by Mary Carter
“Happy anniversary,” Lacey said.
“Happy anniversary.” They clicked glasses. I love you, Alan mouthed. I love you too, Lacey mouthed back. Alan started to reach for his suit pocket. Lacey threw her hands out. Alan stopped.
“What?” Alan said.
“I have something to show you,” Lacey said.
“Me first,” Alan said.
“No.” Lacey reached for her purse and pulled out The Architect of Your Soul. It was missing the cover. She handed the book to Alan. She saw him repeat the title. He gave her a quizzical smile. He started to flip through the book.
“Is this my anniversary present?” he asked. “You think I need help?”
“What do you think?”
“Is it new?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s the cover?”
“The girl was so hot-looking, I took it off. Didn’t want you drooling all over her during our anniversary dinner.”
“I’m sure she’s nowhere near as hot as you,” Alan said.
“You’d be surprised.” Alan continued to flip through the book. Lacey watched him intently, praying that any minute he’d tell her he thought the book was a load of crap. He stopped.
“Look,” he said turning the page toward her. “This is a good one.” Lacey glanced at the title. “Building Your Future.” Why had she shown him the book? What if he really liked it? What if he thought she was smarter than Lacey? He definitely couldn’t pretend he didn’t think Monica was hot. Lacey snatched the book away and shoved it back in her purse.
“What’s wrong?” Alan asked. “What did I say?”
“It’s not your present,” Lacey said. “It was a joke.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Deaf joke,” Lacey said.
“Explain.”
“The book is total crap,” Lacey said. “Couldn’t you see the book was total crap?”
“Why are you getting so upset?”
“How’s your brother?”
“Why are you changing the subject?”
“How is he?”
“Fine.”
“Is he still getting divorced?”
“Yes.”
“Then how can he be fine?”
“What is going on here?”
“Must be really hard on the kids.”
“Yes. We’ll have to visit.” Lacey reached over and took Alan’s hand.
“Let’s never get married.”
“What?”
“Then we’ll never get divorced.”
“Because Tom is getting a divorce? He’s a workaholic. He’s been ignoring her for years. That’s not me.”
“Most marriages end in divorce.”
“I would die before I would divorce you.”
“Another good reason not to get married. No marriage, no death.” Alan signaled the waiter. They ordered. There were no jokes this time, no laughter. How quickly things changed. Life was unpredictable. After a moment, Alan reached across the table and took Lacey’s hand. He didn’t speak, he simply held it. He knew something was wrong, and without prodding, he was waiting for her to tell him. The touch of his hand softened Lacey, breaking down the tightness she’d felt in her stomach all day. Letting go of it was like sliding down a rope; it started to unravel, and the farther she slipped, the more it burned.
She didn’t want to cry, she didn’t even know why she was crying. She should be angry, angry someone would leave a letter like that in her mailbox. Who left that letter in her mailbox? Who? Who in the hell was Monica Bowman and how was any of it even possible? Lacey didn’t want to face what she’d been thinking all day, what she’d been avoiding thinking, throwing up roadblocks about face thieves and Photoshop. It wasn’t her. That was the terrifying thought occupying Lacey’s stomach. The picture wasn’t stolen from Lacey, the picture was of Monica Bowman, and Monica Bowman was her twin. Lacey let go of the rope, and tears flooded her face. Alan took her other hand as well; he was there for her. He was always there for her.
“Tell me,” he said. He handed her a napkin and gave her back her hands. She wiped her face, took a deep breath, started for her water, but took a drink of wine instead.
“I could have brothers and sisters,” she said.
“Yes,” Alan said. “You could.”
“I want to find out.”
“Why?”
“Why not? I have a right to know where I came from.”
“You’ve never shown any interest before.” It was true. She was abandoned at Hillcrest Children’s Center as an infant. Baby in a basket. Or was it a car seat? It didn’t matter. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” Alan said.
“I’m going to pay Margaret Harris a visit,” Lacey said.
“Your house mother from Hillcrest?”
“Yes.”
“You said you’d rather eat live toads than ever see her again.”
There’s a woman out there with my face. She’s writing books and getting famous and stealing bits of my life right out from underneath me. She’s using my image on her book jacket and her Web site. Monica Bowman. What if you were meant to be with her? What if you would love her more than you love me? What if she’s my twin? What if what if what if?
“I’m sorry,” Alan said. “Of course you should visit Margaret. Do you think she can help?”
“She must know something.”
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“I’m going with Kelly Thayler.” Alan kept his mouth shut, but Lacey knew what he was thinking. She’d made it clear what she thought of Kelly Thayler as well.
“I think it’s great,” Alan said. “I fully support you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. Wanting to know where you came from, who your family is—it’s a very good sign. I just don’t want you to get hurt. You may not find out anything.”
“Of course.”
“Just promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“When you’re done looking into your past, you’ll start thinking about our future.” Lacey smiled at Alan, the man who’d been there the past six years, the man who was pretending he didn’t have a ring in his pocket because he could feel her fear. She’d never loved him more. And she still wasn’t telling him the truth.
“I promise,” she said. She crossed her heart and squeezed Alan’s hand. It was because she had an itch, she told herself, that she was touching her nose.
Chapter 6
“I can’t believe you want to visit Margaret,” Kelly said. “She’s going to be so excited to see you.” They were in Kelly’s car, driving the hour and a half to the Pittsburgh suburb where Margaret lived. Lacey was pleasantly surprised that Kelly jumped at the opportunity to visit Margaret and didn’t even mention bringing any of her brood. The car smelled slightly like sour milk and crayons. Like Kelly’s living room, toys littered the backseat of her car. Margaret excited to see me, Lacey thought. That’s not going to last long.
“She’s disappointed you haven’t kept in touch with her,” Kelly said. Lacey gave her a look. It wasn’t anybody’s business. Little Miss Only At Hillcrest Three Years And Everyone Is Family.
Life with Margaret hadn’t been all bad, but it hadn’t been all good either. In rare nurturing moments, Margaret would wrap you in an enormous hug, make you disappear into her perfumed folds. She was a good cook too, and when she was feeling generous would step in to spice up the meals or sweeten the desserts. She lived on the grounds in a little caretaker’s cabin in the back, a mere brisk walk from whatever trouble the kids were getting themselves into.
But Margaret had mood swings. She would be smiling one minute and screaming the next with hardly a breath in between. She was strict too. It was lights out at nine P.M. WHETHER YOU WERE SIX OR SIXTEEN. SOMETIMES SHE PUT SALT IN THE COOKIES INSTEAD OF SUGAR. AND AT NIGHT, ONCE THE KIDS’ LIGHTS WENT OUT, MARGARET’S LIQUOR BOTTLES CAME OUT.
Lacey also knew, despite all this, Margaret thought of herself as a mother, where
as Lacey had always thought of her as a caretaker, and she felt no compulsion to stay in touch with Margaret after she left. If she could see anyone again, it would be her art teacher, Miss Lee. She came every Wednesday for at least five years, and she always made Lacey feel special, loved even, and signaled out for praise and instruction. She was so pretty too, wavy black hair and kind green eyes. She was the most exotic woman Lacey had ever seen. Tall and thin, always in a long flowing black skirt, white lace blouse, topped off with a turquoise necklace. Lacey probably became an artist because of her. Miss Lee didn’t treat Lacey like she was any different because she was deaf, and she even knew a few signs. Lacey loved her; she didn’t even remember her name; she was just Miss Lee. But she disappeared eventually; they all disappeared eventually.
And even if Lacey wanted to keep in touch with Margaret or anyone else, it would have been difficult. Hillcrest Children’s Center lost funding shortly after Lacey left, and the school closed down a short while later. Public schools were now mainstreaming handicapped children with the “able-bodied” population. It was all so long ago. According to Kelly, Margaret now owned a bakery. “I still think we should have told her you were coming with me,” Kelly said. Lacey once again wished she hadn’t let Kelly drive; they would have been there by now if Lacey had been behind the wheel.
“I told you,” Lacey said. “I want to surprise her.” By surprise, she meant ambush.
“I see,” Kelly said. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your twin, now would it?”
Lacey was glad she wasn’t driving; she would have crashed into something. She wanted to slap the look of self-satisfaction right off Kelly’s face. She hated that Kelly liked to snoop, and even worse, that she was extremely adept at it. “You followed me?” Lacey asked. “To Benjamin Books?”
“No. I just called the bookstore, asked who was giving a book reading. Then Googled the name Monica Bowman. Saw her Web site and nearly fell off my chair!” Lacey stared out the window. This wasn’t happening. She was supposed to be in control. She didn’t want anyone knowing about Monica. She couldn’t even explain why. This was her battle. She couldn’t take anyone else galloping into her fight.
“At first I thought you were playing some kind of trick on me,” Kelly continued. “Using a pen name. I was like—she even gave her dog a pen name! And Alan. Then I was like—wait a minute—why would Lacey ask me to interpret for this woman if it was her—and I was like—”
It was amazing how Kelly could sign and blather at the same time; someone should really stick a sock in her mouth and tape it shut. Of course, in ASL, she wasn’t signing the “I was like” portions of the conversation, but Lacey could catch it on her lips. And whereas most Deaf people could drive and sign at the same time with the same ease as hearing people talking and driving at the same time, Kelly didn’t have the skill mastered. Several times, Lacey had to grab on to the dash and remind Kelly to watch the road.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing somebody knew about her evil twin. At least now she could get someone else’s opinion. Lacey told Kelly about discovering the poster, and then reached into her purse and showed her what she did to the book cover. She joined in as Kelly howled with laughter.
“Oh my God,” Kelly said. “You’re the reason the book signing was canceled.”
“Yes.”
“Have you looked at her Web site?”
“Yes. More of the same. The same picture—the same quotes from her book. Total crap.”
“You think? I was kind of inspired. I was thinking, after you become friends, I’ll take one of her workshops and get a signed copy—”
“After we become friends? The lunatic stole my face.”
“Or she’s your twin.”
“No—” Admitting the possibility to herself was one thing. Saying it out loud was charged with a voltage Lacey wasn’t wired to handle.
“You’ll be famous,” Kelly said, oblivious to Lacey’s pounding fears. “You’ll be all over the news. You’re going to meet Matt Lauer. Can you get his autograph for me? I’ve always had a little crush on Matt. I was never so happy as when Katie left. She was always touching him. Why do short women think they’re so much better than us? It’s like the opposite of the Napoleon complex for women—”
“Stop.”
“Sorry. This is so exciting!”
“Nightmare.”
“Have you e-mailed her?”
“No.”
“Why not? Do it now. Where’s your BlackBerry?” The car swerved as Kelly wrenched around to gawk at the backseat. Lacey braced herself and pointed straight ahead. “Watch the road!”
“I’m going to pray for you,” Kelly said. “I’m going to pray she’s really your twin.”
“Just pray we don’t crash,” Lacey said.
“Lone Wolf Lacey.”
“Shut up.”
“You never let anyone get close to you. Even me. Unless you want something.” Lacey curled her right hand into a fist but kept it hidden from Kelly. She wanted to yell “One-legged freak!” as loud as she could, but she didn’t. She wanted to tell her she loved Miss Lee, but she didn’t do that either. In the first place, she couldn’t remember if Miss Lee showed up before or after Kelly left. In the second, she wanted to keep her memories of her art teacher all to herself; if Kelly were to tell her how Miss Lee doted on her too, told her she was special, beautiful, could do anything—Lacey wouldn’t think twice about kicking Kelly out of the moving car. Miss Lee belonged to her.
“I lost my parents too,” Kelly said. “But I knew who they were. I knew where I came from.”
“Just drive,” Lacey said.
“Why do you think we called you Ice?” Kelly continued. “There was always a cold, hard part of you, and you messed over anyone who ran into you. Like an iceberg.” Lacey watched the yellow line on the road flash by like bouts of lightning. You used to call me Princess Prank too, Lacey thought. Because I was fun. Because I was brave. The only one not afraid to cause a ruckus in the evening and face up to Margaret in the morning. I was cool. Lone Wolf. Ice. Fuck off!
This part of the highway ran along a dense stretch of nameless woods. Lacey could easily rip Kelly’s fake leg off, beat her over the head with it, and bury her body in the woods. Nobody would ever know.
Did you hear? everyone would ask her. Did you hear what happened to Kelly Thayler? Lacey would point to her ears, shake her head no.
No, I didn’t hear; how could I have heard?
“I’m sorry,” Kelly said. “I just want this for you. A family. A sister.” If it can’t be me hung silently from the end of Kelly’s fingertips. Kelly loved Lacey. Why did love work this way? How could one person feel so strongly, and the other not care? Despite her recent fantasy to murder her and bury the body in the woods, Lacey didn’t have bad feelings toward Kelly. But she didn’t love her. She didn’t think of her as a sister. She didn’t think of anyone as a sister. Maybe she just wasn’t capable of that kind of love. Maybe if you didn’t get it early enough, you were screwed. Lacey put her head back and closed her eyes. She didn’t care if Kelly jabbered to herself the rest of the way there; as long as she closed her eyes, her world would be filled with nothing but the vibrations of the road, and a long, blissful silence.
A little over an hour later, Kelly took the next exit. Lacey opened her eyes and took in the sights. The place had a cozy, small-town feel. The houses were so close together, the neighbors could pass dinner back and forth through their windows, but they were all freshly painted, and flowers adorned almost every single porch. Then they passed a post office the size of a postage stamp, and a street sign warning: SLOW. DEAF CHILDREN. Kelly glanced at Lacey.
“I’m an adult,” Lacey said. “Go fast.” Kelly laughed but maintained her slow speed.
“What?” Lacey continued. “Because they’re deaf they’re not going to look both ways before crossing the street?”
“You know,” Kelly said, “I used to be afraid of you. Now you amuse me.”
“I’m always hungry,” Kelly said. “But that’s not why I’m stopping.” She looked at the sign, and a little smile played across her face. “Do you think she still puts salt in the desserts?” Kelly said.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Lacey said. A warm, sweet smell wafted toward them as they approached the bakery.
“I want a chocolate éclair,” Kelly said. “Or a cinnamon bun.” Lacey wanted a glazed donut and answers.
Dogs, Lacey thought as she entered the bakery. Margaret’s life has gone to the dogs. Man’s best friend was everywhere. In line for biscuits, sitting by the door, barking at something crawling up the wall, and licking the shoes of humans in line with them.
“It’s a bakery for dogs,” Kelly exclaimed. “You turned her against children.” She and Lacey shared a laugh.
“She wouldn’t even let us get a dog back then,” Lacey said.
“That’s right,” Kelly said. “You led a hunger strike over it.”
“I made it twenty-four hours. Nobody else made it past snack time.” Kelly made a face; Lacey knew she didn’t like to be reminded of how weak she was back then.
“Now you paint dogs and she feeds them,” Kelly said. Lacey was more than just a pet and portrait artist, and Kelly, who’d scoured the Internet for everything pertaining to Lacey, knew this very well. Lacey’s Web site showcased her abstract paintings, her landscapes, her still lifes. Kelly was just getting back at her for the jab about the hunger strike. It was true, Kelly wasn’t afraid of her anymore. Bummer. “They smell so good I could actually eat one,” Kelly said.
