomorrow. He’ll come back for the wedding. Then Ali will be gone…to California.”

  The blue-black boy with the cello had started to play music that was wild and formless—swirling.

  “My sister is throwing away everything, including me, for a guy who hung her out to dry, for days, while he disappeared and did God knows what to God knows who. I think that makes her a shit.” The ache in Morgan became outrage. And she asked, “Does saying that make me sound like a terrible person?”

  For a
second or two, no response. Then, as always, Sam’s voice was benevolent. “I’m glad we had this chance to talk. It’s almost four o’clock, time for my afternoon swim.”

  “Wait,” Morgan said. “I want to know why.”

  “What are you asking?”

  “Why are you always here for me? Why did you talk to me, for hours that first time, after you texted…and I called?”

  “When I heard your voice, I heard loneliness. It’s a subject I’ve spent a great deal of time studying.”

  “Your text, the thing that started all of this…was it really an accident?” Morgan asked.

  “Yes. There was someone new in my life, and I had written down their number incorrectly.”

  Morgan’s instinct was to ask who the person was. But she didn’t want to change her relationship with Sam in any way. She wanted to keep it exactly as it was—a safe, comforting mystery.

  “We’ll talk again soon,” Sam told her.

  Morgan nodded and ended the call.

  The boy and his cello were filling the park with jangling, discordant sound, and for some reason, it made Morgan think about the wedding in Newport: how she’d tried to add something pretty to the present Ali gave to Matt, and Ali had screamed at her, “Get your own life and stop eating at mine like a greedy termite.”

  Self-pity welled up in Morgan, shifting her thoughts to that night at BerryBlue Farm. The night of the funeral. When Morgan was in such terrible pain, grief-stricken over her grandmother’s death, and her face was raw with cuts. She’d needed Ali so much. But Ali had turned away from her, sarcastically saying, “I’m sure you’ll feel better soon.” A gesture that told Morgan, I don’t give a damn about you.

  And then, later that night, Morgan had eased her pain with a phone call. The call that obliterated Ali’s apprenticeship at that fancy restaurant in New York.

  Afterward, Morgan wondered if what she’d done was unforgivably wrong. Then she decided it simply had been a way of getting justice, a way of bringing things into balance.

  Erasing one of Ali’s dreams wasn’t the end of the world. Ali already had too much. She had Matt, and an engagement ring. Did she honestly deserve more? Wasn’t it only fair that Morgan had leveled the playing field a little by taking away that trip to New York?

  Now Ali was planning another trip—going all the way across the country, to California. A place she’d probably never come back from.

  Ali’s absence would be permanent.

  And Morgan had spoken the truth when she told Sam, “I don’t know how to be, without my sister.”

  If she couldn’t share Ali’s existence, Morgan was convinced she would have no life at all—convinced that the only adventures and pleasures she’d ever get near were the ones that belonged to her sister.

  Morgan believed the only way for her to survive was to stop Ali from going to California.

  And the way to do it was to reach into Ali’s past and arrange for an unexpected guest. A loose cannon who would annihilate Ali’s wedding like a suicide bomber.

  Ali

  In the eighty-eight short days between the moment Ali had agreed to marry Matt and the morning of their wedding, her world, and Matt’s, had changed completely.

  Ali had quit her job and packed up her life, said good-bye to her family and her friends. Matt had gone to Hollywood, signed contracts, and started work on the television show. He’d also leased an apartment fourteen miles north of Los Angeles in a city called Pasadena. It was where the bride from Newport, Ali’s best friend, Jessica, had settled. And Matt promised Ali she would feel at home there.

  Matt had also promised Ali that their wedding could be whatever she wanted. It was her day to do with as her heart desired. But the marriage was what was important to Ali, not the ceremony. She’d never been one of those girls who grew up fantasizing about her wedding, giddy about every princessy detail. Ali’s dream had been about finding a husband who was a good man, making a family and a home with him. She had no interest in a big-deal wedding blowout.

  It took her exactly two days to put her wedding together. Day one was inviting the guests—fewer than ten people—and calling Reverend Miller to reserve the church. And then a call, to her mother, to decide which flowers from her mother’s garden would make a nice bridal bouquet. On day two, Ali had gone to the mall for an hour and found her wedding dress—a simple, off-the-rack, ivory-colored silk suit that fit perfectly and happened to be on sale.

  Now here she was, in the powder room at the back of the church. A married woman. Changing out of her wedding outfit, while her guests were gathering on the church steps with streamers and smiles, ready to send her off into her new life.

  “I’m scared,” Ali said.

  Morgan, in a blue, knee-length dress that was a little too big on her, seemed oblivious. She was staring into the full-length mirror on the back of the powder-room door. “You knew Matt’s best man was that handsome Australian. I wish you’d had the time to help me find a decent bridesmaid’s dress. It would’ve been nice if I could have walked down the aisle looking better than this.”

  Morgan lowered her head and muttered, “I guess maybe you were so busy getting yourself out of town, there wasn’t time to worry about the people you’re leaving behind.”

  “You’re wrong.” While Ali put on the lightweight sweater and pants she’d wear on the flight to California, she thought about moments that had shaped her life. Her first Christmas. The summers at BerryBlue. That endless night when Matt had disappeared. And her wedding, which had happened only minutes ago.

  In every one of those moments, in every joy, every sorrow, there was one thing that was unchangeable, constant as a heartbeat. Morgan had been there.

  And tomorrow, Ali would wake up in California, a place Morgan wouldn’t be.

  I don’t care what Matt said about Pasadena having old houses that look like they’re on the East Coast. It will never be home. Home will always be here, in Rhode Island, where my sister is.

  Ali was taking a small, brown suitcase from a shelf on the powder-room wall, fighting tears, saying, “I’m sorry.”

  “About what?” Morgan’s expression was guarded.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t think to help you with your dress. And as far as telling you about Aidan being in the wedding, it came up at the last minute. Matt’s best college professor friend was in Europe on sabbatical, and Aidan offered to step in as best man. Since Aidan’s going to be a significant part of our future, it seemed to make sense.” Ali’s heart was aching. “I’m sorry, Morgan. I’m sorry about your dress. I’m sorry about going to California. I’m so sorry.”

  Morgan shrugged, her chin quivering—a gesture she used to make as a little girl when she’d been disappointed. “Too late now, huh?”

  Morgan’s tone was quiet, but underneath the quiet, Ali heard resentment. And it rekindled a suspicion in her. One that had hit her at the end of her wedding ceremony. When she’d turned away from the altar and noticed an unexpected guest at the back of the church.

  “It’s not like I’m saying you had to pull off a three-ring mansion circus, like Jessica and Logan’s wedding,” Morgan was telling Ali. “But it should’ve been something better than four people and Reverend Miller.” Morgan’s gaze was focused in mid-distance, as if she couldn’t quite look Ali in the eye. “Wait…there were more than the four of us at the altar, wasn’t there? Mom and Grandpa in one pew. And Dad and Petra the Martyred Stepmother lurking on the bench across the aisle. There were eight people.”

  The bitterness in Morgan’s voice told Ali everything she needed to know about why that unexpected guest had shown up to witness her marriage. Ali was furious. “There were nine people, Morgan. Don’t forget Levi. Why did you invite him to my wedding?”

  Morgan’s response was quiet, vindictive. “Your friend Levi, the hockey player, the one Matt calls ‘the ginger-haired hulk’… Did it bot
her you to have him there?”

  When Ali didn’t answer, Morgan said, “Levi does have serious anger issues, especially when it involves his history with you.” Morgan gave a mock frown, as if she were coming to terms with disappointing news. “But I guess he’s controlling himself better these days.”

  The gloating quality of Morgan’s next question—“Did I ruin your big day by inviting him?”—sent a shudder through Ali.

  “Is that what you wanted to do…ruin my wedding?”

  Morgan stared at Ali, not saying a word.

  “Please tell me that’s not true.”

  Morgan kept glaring at Ali, refusing to back down.

  Ali grabbed her, shook her. “Why did you do it?”

  Morgan’s bravado suddenly evaporated. “I was scared. I just wanted things to stay the way they were.” She gave a defeated laugh. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? Nothing happened. Your wedding didn’t get ruined. You’re going to California. So that makes everything okay, right?”

  Ali was too frustrated, too bewildered, to answer.

  Morgan came closer, nervously biting her lip. “Levi asked me to give you this.” She reached into her pocket and brought out a braided ring made of chewing-gum wrappers. “He said it doesn’t belong to him anymore. He said you’d know what he meant by that.”

  Ali was trembling when she took the ring. The feel of it on her palm was the feel of passion, and regret. The weight of betrayal. She held the paper ring cupped in her hand for several long moments, thinking about crushing it.

  But instead, she carefully put it into the brown suitcase, next to her wedding outfit and her marriage license. After that, she turned her attention to rearranging the rest of the suitcase’s contents—making a point of not looking at Morgan.

  Ali was packing her wedding shoes, arranging them on either side of her grandmother’s mahogany portfolio, when Morgan crossed the room.