by Mary Carter
Lying in the hospital bed, with the covers snug against her, eyes closed to the world, Monica looked so helpless, so frail. Lacey pulled up a chair and simply watched her. Her eyes were moving behind shut lids, she was dreaming. Did they have similar dreams?
“You’re beautiful,” Lacey signed. “I’m sorry.” Lacey snuck her hand underneath the covers and took her sister’s hand in hers. They said she hadn’t taken the entire bottle of pills, that it may not have been a true suicide attempt. The paint fumes had led to dizziness that may have made her confused about how many she had taken. Still, Lacey knew it wasn’t completely accidental, just like writing Go Home all over the walls wasn’t by accident. This was a new and bewildering experience, having someone need you, but there was no doubt about it, Monica needed her. Her BlackBerry buzzed. It was Alan.
Lacey. Where are you? Are you okay? Is Monica okay?
I’m at the hospital. She’s sleeping. They pumped her stomach.
Are you okay?
Yes. I love you.
I love you too.
Someone touched her on the shoulder, and Lacey jumped, almost dropping her BlackBerry in the process. A nurse, a doctor, and a woman dressed in black stood behind her.
“This is Dr. Barns,” the nurse said. The woman in black interpreted. “He’s the psychiatrist. He wonders if he can speak with you?”
“Of course,” Lacey said.
“This way,” Dr. Barns said.
On the short walk to the doctor’s office, the interpreter introduced herself to Lacey and they chatted briefly. Her name was Melanie, she was one of the interpreters on staff in the hospital. Soon they were sitting in a small office covered in plants.
“I’m sorry for the circumstances which bring us here today,” Dr. Barns said. Lacey kept quiet. “I’m preparing your sister for admission to our psychiatric unit,” he added. “And I was hoping you could tell me a little bit about her history. Has she attempted suicide before?”
“I thought they said the paint fumes made her dizzy,” Lacey said. “This may not have been a suicide attempt at all.”
“Has your sister spray painted hotel walls before? Is this a pattern of acting out with her?”
“I think that was the first,” Lacey said. She didn’t like the doctor. And he certainly wasn’t locking Monica up here. “I’d like to take her home instead,” Lacey said. “I can take care of her.”
“Are you two very close?” the doctor asked.
“We’re twins,” Lacey said.
“Yes, identical twins, I can see that. But that doesn’t really answer my question now, does it?”
“You can’t imagine how close we are,” Lacey said. She sat back and smiled at the doctor. There. She wasn’t sure exactly how the interpreter phrased it, but word for word she wasn’t exactly lying.
“It’s standard procedure to admit any patients who have attempted to harm themselves into the psychiatric unit for evaluation. If this proves to be an isolated incident and a case of vandalism and—dizziness—as you say, then she will be released in twenty-four hours. I’m not here to debate where she goes next, Ms. Bowman—”
“Gears.”
“Mrs. Gears—”
“Ms. Gears.”
The psychiatrist stopped, looked at her. “I’m simply trying to get an idea of her history from you.”
“It’s our parents’ fault,” Lacey said. “They suck.”
“I see.” He scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Have you contacted them?”
“Did I not just say they sucked? That they were to blame?”
“Is that a no?” the doctor asked. He took off his glasses, rubbed his nose, and stared at the interpreter. Lacey slammed her hands on the desk and stood.
“Are you an idiot?”
“Ms. Gears, I will not tolerate name-calling.”
“I just said our parents are the reason my sister is lying in a hospital bed and you ask if I’d called them.”
The doctor turned to the interpreter.
“Is this normal behavior for a Deaf person or is she over-animated?” he asked her.
“Excuse me?” Lacey said.
“You weren’t supposed to interpret that,” the doctor said to the interpreter. “Stop signing. I’m talking to you, Melanie, I’m not talking to her.” Lacey crossed her arms and glared as Dr. Barns continued his futile attempt to persuade the interpreter to have a nonsigned conversation about Lacey right in front of her face. Lacey didn’t care how she was going to do it, but Monica was getting out of this hospital.
“When will she be admitted?”
“We should have a bed ready in a few hours,” Dr. Barns said.
“Fine,” Lacey said. “And where do I file a complaint?”
Dr. Barns stood.
“A complaint?”
“Yes. I find your behavior despicable,” Lacey said. “And discriminatory.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. You can speak to someone in the visitors’ lobby, I suppose.”
“Thank you,” Lacey said.
Lacey tried not to run all the way back to the room. Monica was still sleeping. According to the nurse, she could wake at any time and other than feeling tired and pangs from her stomach being pumped, she shouldn’t be in any physical danger. She found Mike sitting next to her bed.
“I lied,” Mike said. “I said I was your brother.”
Lacey winked.
“Welcome to the family,” she said. “Now help me wake her up.”
An hour later, Lacey and Mike walked out of the hospital. On their way past the nurses’ desk, the nurse called out to them.
“How is your sister?” the nurse asked, half yelling, half over-enunciating. Mike pretended to sign the question to Lacey, who responded.
“She’s still resting,” Mike interpreted. “We’ll be back after a bite to eat.”
“They’ll be checking her into the psychiatric unit while you’re gone,” the nurse said. “So when you come back, you should go to the ninth floor.” Mike interpreted again; Lacey smiled at the nurse and gave a thumbs-up.
“Thank you,” Mike said. “We’ll do that.”
A few minutes later, Lacey walked past the nurses’ station again. This time she was alone. The nurse said something to her. Lacey pointed to her ears and shrugged. She walked on, but as she neared a pair of glass double doors, she could see the reflection of the nurse behind her, frantically waving her arms. Lacey stopped and waited as the nurse ran over with a piece of paper. She shoved it at Lacey.
You just left. You just walked out the door with your brother.
You must be mistaken. I don’t have a brother.
Lacey smiled but walked on, leaving the nurse frustrated and alone.
Lacey met Monica and Mike three blocks away at a diner. “We did it,” Monica said as Lacey walked in. Lacey smiled. Monica looked cute in her clothes. She had the mug Lacey bought her on the table in front of her. Monica slid down the booth to make room for Lacey. Lacey slipped in and put her arm around her twin. They stayed that way until the waitress came back to take their order.
“Curry chicken salad sandwich and Pepsi for two,” Lacey said. Monica smiled and clutched Lacey’s hand as two fat tears dripped down her cheeks. Lacey’s BlackBerry buzzed. It was Alan again, making sure they were okay.
We’re fine, Lacey texted. We’re coming home.
Chapter 33
Lacey knelt in the grass, patting dirt around the recently planted rosebush. It was gorgeous. Monica would love it.
“What are you planning on doing?” Alan asked. “Are you just going to keep her?”
“She’s not a puppy. Of course I’m keeping her.” Lacey and Monica had been back from the hospital for over a week. Monica had practically moved in, and Alan was no longer needed every day at the shopping mall site, so he was spending more and more time at home. Only he was the one on the couch, and Monica was sleeping in the bed with Lacey.
“Can’t she sleep on the couch now?” Alan ask
ed.
“Hand me the watering can,” Lacey said. Alan picked up the watering can.
“I’ll do it,” he said. He watered the rosebush, set the can down, folded his arms across his chest, and waited.
“It’s just temporary,” Lacey said. The truth was, she was terrified to let Monica out of her sight. What if the doctor had been right, and she needed psychiatric help? It was hard enough dealing with the hotel, trying to come to a payment they’d accept instead of pressing charges. Lacey knew “the parents” had plenty of money, but Monica refused to call them. Lacey couldn’t very well argue; she was the one who forbade Monica to tell them about her, and Monica had kept the promise. Still, Lacey wasn’t going to let Monica go to jail; she would do whatever it took.
“She needs more than you can give her right now,” Alan said.
“She needs to get laid,” Lacey said. She moved over to the next project, a tray of various flowers she needed to put in a large porch pot. She started filling it with dirt, wishing Alan would either help out or leave her alone. She knew he had a right to talk about this, but she was exhausted, and she wanted to get the flowers done before Monica woke up.
“Laid?” Alan said. “Are you kidding me?”
“It might cheer her up.”
“I think that’s a really bad idea,” Alan said. He knelt down beside her and started scooping dirt into the pot. Their hands touched in the bag. Lacey kissed Alan on the cheek. He gave her a proper kiss, neither able to take it too far with their hands stuck in the dirt. He brought his dirty hands out first. “I miss you,” he said touching the tip of her nose with his finger. “ I want to get laid.”
Lacey laughed.
“I miss you too.” She touched the tip of his nose with her finger, then laughed at the brown spot. He swiped dirt across her cheek next. She marked his forehead. They kissed again.
“You know we haven’t,” Alan said. “Since she moved in.”
“That’s why I need to get her laid first,” Lacey explained. “So I won’t feel guilty.”
“Guilty? Why would you feel guilty?” It was a legitimate question. But how could Lacey explain something she didn’t quite understand herself? Kelly told Lacey she could sometimes feel her left leg, years after it was gone. That was the only way she could describe how she felt about Monica now, as if she were a part of her that, despite being severed, Lacey could still feel. Suddenly everything Monica felt, Lacey did too. And vice versa. Lacey assumed if she was hungry, Monica must be hungry. They slept the same hours. Lacey checked Monica’s pockets constantly for pills. To her relief, she had yet to find any, but instead of calming her down, Lacey’s anxiety ratcheted up. More than anything, Monica was now Lacey’s responsibility.
“When are you going to call your parents?” Alan asked. The flirtatious mood was gone; now they were just two dirty faces sitting near a pot.
“Monica doesn’t want to talk to them,” Lacey said. Lacey didn’t know what to make of Alan’s about-face. First he’d wanted her to forge a relationship with her sister, now he wanted her gone.
“She doesn’t want to talk to them,” Alan said. “Or you don’t?”
“What?” Lacey asked.
“Haven’t you noticed? Monica doesn’t seem to think or feel anything for herself when you two are together. It’s like she’s trying to be you.”
“She needs to relax,” Lacey said. “Don’t be so hard on her.”
“Just be careful.”
“Of what?”
“She tried to kill herself. She needs professional help.”
Lacey shoved her hands back into the bag of dirt and threw it into the pot. Alan jerked back.
“Watch my eyes,” he said.
“She doesn’t need professional help,” Lacey said. She gave up on the hand-scoop method, picked up the bag of dirt, and poured it straight into the pot. “She needs me, she needs flowers, and she needs to get laid,” Lacey said.
“I have to take a shower and hit the road,” Alan said.
“I’m sorry,” Lacey said. Alan was back in a jiffy. He grabbed Lacey and pulled her down to the grassy floor. He kissed her hard; she gave in and wrapped her hands around him.
“No more ‘sorry,’ ” Alan said, pulling away just enough to sign. “I’m proud of you.”
“I just want her to be okay,” Lacey said.
“I know,” Alan said. “I do too. But she’s a grown woman. It’s not your fault. It’s not your responsibility.”
“She spray painted go home on the walls. What I told her. Then she tried to kill herself. It is my fault.”
“No. She’s responsible for herself,” Alan said. “You were right, I was wrong. She is kind of stalking you. She moved in with us. Who does that?”
“Stop it.”
“I’m not using my voice. She can’t hear me.”
“She might be able to feel you.”
“Feel me?”
“I can feel her. I can feel her thoughts.”
“I think you’re the one who needs to get laid,” Alan said. He moved his hand down to her zipper. Lacey pushed him away.
“Next time,” she said. When my sister is okay, she added silently. Only when my sister is okay.
Lacey and Monica strolled through the Philadelphia Museum of Art and imitated the poses of nearby statues, exaggerating the shapes and faces to make each other laugh. It had been Monica’s idea to dress alike, then Lacey came up with the idea of one walking slightly behind the other at a delay, just to make people think the same woman had passed them twice—watch them scratch their heads and try to figure out how this was possible. Despite Alan’s warnings, Lacey had never had so much fun with someone in her entire life. She knew anything she said or did would be immediately accepted by Monica, and it wasn’t just because Monica was desperate to keep her attention, was it? It wasn’t unhealthy like Alan suggested; it couldn’t be, they were sisters, they were twins. Yes, she’d resisted her in the past, but now, now there was no turning back. Separate, they were missing part of themselves, but together they were a force to be reckoned with. And sure, Lacey noticed how Monica was growing her hair out, how she was always wearing Lacey’s clothes, how she was now wearing contacts instead of her glasses—but that was normal bonding, nothing more. Once Monica felt confident Lacey always planned on having a relationship with her, she would probably go back to Boston, back to her old haircut and glasses, back to being her.
Lacey knew she could ask Monica to rob a bank with her right now and Monica would do it; luckily, Lacey had no such desire. She wouldn’t even let Monica ride her motorcycle, even though Monica had been out-and-out begging her. Everything would get better, they just needed some time. The past few nights, Lacey had woken up in a cold sweat, heavy with dreams. In one she was all grown up but Monica was a child and she’d lost her. In the next she was standing at her parents’ cabin, about to meet them for the first time, wondering how she was going to break it to them that she had lost Monica.
In another dream she’d forgotten who she was. It was as if someone had burrowed inside her, snatched her soul—
She didn’t share any of her dreams with Monica. In the first place, even though Monica’s ability to read and express sign language was improving, she wasn’t quite at the stage where they could have in-depth talks about their dreams. For another, she didn’t want to worry or frighten her sister. They were doing so well together.
Often, strangers wanted to take their picture. And they didn’t even know their dramatic story! They’d be a media sensation if anyone ever got wind of the details, but neither of them wanted that. It was too public, they wanted to bond in public. But that didn’t stop them from posing for pictures. It was as if they were trying to make up for lost time, for all the childhood pictures that should have been. Sometimes, Monica pretended that she was Deaf too, other times she did her best to interpret.
“Your paintings should be in here,” Monica said, gesturing toward the walls. “Your horses.” Lacey shook her head
.
“I mean it,” Monica said. “You’re very good.”
“You’re a good writer.”
“I hated that book.”
“Me too. I’m not talking about the book. I’m talking about the writing. When you go home, you should write something you want to write.”
“When I go home?” Monica looked stricken. Lacey grabbed Monica’s hand and held it.
“I’m not telling you to go home. I just meant—”
“It’s okay.”
“I want you to stay.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it. I don’t want you to leave.”
“I won’t. Don’t cry. Lacey, Lacey, Lacey, don’t cry.”
Was she crying? What was this? When she was with her sister, she thought of Alan and felt guilty for wanting to be with him; when she was with him, she felt guilty for wanting to be with her sister. Maybe she was the one who needed professional help, the one who was about to crack up. Or maybe, like she’d been saying all along, she just needed to get her sister laid.
“Are you going to see Mike?” Lacey asked. Monica shrugged and looked away. Lacey tapped her on the shoulder.
“You don’t fool me,” she said. “I know you like him.”
“I’m sorry. I know you two—”
“Please,” Lacey said. “I love Alan. I’d be really happy if the two of you were dating.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. We should invite him over, do something just the four of us.”
“Wouldn’t that—I don’t mean—but—Wouldn’t that be weird for Alan?” Monica asked.
“Sometimes I think you can read my mind,” Lacey said. Monica beamed. “We’ll figure it out later,” Lacey added. They moved away from the statues and over to abstract paintings. Lacey hesitated at the entrance, waiting to see which way Monica would turn. But Monica held back and didn’t budge until Lacey picked a direction. Then, she followed. It’s normal, Lacey told herself as she tried to concentrate on the paintings. She’s just a little insecure right now. But she’ll get better. In no time she’ll get better.
