My Sister's Voice

by Mary Carter

  How old are they?

  Two and a half. And they were so close. Babbling with each other, banging spoons together like musicians in the same band, chasing after each other down the street, racing to be the first to grab a strange dog. Sometimes, the woman wrote, it’s as if I don’t exist. Lacey took her file on Monica back, shoved it in her bag, and stood. She looked at her watch. “I have to go.” The woman smiled and held out her hand. They shook. Lacey picked up the notepad and pen. She was about to put it in her purse when she jotted down one more thing.

  Would you ever give one of them up? Not surprisingly, the woman looked alarmed. She emphatically shook her head no.

  What if one of them was Deaf?

  I would love her, no matter what.

  You would never give one of them up for any reason?

  That would be criminal.

  Lacey nodded, and quickly stashed the notepad. She’d better leave before the woman thought she was creepy. She put on a big smile, picked up Rookie and made him wave his little paw, laughed as the twins laughed and reached for the dog with sticky fingers, and smiled at the mother again as she hurried away. Criminal, she thought as she walked on. That would be criminal.

  By the time Lacey made it back to the studio, Mike was standing outside with an older couple. Lacey wondered if they were his parents. She hung back, not in the mood for introductions, explanations, scribbling. Had he told anyone about her drunken come-on? Hopefully not. He was the one who’d been willing to stake out Monica, he was the one who took a punch for doing absolutely nothing but standing there, staring at her, and really, who could blame him for that? Would she have told Alan if he hadn’t walked in? Doubtful. She missed Alan something awful, but so far her BlackBerry had been silent. It had been only a few days, but it was the longest they had ever gone without talking to each other. Although she definitely had enough to distract her. The couple was leaving, getting into a black Mercedes parked at the curb. If they were his parents, it wasn’t fair. Good-looking and rich. When Mike turned and went back inside, Lacey followed. He was standing in the front entrance to the studio, pacing back and forth, talking on his cell phone. He froze when he saw her, and she could have sworn she caught “She’s here” on his lips before he clicked off. He attempted a smile and waved weakly. She waved back. They stood and contemplated each other like teenagers at the spring dance.

  Lacey held up her index finger, walked over to the easel, and picked up a marker. Tell me about her. Mike took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. It was her list of interview questions. She skimmed it. Barely any had been answered. It told her nothing she hadn’t already ascertained from her Web site.

  She didn’t answer them all?!

  Birthmark question freaked her out. She thought I was a stalker / pervert.

  You didn’t tell her?

  Mike shook his head no. He removed his cell phone from his jeans, scrolled through it, and handed it to her. It was a picture of Monica. She was sitting near a swimming pool, smiling, wearing a dusty-rose sundress.

  What are you going to do? Mike wrote. Lacey shrugged, looked away. She’s very nice, he wrote. Invite her to the show?

  Lacey stared at the question. Should she? Wouldn’t that be something? After all, she’d seen Monica’s work—if you could call that crappy book “work.” No, that wasn’t how it was going to go down. Lacey was going for the sneak attack, not the invitation. Besides, the art show was about her, her work. If Monica showed up, it would turn into some kind of Jerry Springer reunion. That wouldn’t be good for business. Lacey tried to ignore the niggling jealousy she felt chewing on her at the thought of her famous hearing sister triumphing over her at her own art show. “No,” Lacey said. His question reminded her of the couple she had just seen leaving the art studio.

  Were those your parents?

  Who?

  Outside. Older couple.

  When?

  He was acting strange. Almost as if he was suspicious of her. Lacey threw open her arms and pointed to her watch, then jabbed her finger in the direction of the street.

  “Just now,” she voiced. There it was again, that expression.

  No, he wrote. Not my parents. Lacey waited for more. Art lovers? Lost tourists? Jehovah’s Witnesses? Mike put down the marker. He gestured with his thumb to his area. Work, he mouthed. Lacey smiled; for some reason she felt sick. She pointed at herself and nodded, à la “me too.”

  She walked toward her paintings, unsure of her balance. But instead of going to the portraits she should have been working on for the art show, she headed straight for the tarp against the back wall.

  Chapter 16

  Lacey worked for a few hours on a new horse painting. This one was purple with blue hooves, the hills behind his floating head, green. It was the last thing she should be doing; she should have been choosing which portraits she was going to put in the show, but she couldn’t help herself. She knew this compulsion to paint the horse wasn’t normal, but desire beat logic. After a few hours she stopped and stretched. She wandered into the kitchen. Mike was standing by the door. A pixie-ish woman with spiky blond hair was standing next to him. If she had been with Robert instead of Mike, Lacey would have pegged her as an actress and assumed they were putting on Peter Pan. She was definitely a Tinker Bell.

  Was this his girlfriend? The woman caught Lacey’s eye and gave her a smile and a wave. Obviously, Mike hadn’t told her about Lacey’s wanton behavior. Lacey waved back, making sure not to look at Mike. At least her curiosity was satisfied. She’d always wondered what kind of woman Mike would date. The girl was cute—not beautiful by any means, but cute. She looked wired too, as if she were about to burst into a spontaneous cheer à la “Go, team!” Lacey turned away from them and had just started to put on a pot of coffee when the lights flashed. Mike looked over as if to ask her if she were expecting anyone. She shook her head no. Mike opened the door, and to Lacey’s surprise, in walked Alan.

  Lacey’s first reaction was to hug him. Did he want her to hug him? She hung back, and her hesitation reminded her of where they were: stuck, stranded.

  “What are you doing here?” Lacey asked before she could stop herself. His expression told her she’d hurt him even more. But she couldn’t be too soft. After all, days had gone by and not even a text. Not even an RSVP to the show. He knew how much it meant to her.

  “I’m here for the weekend,” Alan said. “I came to see the show.” Lacey stepped back and allowed Alan to step inside.

  “Coffee?” she asked.

  “Why not.” They headed for the kitchen.

  “Lacey,” Mike said, following them. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.”

  “Hi,” the woman said. She waved again.

  “This is—” Mike started to say.

  “Wait,” the woman said. She turned to Lacey, beaming. She held up her hand and began to slowly finger-spell her name. “T-I-N-A.” Lacey smiled. Thank God the woman had a short name; her finger spelling was painfully slow.

  “Lacey,” Lacey voiced.

  “Nice to meet you,” Tina said.

  “You too.” Lacey turned to Alan. “This is—” Lacey said. Then she stopped. Hurt welled up in her. Normally, she would introduce him as her boyfriend.

  “Alan,” Alan said, stepping forward and holding his hand out. Mike crossed his arms against his chest but said nothing. Tina held up the postcard advertising the show.

  “Ready for the big show?” she asked. Lacey gave Tina a thumbs-up. Tina grinned and mirrored her. Then she pointed to Lacey’s paintings. “Can I look?” Mike put his hand on Tina’s shoulder.

  “You should wait,” he said. “It’s only a couple days.”

  “I don’t mind,” Lacey said. “Go ahead.” Tina giggled and headed for Lacey’s paintings. “Do you want coffee?” Lacey asked Mike.

  “No,” he said. “I have work to do.” Without another glance at Alan, he headed back to his space. Alan followed Lacey over to the pot of cof
fee and leaned against the counter as she prepared their cups. Then she threw herself into Alan’s arms. He was stiff at first, and then she felt his arms wrap around her. He smelled good. She reached up and stroked his hair. Their lips found each other, and soon they were kissing. Lacey forgot all about their visitors. Alan, however, did not. He pulled back.

  “Is that his girlfriend?” Alan answered, glancing over at Tina, who was examining Lacey’s portraits so closely she wondered if the girl was extremely nearsighted.

  “Yes,” Lacey said.

  “She obviously doesn’t know,” Alan said. And then, their romantic mood was gone. Lacey shrugged. She handed Alan’s coffee to him black and put cream and sugar in hers.

  “Have you talked to your sister?” Alan said.

  “Are you using your voice?” Lacey said, glancing again at Tina.

  “She can’t hear me,” Alan said.

  “I told you,” Lacey said. “I don’t have a sister.” Alan slammed his mug down on the counter.

  “Lacey,” he said. “Don’t do this.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “You’re hiding your head in the sand like an ostrich.” Alan started his little “act” of an ostrich.

  “Stop it,” Lacey said. “I don’t need your stupid idioms. And I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”

  “So you plan on just ignoring her? Ignoring us?”

  “Ignoring us? You’re the one who hasn’t spoken to me for several days!”

  “I was giving you time.”

  “I didn’t ask for time.” Lacey noticed Mike was back in the vicinity and he was glancing over. “You are using your voice,” she said.

  “I don’t like that he’s here,” Alan said. “I don’t like it a bit.”

  “We share the same space. That’s all.”

  “Look what it’s done to us. And he’s still running around with his girlfriend as if nothing ever happened!” A few seconds later, Alan turned his head sharply. Lacey followed his gaze. Tina stood just behind them, hands on hips, mouth slightly open.

  “What did she say?” Lacey asked, although Alan’s face had already given it away.

  “She said—‘What did happen?’” Lacey glared at Alan. She’d told him to stop using his voice!

  “Nothing,” Lacey said. She noticed Mike was making his way over. “He’s just—”

  “They almost slept together,” Alan said. Lacey stared at Alan. He wasn’t usually vindictive. She’d underestimated how much she’d hurt him, how much he was still hurting. She wanted to tell him again how sorry she was. She wanted to punch him for causing more trouble for Mike. But there wasn’t any time to deal with Alan—Tina stole the focus.

  “Almost slept together?” Tina said. “You almost slept with her?”

  “Nothing happened,” Mike said. “Lacey was drunk and—” He glanced at Lacey and signed: “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” Lacey said.

  “What was that?” Tina asked. “What did she say? What did you say?”

  “I just told her I was sorry,” Mike said.

  “Is that why you were drooling all over Monica?” Tina said. “Are you hot for her too? You have some kind of ‘twin’ fantasy going on here?” Alan interpreted for Lacey. Lacey shot Mike a look.

  “Did she just say Monica?” Lacey asked, turning first to Mike, then to Alan. “I saw ‘Monica’ on her lips.” Alan nodded. Lacey turned once again to Mike. This time the expression on her face would’ve broken anyone. Mike looked stricken.

  “She works with Monica,” Mike said. “She’s her assistant.” Lacey glared at Tina, who seemed to shrink even more, even though she kept a fake grin plastered to her pointy face.

  “You told her about me?” Lacey said. “You told her?”

  “No,” Mike said. He looked from Tina to Lacey. “She Googled me,” he said at last. “She saw your picture on our Web site.” Another stalker, Lacey thought. Just like Kelly. The world was apparently full of them. Lacey walked up to Tina and gazed directly in her eyes. Then she pointed at her with her index finger. Lacey knew pointing in hearing culture was rude. Pointing in Deaf Culture was normally a linguistic reference. But this point was the hearing-culture variety, for in this situation, “rude” was just fine with Lacey.

  “Did you tell her?” Lacey asked. Tina met Lacey’s stare without blinking, but she didn’t answer right away. “Did you tell Monica about me?”

  “No,” Tina said. Her eyes slid over to Mike. “He asked me not to.”

  “You can’t tell her,” Lacey said. “It’s none of your business.”

  “So it was a fake interview?” Tina said. Mike nodded. A look of glee passed over Tina’s face, and this time her smile was genuine.

  “Did he tell you all about your parents?” Tina asked Lacey. “Their cabin?”

  “No,” Lacey said. “He didn’t.” Her parents? Their cabin? She wanted to wring his neck. What was he keeping from her? He met her parents? He went to their cabin?

  “I was going to tell you,” Mike said.

  “When?” Lacey said. “We just talked ten minutes ago. You didn’t say a word about my parents. Or their cabin.”

  “Tina,” Mike said. “We have a lot to talk about here. Can I catch you another time?” It was impossible to miss the look on Tina’s face. Her eyes slid over to the front door, where a little red suitcase was propped up, waiting like a patient dog to be taken for a walk. Mike followed her gaze over to it.

  “I can wait for you,” Tina said. “I was hoping I could maybe crash on your couch for the night?” The look on Mike’s face was just as easy to read. Lacey smiled at Tina. “Alan—keep her company—I need to talk to Mike.” No one was playing poker; Alan looked like he would rather eat glass. “Please,” Lacey added. To his credit, Alan guided Tina away. Lacey almost forgot Alan had been interpreting; she was back to writing. Instead of using the easel, Lacey took out a pad of paper and pen.

  You have to let her stay with you.

  No, I don’t.

  She looks crazy. Don’t piss her off.

  I’m not interested in her.

  Tina was right, Lacey thought. Mike was interested in Monica. Lacey wasn’t happy about this either, but it was the least of her worries at the moment.

  I don’t care. I need to keep her quiet. Lacey knew what Mike wanted to say—she could see it in his face. He’d already taken a punch, now she was pimping him out. It’s one night!

  “Tina,” Mike said. She and Alan were standing just a few feet away.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re welcome to crash with me—but I still have things to finish up here.”

  “No problem,” Tina said. “I’ll go explore. But I won’t eat, because I am taking you out to dinner. What time should I come back?” Stalkers, Lacey thought again. There’s one born every minute.

  Through a reluctant-to-interpret Alan, Mike told Lacey all about Tina inviting him to the cabin. He explained he was just trying to learn as much as he could for Lacey, and she let it slide for now, even though she knew it was a lie. He was totally smitten with Monica. Was it because he couldn’t have her? Lacey couldn’t help but wonder. Maybe she had turned him on the other night, and Monica was the next best thing. Or maybe he was intimidated because she was Deaf. Maybe Monica was the Golden Goose with the Golden Voice.

  He told her about Aunt Grace. Lacey was floored. She hadn’t even begun to deal with parents and a twin; now not only was there an “Aunt Grace,” she was yet another person threatening to reveal Lacey’s identity to Monica. If Lacey was going to confront her twin, she was going to have to do it soon, before someone else got to her first. It wasn’t fair. This was her twin, she had dibs. Shotgun, Lacey screamed inside her head. I call shotgun! Lacey pressed Mike for more information about Aunt Grace.

  “She’s got spunk,” Mike said. He looked at Alan. “Is that word hard to interpret?” Alan interpreted the question to Lacey without answering it.

  “He’s interpreting the concept, no
t necessarily word for word,” Lacey said.

  “Oh. So there’s no sign for ‘spunk’?”

  “Just like English, ASL has several options for almost any word you want to use, or it could just be spelled out. ‘Spunk’ sounds very dirty, so if that’s what you’re getting at—I’ll show you.” Lacey asked Alan to turn off his voice and after a few seconds of extremely graphic signing about “spunk,” Mike shut up, even turned slightly red. “You were saying?” Lacey said.

  “Aunt Grace walked up to Monica in front of everybody—and there was a huge crowd—and said, ‘Lacey, Lacey, Lacey.’ ” Lacey and Alan exchanged a look. Lacey didn’t want to think about this too much with two men staring at her, but a jab of pride, and even love, for this Aunt Grace stabbed at her. She existed! Someone was acknowledging that she existed!

  “So Monica does know about me,” Lacey said.

  “No. Your father stepped in. Later, Monica followed her parents into the kitchen—and I don’t know what was said—but I know she doesn’t know.”

  “You don’t know for sure—”

  “Remember the couple you saw me talking to this morning?” Lacey furrowed her eyebrows, nodded for him to continue. “They’re her parents. Your parents.” Lacey took a step back. Alan bridged the distance and stood next to her.

  “My parents?” Lacey said. “They came here? To see me?” Mike shook his head. He glanced at Alan. “Look at me,” Lacey demanded.

  “They came to see me,” Mike said. “To buy my silence. Just like they bought Aunt Grace off with a trip to Italy.”

  “You took money from them?” Her head was spinning. She didn’t care what the consequences were; if Mike took money from her parents, she was going to go berserk.

  “No, no,” Mike said. “Of course not. But when I wouldn’t take their ‘donation,’ they begged. They begged me not to tell Monica about you.” A cry escaped from Lacey. She slapped her hands over her mouth. She didn’t want to break down in front of Mike, but the tears had already started.