The Geometry of Sisters

by Luanne Rice

  “Thank you,” Carrie's father said.

  “Take good care of her,” Dell said.

  “We will,” he said. “Her mother and I.”

  Dell nodded, and then she got into the car and started driving slowly through the storm across town to Hawthorne House, back to all the girls missing their families for Christmas.

  Carrie sat in the rocking chair, holding Gracie. The heat clanked in the radiators, but wasn't making its way into her room. She felt freezing cold, tried to warm Gracie against her body. She held her daughter, smelling her hair, kissing the top of her head. She closed her eyes, thinking of those times by his hospital bed, when she'd thought he might die. But he hadn't.

  Things turned around. She'd found her way to Rhode Island, to be near him, to figure out that piece of her life's puzzle. Logic had escaped her; she'd been steered by her heart. Once she'd learned of his existence, she'd had to find him. It was like a salmon making its way back to the river where it was born.

  She came from Rhode Island. Her mother and father had been in love here. Now her family was here again; she shook, thinking of her mother, the way their eyes had locked. Carrie had seen wild love there—the kind that overcame anything, forgave everything. In that moment, she realized that she was wrong to stay away a minute longer. She had to go home.

  She held Gracie tighter, closed her eyes. She'd been trying to push these thoughts away for so long. But it was as if she was stuck. The terrible snowstorm outside was nothing compared to the turmoil she felt. She needed her family, but she couldn't move. It was as if the gale outside was spinning her back to another storm. The one on the lake, the day she'd destroyed everything.

  Her family vacation. Usually it was her favorite part of the year, but that summer she'd dreaded it with everything she had. Going to the lake, being with her family, doing childhood things—those belonged to a different Carrie. The innocent girl she used to be, the one who had loved school, her family, nature. Her family thought she was perfect. She'd known that was silly, but deep down, it had made her proud, given her a lot to live up to.

  That year it all fell apart. The week before vacation, she'd started throwing up. She'd already suspected. She'd missed her period; her breasts felt so tender. And her stomach kept flipping, lightly and constantly, in a way she'd never felt before. She went to the drugstore, bought a pregnancy test. She knew before she saw the blue line.

  She and Justin had been on the verge of breaking up for months. Ever since the car accident, she had changed. He said she'd gotten too serious—not about him, but about life. And he was right: they could have been killed. She was in the hospital for weeks with internal injuries, and needed blood transfusions. Her parents had visited her every day, and she'd seen something shift between them. Her mother always looked so worried, and her father always looked so angry. For the longest time, Carrie had thought it was because of her—because of the accident. Well, it was because of her, but not in the way she'd imagined.

  The day Carrie decided to tell Justin she was pregnant, he broke up with her. She had watched him after the accident—instead of getting more serious about life, he'd gone the other way. He got wilder, drove faster, stopped working hard in school. It was as if he wanted to dare death to come get him again.

  They were behind the school, out by the athletic fields. Carrie's voice shook, telling him she had news. He'd stepped back, almost as if he could read her mind. He told her to stop, he had something to tell her first. He couldn't do it anymore; he needed to figure things out; he thought they should see other people. What killed her was the sight of his eyes filling with tears as he said he hated himself for hurting her. She was struck silent, couldn't move as she watched him walk away.

  So she brought all of that with her to the lake. Arriving at their cabin, her favorite place in the world, she gazed across the water. She saw the lighthouse, the one that had appeared as if by magic, and she let it soothe her. Both she and Beck had loved that lighthouse from the moment they had first seen it the previous summer. All winter they had looked forward to seeing it again, and had vowed they would visit it the next time they were at the lake. Made of brick, so tall and true, with a strong iron balustrade, it gave her strength.

  She needed to clear her conscience, tell her parents about the secret she was keeping. She hadn't told her family any of it—not about the pregnancy, not about Justin. She'd thought she might, if she found the right chance, talk to her mother. But it was so hard, and her parents weren't getting along, and she couldn't make herself do it.

  She and Beck were about to go out in the canoe, take a paddle around the lake. Carrie had thought it might relax her, help her put things into perspective. But then her father had come along, asked Beck if she'd let him go instead. Carrie hadn't wanted that, but he'd insisted.

  They'd climbed into the canoe. Glancing over her shoulder, she'd waved goodbye to Beck. Blue sky, sparkling lake, every stroke propelling the canoe along. Her father sat behind her, breathing heavily as he paddled hard. She looked back at him and the look on his face shocked her. His cheeks were red, and she saw anger in his eyes. Did he know that she'd heard the tail end of the fight with her mother? The part about her accident and the blood.

  “What's the matter?” she asked, willing him to break the tension.

  “Are you having a good vacation?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. But her heart was breaking.

  “I'm glad,” he said. “I try to make everything good for our family.”

  “You do, Dad,” she said.

  He let out a strange sound, a kind of snort, as if he didn't believe her.

  “You do!” she said again.

  “Thank you, Carrie,” he said. “I'm glad you think so.” A beat. Then: “This might be our last summer here.”

  “Why?” she asked, nearly dropping her paddle. She turned all the way around to face him, and they stopped right there, way out on the lake.

  “Things change,” he said. “So do people.”

  Such a mysterious thing to say, and suddenly she knew—he was talking about her. Her chest ached as if he'd punched it. He knew. Somehow he had figured out that she was having a baby. First the accident, now this.

  “I'm sorry,” she said, barely able to speak.

  “Don't be,” he said.

  “I didn't mean to hurt everyone.”

  “Hurt everyone? Not you, Carrie. You never could….”

  His voice was tender, and his words so loving; suddenly she felt everything well up, and she knew she couldn't hold it in any longer. She couldn't have her father go on thinking she was so good.

  “Dad, I'm pregnant,” she said.

  “You're what?” he asked, his voice sharp.

  “I'm pregnant.”

  “You're kidding.” And then, when she just stared at him without saying anything, his face flushed dark red.

  “God, Carrie,” he finally ground out. “How could you be so stupid? What does Justin have to say about it?”

  “He doesn't know.”

  “He's the father, and you haven't told him?”

  “No,” she said. “I can't. He…”

  And for some reason, her father lost it.

  “Jesus Christ, you are just like your mother. Exactly. She did the same thing you're doing.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, afraid of him for the first time in her life.

  “She got pregnant, Carrie, with you, and she didn't tell your father.”

  “But you knew!” she said nervously. Why was he saying this?

  “I knew nothing!” he snapped.

  “What are you talking about?”

  He let out a low sound that was half sigh, half moan. “You might as well know,” he said. “You're going to find out anyway. Like mother, like daughter.”

  She stared at him, terror rising in her throat, thinking she was going crazy. The canoe was drifting, and suddenly the wind picked up. It rocked them, but her father did nothing to steady the boat. S
he couldn't move. The sky began to darken fast, clouds billowing over the distant shore. She heard thunder.

  “The summer your mother spent in Newport,” he said. “She got pregnant, just like you. And she didn't tell the father… Blackstone. A man named J. D. Blackstone.”

  “You're my father!” Carrie screamed.

  “No, I'm not,” he said, shaking his head hard. “I thought I was, all these years. I've loved you since before you were born. I'll love you till I die. But he's your father, Carrie.”

  “I don't believe you!” she shrieked.

  “That's why this is the last vacation,” he said, his eyes turning hard again, his voice as loud as the wind. “I told your mother this morning. I'm moving out. Do you know how much I've loved you? You were my baby!”

  “I still am!” she cried. “You're just saying this because you're mad at me. I made a mistake, I'm not perfect…. Dad, I'm sorry! Please don't say these things, please don't go!” She jumped up, lunged at him. All she wanted was to throw her arms around him, to make him know that she was his daughter, that she'd love him forever.

  “Carrie!” he shouted as the canoe tipped.

  And suddenly everything changed back—she was in his strong arms, his eyes softened, full of love, and he was her dad again. But the sky came down, black all around them, wind and rain and waves crashing into the rocking canoe, and they went over.

  They were in the water. The lake was warm, and the rain felt cold. Carrie came up first, grabbed the overturned canoe, and held on, trying to keep her head above the churning waves. She looked around, shouting for her father. He was the only one, her only father, anything else was a mistake.

  “Dad!” she screamed over and over.

  He never came up. Lightning sliced the sky, and the thunder was so loud she thought it was pounding inside her head. She dove again and again, down through the black water, flailing wildly with her hands, searching for him. The waves whipped up harder, tossing the canoe, and the hardwood frame struck her temple. The impact made her dizzy, and she swallowed water.

  And then she turned away. Above her, she saw a light sweeping through the inky clouds, and she half floated, half swam to shore. But not the mainland: the island where the lighthouse stood.

  Crawling up the bank, she was in shock. Blood trickled from a cut in her head. Her thoughts were crazy. Her father was fine—he'd simply swum the other way, to her mother, to safety. He had been angry, but now he loved her again. That name, seared into her mind: J. D. Blackstone. He was no one, he meant nothing.

  But lying on the wet ground, feeling needles of rain in her face, things began to fall into place: her blue eyes. The other women in her family had hazel eyes, but hers were blue, and not the same blue as her dad's or Travis's. Theirs were dark with a golden ring around the iris. And hers were light, clear, a different blue entirely.

  And her blood. Why had neither of her parents been able to give blood for her transfusions after the accident? They had fought over it, and she'd assumed it was because they were so worried. She'd never suspected it was because she had a different father.

  Her mother had slept with someone else.

  You're just like your mother, he had said.

  Her mother got pregnant and didn't tell the father. Her father. It was because of her her parents had been fighting for months. Even in those first moments, alone on the island at the foot of the lighthouse, she was beginning to know the truth.

  They rescued her. A boat, lights flashing, blankets. Took her to shore, to the arms of her mother. But Carrie was numb, and she didn't know her mother anymore. She heard people talking, saying they were searching the lake for her father. But he had drowned, and it was because of her, and he wasn't her father anyway. She was frozen solid, half dead. She wished she had drowned.

  An ambulance came. She and her mother got in, Beck and Travis staying behind with the rescue people. Carrie couldn't think. She was a block of ice, wrapped in blankets. She heard someone say she was going into shock. She didn't care.

  At the hospital, in the ER. Her mother stroking her head. Whispering that she loved her, that everything would be okay. A technician came in, said he had to take her vital signs. And that's when Carrie's mind began to work again. They were going to do tests on her. They'd figure out she was pregnant, but Carrie didn't care about that. She cared about her mother, how hard and fast her world was about to fall apart.

  The picture of her father's face, disappearing under the waves. He was dead, and Carrie had done nothing to stop it. She was selfish, pregnant, “just like her mother.” Her chest nearly exploded, wanting to sob into her arms, tell her everything, repeat what her father had said to her. But if she told her mother that, that he'd said those words with such hatred for both of them, Carrie thought her mother would die too.

  Someone called her mother, said she had to fill out paperwork. Carrie felt her mother's lips on her forehead, heard her say she would be right back. The curtain closed behind her. And Carrie sat up. Put on her wet things. Walked out.

  Never stopped walking. Here she was, so many months later, with Gracie. She'd found her real father, walked into a new hospital, stuck around until he got better. Her family was all in Rhode Island now, living in Newport. All she had to do was get there. She didn't have a lot of money, but she worked hard and could afford a bus ticket.

  Carrie dressed Gracie as warmly as she could. She pulled on her own coat and boots, stuck the picture of her mother into Gracie's diaper bag. She had left home right after a storm, and she would return in this one. Suddenly she knew she couldn't wait another day, another minute. She lifted Gracie into her arms, ran down the hall, down the stairway, toward the pay phone on the first floor.

  But she stopped on the landing. There, right in the hallway, in front of the phone, were two men. One big and burly, the other in a wheelchair. Her eyes lasered in on him, the man in the chair. The last time she'd been this close to him, he'd been lying in a hospital bed.

  “You're all better?” she asked.

  “I am,” he said. “Because of you.”

  “No,” she said. “It was the doctors. I just wanted…”

  “It was because of you,” he said gently.

  “I've done so much to hurt people,” she said, clutching Gracie.

  “Everyone loves you, Carrie,” he said, holding out his hand. “They just want you home.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “More than anything,” he said. She reached for his hand. He held hers, and she felt tears overflowing. “Come on,” he said. “Let me take you home to your mother.”

  Stephen knew the cops were on the case, but their fourteen-year-old quarry had given them the slip. They had checked bus terminals in Newport and Providence, train stations in Kingston, Mystic, and New London, even the T. F. Green Airport. Maura was despairing. The police were perplexed and frustrated. The administration of Newport Academy was vexed. But Stephen understood. Never underestimate a young math genius.

  Redmond and Lucy had helped him out. Lucy gave him a list of friends on Beck's Facebook page, kids who lived in Columbus. Stephen had Lucy email them all, tell them to contact Beck's mother if they heard from her. Redmond told Stephen she'd always looked at two certain books up in the Blackstone Hall reading room, the biography of Rose Hawthorne, and a battered-looking old diary.

  Redmond led Stephen upstairs to look at the books and seized the diary as if he was positive Beck had left a clue inside. All they found was a torn scrap of paper marking her place. There was her handwriting, but it seemed to be just a fragment of a proof she'd been working on. Nothing to reveal her plans.

  “She's out there all alone,” Redmond said.

  “I know,” Stephen said.

  “She misses her sister so much.”

  “You think she went to find her?” Stephen asked.

  “I don't know,” Redmond said, sounding desolate. “My family never split up. Except for me and my brother going away to school. I don't know w
hat she might be thinking.”

  “Happy families are lucky,” Stephen said.

  “I wish Beck were happy,” Redmond said. “And that she'd come back. I wanted to show her around Boston. I could still do that, whether she goes to the math competition or not.”

  “You could,” Stephen said, putting his hand on the young man's arm, feeling his own heart split as he considered how it felt to be faced with a woman whose feelings he wished he could change.

  He stared at the book in his hand, at the notation Beck had made on the bookmark in it, and suddenly he knew exactly where she was.

  “I have to go, Redmond,” Stephen said, edging toward the door. “But try not to worry about her. Everything's going to work out.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Campbell,” Redmond said, sitting down heavily on the loveseat and staring into the fire, looking not at all convinced that anything in the world was going to be okay.

  And then Stephen ran.

  23WHO KNOWS WHAT I WAS THINKING? THAT'S the crazy thing about me. Half the time I do things I don't want to do, for reasons I don't understand, just because I have to. Taking one single key off Angus's ring, just before I got caught trying to give it back, is the perfect example. Part of me knew I had to make my way up here, to Mary's room, before the rest of me had any clue.

  I know the whole school was talking about me, what a thief I am, and I didn't feel very good about that. But is that the reason I came running upstairs, three flights, to let myself into Mary's quarters? Not really. Yes, it's a good place to hide out; I doubt anyone will look for me here. But there are stronger reasons.

  Unlocking the door, closing it behind me, I found myself staring at the pool. There were fluted columns, big windows facing the sea, cream-and-honey-colored marble steps, but mostly there was water. Aquamarine water. Clear, still, with three curved steps leading into the shallow end.

  My chest was thumping, my heart aching so hard I wanted to make it stop. I really just wished it would stop beating, stop hurting. I want to say I had thoughts, but I didn't—not any. All I had were feelings, and they didn't come with any words at all. They had to do with my poor father, drowned in that lake, and my mother, and the secret she'd kept so long, and my sister so far from all of us. And they had to do with J.D., and the fact that he swam here, and the look in his eyes when I faced him—sorrow, regret, even something like love.