The Stolen Twin

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  He busied himself with the skewer on his plate. “It’s okay. I know what you were going to say and it’s okay to say it. My sister died as a child and you, well, didn’t. So, how would I know what to look for in an adult?”

  The guy with the plaid shirt became more and more agitated, his face turning the same red as his shirt. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “After she died, I did some research on it, learned as much as I could. I don’t know what keyed me off to you - maybe it was the combination of asthma attack and taking those enzymes, plus your thinness. But something just clicked in my mind.”

  I tapped my fork against the table. “So, how much do you know then?”

  He looked at me sideways. “I know that sixty percent of people with Cystic Fibrosis die before they’re twenty-five.”

  I shifted in my seat, unable to meet his eyes. “So, you’ve kept up with the research.”

  David leaned forward, his hand caressing mine, his touch light, gentle. “That means forty percent live past twenty-five.”

  I reached for my wine, swirling the gold liquid around the glass. “I’ve never had the best luck. Never came out ahead at betting games, never won the lottery. The odds have usually beaten me.”

  He continued to study me, his eyes intent, the blue in them deepening. “You’ve outlived my sister.”

  I swallowed most of my wine at once. “Sorry. I didn’t mean … ”

  He grasped my hand. “It’s okay. I didn’t say it to make you sorry. I said it so you’d know that you are lucky. I mean, look at you. You look pretty healthy to me. There’s every chance in the world you’re going to beat this thing.”

  His hand was warm, the pressure soothing. “But anything could take me out. A bad cold or flu could turn into an infection like that.” I snapped my fingers. “The infection could become bronchitis or pneumonia and that would be that.”

  “Or, you could continue to take good care of yourself and outlive all of us.”

  I raised my eyes to his. He smiled slightly and reached over to push the hair out of my face. The waitress appeared at our table, pad in hand. He released me and sat back. “Do you know what you want or do you need a minute?”

  My mind was spinning like the tornado that had dropped Dorothy off in Oz. The guy in the red plaid shirt shoved his chair back so violently it flipped over, smashing into the man next to him. That man then leaped to his feet and started yelling. While the waitress turned to deal with this new situation, I smiled at David.

  “Why don’t you order for both of us?”

  ***

  After dinner, I invited him back to my apartment. I had all these strange emotions coursing inside me – shaken by his revelations, yet also intrigued by this new bond. He lost his sister as a child, he understood my disease – these things made me feel connected to him in ways I was just beginning to grasp.

  I offered him a beer, and turned on the television. With Brandi at her parents and Martha’s room as silent as an abandoned cave, I hoped we would have some privacy.

  As it turned out, we didn’t need any. He acted like a perfect gentleman, both entertaining and interested. We talked about our majors – he was a grad student in computer science – current events and other relationships. I was vague about Tommy, only sharing that I recently broke up with someone. He didn’t press it.

  I couldn’t help comparing it to my first date with Tommy, where we couldn’t wait to get to his apartment and tear each other’s clothes off. Well, to be honest it wasn’t really a date. We were at a party and discovered that, for the first time since we met four years ago, neither one of us was seeing someone else. There had always been an intense sexual chemistry between us, held in check only because one or the other had some sort of relationship going on at the time. When we finally acted on it, the results were explosive – no pun intended.

  When David decided to leave, I accompanied him to the door. He brushed his finger down my cheek “I had a really good time tonight.”

  “So did I.”

  “Does that mean I can see you again?”

  “What do you think?”

  He smiled and bent to kiss me lightly on the mouth. He had an interesting smell to him – a sort of dark combination of salt and spice. Not unpleasant, just different. Unique. Intriguing.

  I looked into his eyes, now more green than blue, and blurted out, “You know, the reason why I was so surprised that you knew about my Cystic Fibrosis is because no one knows.”

  He looked surprised. “No one? Not even your roommates?”

  “No.” I studied the floor, the dull beige linoleum looking cheap and dirty, feeling more and more uncomfortable. I trusted him, yet I still felt like I needed to say this. “And actually, they don’t know about my sister either.” I took a deep breath and raised my eyes to his. “I don’t like to talk about my past or my problems. So please keep it to yourself, okay?”

  For a moment he didn’t say anything. Then he pressed his hand to his heart. “Thank you for your trust. You don’t know what that means to me. And, yes, your secret is safe with me.”

  “Thank you,” I breathed. I took his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

  He kissed me gently again, and opened the door. “I’ll call you.”

  I nodded. He started to step outside, but I reached out and put my hand on his chest.

  “You know all my secrets,” I said. “And I just realized you’ve never told me your last name.”

  He hesitated. The light was behind him, turning his eyes into dark pools of shadows.

  “Naughton,” he said. “David Naughton.”

  I smiled. “Pleased to meet you, David Naughton.”

  He smiled back, caressed my cheek, then turned and disappeared into the night.

  I shut the door behind him and leaned against it. The wood cooled my flushed face. I was jittery and exhausted at the same time, like the night I had consumed five triple lattes cramming for finals. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I went back to the kitchen for another beer. I settled myself on the brown plaid couch and watched old reruns of Seinfeld.

  I wondered why he didn’t try to do more than kiss me. After all, we had that bond. Or at least I thought we did. He must have felt it too. The evening, however, was so chaste, almost like being with a brother. With a bond like that, wouldn’t we be drawn to sleep together? Yet he didn’t even try.

  After a couple of beers, I started drifting off, so I moved to the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. When sleep finally came, I ended up slipping into the church dream. But something had changed. There were people in the graveyard. People grouped around a grave. And something else. Something black and evil standing within the group. Something waiting for me with hungry eyes and gnashing teeth …

  I gasped for breath, my terror a living thing in my chest, blocking my breathing as much as the mucus in my lungs.

  I awoke, thrashing uncontrollably, coughing and choking, before my flailing arms seized upon my inhaler. I sucked on it, my coughing quieting and my breathing returning to normal.

  My dreams have never altered. Not once. Ever. So why now?

  My entire body dripped with sweat. I fished around for a clean tee shirt and stumbled into the bathroom.

  It wasn’t until I had calmed down, a cool washcloth pressed against my burning face, that I realized what had truly petrified me about the dream. It was completely irrational and unexplainable, but even thinking about it with all the bathroom lights on made my breath freeze in my throat, nearly causing another attack.

  Mixed in with the ringing of the church bell, so subtle I almost missed it, was the distinctive, unmistakable howling of a wolf.

  Chapter 6

  “Hey, Kit. Looking for a study partner?”

  I was sitting at a table in the student Union, hoping popcorn and a Coke would make reading my lit boo
k less painful. So far, the results had been disappointing.

  Studying was difficult for me under the best of circumstances – I could never shake the feeling of it being a colossal waste of time. Chances were high that I would never have the opportunity to use the knowledge I gleaned in these hallowed halls. But it beat being stuck in a nine-to-five I detested.

  I looked up to see Tommy gazing at me, smiling his easy-going grin. Inwardly I groaned. I didn’t need this today.

  “I don’t think so,” I said, as he shrugged off his backpack and plopped his books down on the table. Around us I could see people glancing up from their studies or conversation to stare at him. Even without his football jersey, everyone knew him. It didn’t hurt that he was cuter than hell.

  “Why not? We used to study together.” He dragged a chair over and sat next to me, so close I could smell his Irish Spring soap even against the backdrop of hamburgers, burritos, beer and smoke. The background music morphed into yet another U2 song.

  “We used to do a lot of things together, but now we don’t. That’s what breaking up means.”

  “We could get back together. Then we could start doing all those things together again. I wouldn’t object to that.”

  I sighed. I was tired and behind in my classes. After the church nightmare, I couldn’t fall back asleep and ended up watching bad movies and paging through my books for hours. Needless to say, nothing much got done.

  “Tommy, I have a lot of studying to do, so if you wouldn’t mind … ” I made a shooing gesture with my hands.

  He sprawled out in his chair. “I thought you said you wanted to be friends.”

  “I did.”

  “And don’t friends study together?”

  I shot him a disgusted look. “That’s not the point.”

  “You study with Elena a lot. She’s your friend. You study with Brandi. Well, actually I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Brandi study, but I’m sure you would if she did.”

  “Fine. Point made. Stay. Just be quiet so I can get something done.”

  He flashed his grin again and retrieved his books from his backpack. I shook my head and opened mine.

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t concentrate. He was making me absolutely crazy. I kept darting glances at him from beneath my lashes. Elbow on the table, he had propped his head up with his hand, blond hair falling forward. He wore a loose-fitting dark blue shirt that emphasized his broad shoulders and lean, muscular figure. Occasionally he would chew on his pen, a habit I found disgusting. I finally couldn’t stand it anymore and reached over to shove his pen up his mouth. He almost choked.

  “I thought you said you wanted to study,” he said when he could talk.

  “You know how much I hate that.”

  “In case you haven’t heard, we aren’t dating anymore. I have no reason to impress you.”

  “Fine.” I held my book over my face to show how little I cared. When I glanced at him again, he was back to chewing the pen. Pretty deliberately, I thought.

  I turned my attention to my novel, Clarissa by Samuel Richardson. Unfortunately, this thousand-page monstrosity of a book was failing to capture my interest no matter when or where I read it. I should have taken eighteenth century poetry instead – the readings would have been shorter.

  “So, how was your date last night?”

  I lowered my book. The music switched to Pink Floyd. Tommy was gazing intently at his textbook. “Excuse me?”

  “Date. How was it?”

  “How did you know I had a date last night?”

  Now he turned toward me. “Oh, come on, Kit. Everyone walking by on State Street could see you. That Indian restaurant has a huge picture window.”

  “You saw me?”

  “What does that have to do with anything? I was just asking how your date went.”

  I picked up Clarissa. “Fine. Just fine.” A girl sitting at the next table was eying us. Eying Tommy, actually. Her long blonde hair shimmered. Probably colored it.

  “Good.” I could hear him tapping his chewed-up pen on the table. “Want to tell me about it?”

  “Why would I want to tell you about it?” I said from behind the book.

  “Because that’s what friends do. They talk about things like dates.”

  “I don’t think you care at all about the date.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No.” I closed Clarissa with a snap. “I think you just want to know if I screwed him or not.”

  He gazed into my eyes. “Well. Did you?”

  I thought about lying. Maybe he would leave me alone then. But something in his expression stopped me. I looked down. “No.”

  “Did he try anything?”

  “Jesus, Tommy. It was a date, that’s it. No more, no less. Do you really want a play-by-play of the evening?”

  “Since you brought it up, sure.”

  The blonde shifted her chair closer to us. Better to listen in. “Sorry. Forgot my television crew. You’re going to have to settle for the TV guide summary: we had a nice time.”

  “And you didn’t sleep together.”

  I started putting my books away. The blonde kept darting glances at Tommy. Cute and perky. I hated her. “And we didn’t sleep together. Happy? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find an unoccupied corner so I can actually get something done.”

  He leaned his arm against the back of the chair. “Ah, running away. You’ve certainly perfected that move.”

  I froze, one hand on my notebook. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged. “Just that every time anything comes up that makes you uncomfortable, you split.”

  I renewed my efforts, shoving my books into my backpack. “You don’t know anything.”

  He reached over and snatched my arm. “Is that why you broke up with me with nothing but that lame-ass explanation? Because I was getting too close to something?”

  I snatched my arm away. Now other people, not just the blonde, noticed our arguing. The blonde had a small smile on her face. I wanted to scratch it off. “You’re a fine one to talk. You’ve never told me anything either.”

  Now it was his turn to freeze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, so it must be my imagination that I only know two things about you – you’re rich and you’re from Louisiana. Oh, maybe three if I can count inferring you played football in high school.”

  His face closed, hardened. I had seen that expression often enough before, when other people mentioned his past. Until this moment, we had never discussed it. I had always respected his reluctance to talk as he had mine. “I don’t talk about that because there’s nothing to tell. Very boring story.”

  People were openly staring at us now. I half stood up, leaning over my chair to look into his face. “Newsflash: I don’t talk about anything either because there’s nothing to tell. Very boring story.”

  He half stood as well. “Is that why you broke up with me? Because I wouldn’t tell you about my past?”

  “Goodbye, Tommy.” I pushed away from the table and strode off. The blonde watched me go. I shot her my dirtiest look. She smiled sweetly in return. Bitch.

  I was trying to block out the picture of the two of them together when Tommy grabbed my arm.

  “Kit, I didn’t want to fight. Really. Can you stop for a second?”

  I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to talk. I especially didn’t want to look at him anymore. But somehow I found myself turning to face him. “What do you want?”

  He released his grip on me and took a step backwards, jamming his hands into his pockets. “I want to be friends. Truly. I miss talking to you, Kit. We always had such a good time together. I miss that.”

  He looked so sincere, so forlorn, my resolve began to melt away. “Is that all you miss?”

&nb
sp; He raised his eyebrows. “What do you think? Seriously though, even though we aren’t dating, I’d like to be friends.”

  I shifted my backpack to the other shoulder. “I said I’d like that too and I meant it. Okay?”

  He backed away another step and flashed me that grin. “Okay. See you around?”

  I nodded and walked away. I didn’t believe a word he said. He didn’t want to just be friends. But Tommy was the Charm King. And against my better judgment, I had given him leverage, right back into my life.

  Cold air hit me like a wall as I pushed open the doors and stepped outside. Damn Tommy. Like I would be able to get anything done now. Maybe I should just go home and go to bed early and leave the trials and tribulations of Miss Clarissa for another day.

  Chapter 7

  Stepping into my apartment, I had the distinct impression I had accidentally walked into a flower shop.

  Mondays and Wednesdays were my longest class days. Today had felt even longer since I had spent most of it mulling over Tommy and David. Although Tommy and I did have things in common, it was the superficial stuff – books, music, that sort of thing – whereas David and I shared a bond more difficult to find – two people who understood what it was like to live with a terminal illness. However, while I found David attractive, we didn’t have the chemistry Tommy and I had.

  But sex isn’t everything. Everyone says you shouldn’t base a relationship on sex. So I should probably focus on David because we had more of the important things in common. Right?

  And would Tommy, could Tommy, even comprehend what it even means to have Cystic Fibrosis? What it means to make a commitment to someone with CF? Wasn’t that too much to ask of someone unfamiliar with the disease? David already knew what to expect. Wouldn’t I be better off with him, in the long run?

  I had been going around and around like this most of the day, and instead of finding answers, all I found was a nasty headache. Then I walk into my home and find it transformed into a flower garden.