My Sister's Voice

by Mary Carter

  “Me too.” She winked. Then she too removed her bra. They each set theirs on their oar and Monica counted. One, two, three. The bras went flying, in two directions. A couple of kayakers stopped to gawk. Lacey and Monica broke into laughter. They couldn’t have explained to anyone else what they were doing or why. They just knew they were having fun. It wasn’t every day you found out you were a twin. They could strip if they wanted, they could skinny-dip, they could bend over and moon the cars whizzing past on the Schuylkill Expressway.

  It hurt a little, walking in their shoes without hose and socks, and they couldn’t quite jog without bras, but after the canoe ride they still managed to walk downtown. They found a little store and bought matching pink flip-flops. Then they set off down the street, taking in the little dog park next to the church, talking about their puggles.

  “So weird,” Monica said, pointing to the picture of Snookie on her phone. “Snookie and Rookie. I mean, that’s just strange!”

  “Pepsi and curry chicken,” Lacey said. She pulled a business card out of her pocket. It said ALAN FISHER, GENERAL CONTRACTOR. She wrote on the back of the card. My boyfriend.

  “My God,” Monica said. “Joe is an architect.” Lacey nodded; she knew this. Monica pointed to her ring finger and then at Lacey. Lacey shook her head no. Monica pointed at herself, shook her head no. She rocked an imaginary baby. Lacey shook her head no again and pointed at Monica, who did the same. No husbands or babies, just boyfriends and dogs. Suddenly someone grabbed Monica around the waist and yanked her off the ground, swinging her around like a child. Just as suddenly, she was dropped. When Monica turned around, a huge man in a jester’s outfit was staring at her like she was the weird one. Then he signed furiously to Lacey, who was laughing so hard, tears were coming out of her eyes. As the two signed rapidly back and forth, Monica looked helplessly from one to the other.

  “Monica, meet Robert,” Lacey said. “Robert, this is Monica. My twin.” Robert’s expression couldn’t have been clearer. He was truly shocked. He mimicked coming up and picking up Monica and then doing a double take when he spotted Lacey. The three of them laughed. Then Robert hugged Lacey, waved at Monica, and headed off. As he walked away, the little bells adorning his costume jingled with every step he took.

  “You have a lot of friends,” Monica said, remembering all the deaf people at the art opening. “I’m so glad.”

  “The Deaf Community is my family,” Lacey said. “The only one I’ve ever had.”

  This time, Monica moved through Lacey’s studio as if she herself planned on painting it later from memory. She took in her worktable, her brushes, her pads of paper. She was so creative, so beautiful, so confident. Was that why Monica was so insecure? Had Lacey been given her dose of confidence? Monica was the one who had been given everything, yet Lacey was the one who walked with her chin up. Along the side wall, Monica saw new paintings. Fifteen portraits of people with their pets were propped against the wall. They weren’t captivating like her horse paintings, but they were well done, with a whimsical touch. “Cute,” Monica said. She would have to get Lacey to paint her with Snookie.

  They were stolen, Lacey wrote. Right before the art show.

  Monica frowned. How did you get them back?

  Someone mailed them all back.

  Weird!

  You don’t know the half of it.

  Monica waited politely, but Lacey didn’t offer any more information. A picture! She had to have a picture of the two of them. Monica mimed snapping a camera. Lacey shook her head no. Monica took out her cell phone. She stood by Lacey and held the phone toward them, ready to snap. Lacey pushed her hand away.

  “What’s wrong?” Lacey shook her head no. They moved over to the horse paintings still hanging where they were for the art show.

  “You’re so talented,” Monica said. “I’m mesmerized. Really, I’ve been thinking of them nonstop, I can’t get them out of my mind—” Monica stopped babbling; she was talking way too fast.

  Lacey ran to a large easel with a huge sketch pad set up and picked up a marker. Do you like horses? she wrote.

  Monica followed, picked up the marker. I love yours.

  Do you ride?

  No.

  Did you have toy horses as a kid?

  No. Monica didn’t know what she said wrong, but Lacey was definitely upset with her answer. It was as if she thought she was lying to her. Was it because she was disappointed she obviously didn’t share the same passion for horses? Monica pointed to the paintings again. Really AMAZING!!!

  Lacey dropped the marker with a shrug. She went to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of red wine and held it up.

  They sat on the couch, laughing at everything after only one glass of wine each. They continued to communicate through a series of gestures and lipreading and writing. Monica indicated she got drunk easily, after only one glass; Lacey confirmed she was the same. Monica asked her how old she was when she first got drunk. Lacey leaned her head back on the couch as she tried to remember. Then she held up nine fingers.

  “Nine?!” Monica shrieked. “Nine?” Lacey laughed.

  Orphans, she wrote. House mother had a whole cabinet of liquor. Monica wished she knew sign. Whereas earlier she had wished them away, now she wished there were an interpreter here. Suddenly writing and gesturing weren’t enough. She wanted detailed stories. She wanted to tell Lacey a searing pain went through her side when Lacey wrote the word “orphan.” She wanted to know everything she’d missed about her twin’s life. She wanted to tell Lacey all about hers. She wanted to call her parents. She wanted to bring Lacey home right now and demand an answer. True to her promise, she hadn’t brought them up again, but surely they couldn’t ignore it forever? How could they have done this to her? To them? Lacey offered Monica another glass of wine. She glanced at Lacey’s empty glass and raised her eyebrow. Lacey shook her head. None for me. Monica copied her. Lacey stuck the cork back in the bottle and stood up. She looked at her watch. She pointed to Monica.

  “Time you go,” Lacey said. Monica stood, unsteady and confused. It felt like someone had just shut off the television mid-movie.

  “Okay.” She flipped open her phone. “Your phone, text, e-mail, the works,” she said.

  “Why?” Lacey asked. Monica laughed, searched her sister’s face for signs of humor. She stopped laughing when she saw none. Lacey was completely serious.

  “When am I going to see you again?”

  “You’re not.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I wanted to meet. We’ve met. The end.” Lacey moved to the front door of the studio, opened it, and waited for Monica to leave. Monica ran to the pad of paper and ripped off the old sheet.

  YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS.

  Lacey walked over to the pad of paper.

  I am.

  WHY???????

  What did you think? Best friends?

  Sisters. Twins.

  You’re a stranger.

  I don’t have to be.

  I’m sorry.

  You can’t do this.

  Lacey put the pen in her pocket and walked back to the door. She didn’t respond to Monica’s pleas. Tears in her eyes, Monica followed.

  “Please? Please?” Lacey turned her head away. “I don’t care if you can’t hear me. Can’t understand me. This isn’t the end. You’re just upset. I forgive you. You’re my twin. I’m not losing you. Do you hear me? I will be back.” Monica lunged forward and kissed Lacey on the cheek. Lacey pulled away and wiped her cheek dry.

  “Your parents dumped me like garbage and kept you,” Lacey said. Her speech wasn’t perfect, but Monica understood every word.

  “No,” Monica said. “I know they must love you. We have to go to them. They’ll explain everything.”

  Lacey marched back to the pad of paper. They’ve already been here, Lacey wrote.

  “No,” Monica said. “No.”

  They came to see Mike. To ask him to keep quiet about ME. To keep you away from ME.

/>   “I don’t care. I don’t care. I want you. I want you.” Lacey shook her head no and gestured for Monica to leave. “Please,” Monica said. “What will it take?”

  Lacey went over to the pad of paper again and wrote down her answer. Before Monica could read it, she ripped it off, folded it in half, and thrust it at Monica. Then, she pointed to the door again; she didn’t want Monica to read it in front of her. Mustering every ounce of courage she had, Monica lifted her head and walked out the door. Once outside, she leaned against the brick wall and took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding. She opened the poster-sized paper.

  Dump them. Dump your parents like they dumped me.

  Chapter 21

  Monica stood on the sidewalk, stunned and disoriented, like a loyal patron tossed from her favorite bar eons before closing time. She was clueless about what to do next. Go back to the hotel, back to Joe, start the workshop Saturday, home to Boston Sunday as if nothing had ever happened, as if she were the same old person living the same old life? It wasn’t possible.

  She placed her fingertips against her forehead and pressed. She tapped her fingers on her head, tap, tap, tap, like a woodpecker, tap, tap, tap; it didn’t help, too light, not enough pressure, not enough to beat out the noise inside her head, the pain.

  She had a twin, a twin, a twin, a twin, an identical twin. This should be a day of celebration. It started that way. Curry chicken salad and Pepsi and writing notes across the table like schoolgirls. Floating in a canoe, peeling off their shoes, and hose, and socks, and bras. Drinking wine in the middle of the day in Lacey’s art studio. Like best friends, like sisters.

  Monica didn’t have very many female friends. She was one of those who always felt more comfortable around men. Tina was a friend, up until she dumped her—

  Because of her, because of Mike. But where did it go wrong with Lacey? What did she do, what did she say, what didn’t she do, what didn’t she say? What if she called a taxi, waited out here for Lacey no matter how long it took, grabbed her the minute she came out, shoved her into the cab, and yelled, “Drive!” Would that be considered kidnapping?

  “Monica?” She removed her hands from her forehead and turned around.

  “Mike,” she said. That was all she could manage to say, but a lot more was going on in her head. Tina’s a bitch. Now I understand why you looked at me as if you saw a ghost. How did you know it was me out here and not Lacey; is it the suit? It has to be the suit.

  “Nice flip-flops,” Mike said. “Very pink.”

  “It’s a girl,” Monica said with a laugh. “My pumps are in the river,” she added. Mike followed her gaze down the street, as if they could see the river from where they stood. God, he was really, really attractive. Like really sexually attractive. No wonder Tina went around the bend. Was he looking at her feet again? They were normally very cute, but right now they were dirty. Maybe he liked dirty feet. God, she hoped not. That would make him weird and she really, really didn’t want him to be weird. Didn’t Lacey say she tried to sleep with him? Even weirder. Why didn’t he? Did he not find her attractive? That was ridiculous, they were beautiful—

  “You should’ve told me,” Monica said. “At the cabin.”

  “I know,” Mike said. “I tried. There were so many people around and Tina thought—”

  “Tina knew? She knew back then?” Monica had never considered this. Probably because there were way too many things to consider. The shock of meeting her twin had knocked all logic straight out of Monica’s head. She just couldn’t trace all the little footprints—

  “Monica, I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine everything you’re trying to process.”

  “How about after my parents paid you a visit, huh? How about telling me then?” Mike sighed, jammed his hands in his pockets, kicked the sidewalk with the tip of his tennis shoe. She realized it sounded as if they were having a lovers’ quarrel, and even more surreal than that, he was engaging in it too. Was she crazy? Was some kind of mental infection invading her body through the soles of her feet?

  “They were very insistent,” Mike said quietly.

  “My father got to you too,” Monica said.

  “What’s that, now?”

  “You stood up to him at the cabin. I noticed that about you.” It made me think of you doing things to me, very dirty things. Women have sexual fantasies too, you know. If he only knew the number of times and ways she’d imagined him taking her. They locked eyes. She completely forgot what they’d been talking about. Sexual fantasies were the murderers of intellect.

  “Remember, I’m the one who gave you the invitation to the art show,” Mike said. “I wanted you to meet Lacey.” How quickly it all came back.

  “What exactly did my father say to you?”

  “Monica, I can’t—”

  “You have to. Please. I have to know.”

  “They didn’t say much, okay? Look, you really need to talk to them.”

  Monica glanced up at the studio. “She doesn’t want me to say anything just yet,” she said. She just wants me to abandon them without a word.

  “There seems to be a lot of that going around,” Mike said. He gave her a soft smile.

  “Tina left,” Monica said. “She went back to California.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mike said. “I never led her on.”

  “No, I know,” Monica said. The moment hung between them; they maintained eye contact. Mike looked away first.

  “So how was it?” he asked.

  “It?”

  “Meeting your twin.”

  “Oh. I love her. I love her.” Monica stopped. She sounded way too fierce. It probably wasn’t normal to love her. Even though she did. She might never be able to explain it to anyone, but she did.

  “That’s great,” Mike said.

  “She hates me,” Monica said.

  “Oh,” Mike said, looking away. He knew her sister better than she did. He probably knew exactly how Lacey felt about her. “I’m sorry about everything,” he said.

  “It’s okay.”

  “It’s not. The fake interview, the birthmark. I hated freaking you out. I hated you thinking I was some kind of pervert—”

  Monica laughed. “It’s okay,” she said. “Lucky for you you’re a very talented artist. Because interviewing is definitely not your thing.”

  “Thanks a lot,” he said. “So are you in town for—”

  “I have to go,” Monica said. She couldn’t stay. There wasn’t room in her head for everyone. Mike or Joe? Her parents or Lacey? She couldn’t handle any of it right now.

  “I might have some shoes, or—”

  “I’ll be fine,” Monica said. She stuck out her hand for a shake. He laughed, then took her hand. She pulled him toward her, rolled up on her toes, and kissed him full on the mouth. She pulled back first, not because he wasn’t kissing her back, he certainly was, but because she couldn’t stand the thought that he might push away first, ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, for she had nothing, no explanation to offer. She pulled back as abruptly as she’d gone in, and found herself once again looking up at the studio. Only this time, instead of feeling foolish for being so paranoid, she thought she saw Lacey looking out the window. Without another word to Mike, just a pat on the chest, near the heart, she walked away.

  The flip-flops were sticky, the thong digging into her toes. She was dying to take them off but she might step on broken glass, or a discarded needle, or one of many disgusting things she wished she were not thinking about. She kept walking. Kissing Mike had given her some kind of strange adrenaline kick, helped mitigate the pain of Lacey kicking her to the curb. She’d never been dismissed so thoroughly by anyone. She found herself back at the little dog park by the church. If only she had Snookie with her. He was in doggy day care in Boston.

  She sat on a bench, not caring about the view or the company as long as she could rest her feet. She zoned out, tried to think of nothing but her dirty toes and the cracked sidewalk above which they hov
ered. Joe had called so many times her voice mail was full. The workshop was over by now. If they could see her now. Practically barefoot, braless, and aimless. That should be the title of her new book. B.B.A. When a hand slid over, holding half a tuna sandwich, it took her a moment to figure out what was happening. The owner of the sandwich, an old black man, sat next to her. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, not even cheap flip-flops. A large shopping cart, filled to the brim with what looked like junk, was parked next to him. He had one hand resting protectively across the cart, the other was stretched out, offering Monica the sandwich.

  “Oh, no, thank you,” she said. He looked at her feet. He jabbed the sandwich at her again.

  “Take it,” he said. “You never know when the next one’s a-comin’.”

  “Thank you,” Monica said. “But I’m not homeless, just hopeless.” She didn’t know why she said that; the absurdity of blurting out something like that made her laugh. She glanced at the old man again. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being homeless,” she said. He withdrew the sandwich, unwrapped a tiny corner of it, and began to nibble.

  “Mmm, mmm,” he said. “Sure is good.”

  “Seriously,” Monica said, pointing in the direction of her hotel. “I’m staying at the Marriott.” He looked at her feet again.

  “So why you hopeless? Lost your boyfriend? Dog? Job?” Monica shook her head. No, no, no. “You gotta boyfriend, dog, job?” Monica nodded. Yes, yes, yes. “Then why you so hopeless?”

  “I lost my sister,” Monica said. “Yesterday I didn’t even know I had her and I’ve already lost her.” Saying it out loud shook loose the sadness Monica could feel clinging to her. She started to cry. A second later, the sandwich was back in her face. She tried to stop crying, but still refused the sandwich. The old man put the sandwich on the bench in the space between them and whipped out a napkin from his pocket. Just when Monica thought he was going to offer it to her, he began twisting it with his thick, calloused fingers. A few seconds later, he’d transformed it into a rose. He held it up. Monica wiped her eyes, laughed, and took the flower.