The Stolen Twin

by Michele PW (Pariza Wacek)

  “You’re probably right.” Elena sighed again.

  I stood up. “Listen, I need to use the bathroom before the halftime mess. I’ll be right back.”

  Elena nodded as I eased my way into the crowd already forming in the aisles.

  It still blew me away. Brad having an affair. Unreal. Especially the Brad I knew – the Brad who doted over Elena. The idea of him cheating on her seemed completely out of character. But then, what did I know – I who have had my life taken over by a kidnapped sister and a crazed, obsessive stalker. Sure, I could be an objective judge.

  The crowd grew thicker as I climbed the steps, bodies pressing against me from all sides. It took all my effort just to keep moving. A couple of people jostled me and I would have fallen if not for the crush of bodies around me.

  At least Elena had kept me from brooding about my own problems, even if only for a short time. Besides, being here made me feel safe. What could David do to me surrounded by all these people? Two people, one in a yellow and purple ski jacket and the other in a long green coat, crashed into me, again almost knocking me over.

  Actually, when I put it that way, was I safe? Sure, tons of people surrounded me, but did that really keep me safe? Jostled about by thousands of strangers? David could easily hide in the crowd, easily watch me. Maybe even grab me when I least expected it.

  A cold numbness began to fester in my stomach. My chest tightened, my breathing started to hitch. As I fought my way to the bathroom, I began studying the faces around me. Strangers everywhere. Nobody I recognized at all. In a crowd of people, I was completely alone. Would anyone react if I started to scream?

  Coughing slightly, I reached into my purse for my inhaler. My gloved hands found my noisemaker instead. Relief washed over me. Maybe people wouldn’t react to my screams, but they sure would notice this thing.

  As expected, a line greeted me at the bathroom. People constantly bumped into me as I stood there, clutching my noisemaker to my chest. It felt like a talisman, warding off evil, like a cross or holy water. A noisy new age talisman.

  Eventually, a vacant stall appeared. I took my gloves off, shoving them into my coat pockets. My hand touched something odd, something that didn’t belong there. It made a crunchy noise. Puzzled, I pulled it out. It was a folded piece of paper.

  Cold, slimy dread lodged itself in my stomach. I unfolded the paper with now trembling fingers. A number and a word.

  65 roses.

  That slimy, sick feeling rose out of my stomach to settle in my throat. I could taste it there. I was going to throw up. My breathing turned to gasps, and I started coughing.

  He was here. Worse yet, he had managed to get close enough to slip this note in my pocket without my knowing it. How could this be? I had been looking for him. Granted, the stadium was packed, but shouldn’t something have clued me? What if he hadn’t wanted to put a note in my pocket? What if he wanted something else? Would I have sensed him before it was too late?

  Slowly, I refolded the note and put it back in my pocket, resisting the urge to tear it into shreds and flush it down the toilet. Brandi’s paper trail comment loomed somewhere in my mind, although it sounded more like a whisper next to the fear screaming in my head.

  Suddenly I was angry. I had had enough. I told him I wouldn’t be held hostage to my disease and, by God, I wouldn’t be. If I had to tell everyone personally, I would, just so I could get this creep out of my life.

  In fact, I could start with Elena. Elena would be perfect, especially since she had just told me something personal. I could share this, make her feel like revealing secrets was a two-way street.

  But even as I thought it, I realized Elena shouldn’t be the first. I would make her second. Someone else deserved to be first.

  Chapter 16

  “Is Tommy home?”

  TJ folded his arms and stared down at me, his face as still as stone. “And if he is?”

  I knew he would be. It was Sunday morning. Tommy always slept in for his big day of watching professional football. He claimed he studied while he watched, but studying on Sunday simply meant keeping his books open in front of him, as if the words would just hop off the page and into his brain between plays. “Well, then I’d like to see him.”

  TJ didn’t move. One of Riverview’s beefy offensive tackles, his job was to protect the quarterback. Apparently he felt that job extended off the field as well. I had the impression he would like nothing more than to toss me down the hall – probably with one arm – and slam the door in my face. I shifted from one foot to the other and attempted my most alluring smile. No reaction.

  “Can you at least tell him I’m here? Let him make his own decision about whether he wants to see me? After all, he is over twenty-one.”

  A slight scowl fractured his stony expression. “He doesn’t always think too straight where you’re concerned.”

  Great. Since there didn’t seem to be any way I could push past him, I had to come up with Plan B. Maybe I could throw stones at Tommy’s bedroom window like some high school Juliet.

  Luckily for me, right then I heard Tommy’s voice from somewhere behind TJ’s bulk. “Hey. Who’s at the door?”

  TJ’s face fractured further, but he stepped aside. Tommy stood by his bedroom door, clad in jeans and an unbuttoned shirt, showing just enough of his broad chest and flat stomach to make me weak. His blond hair stuck up in short tuffs, like he had just fallen out of bed and into some clothes.

  He froze when he saw me, his green eyes dark and forbidding. I tried my alluring smile on him. Again, no reaction. Alluring smile definitely needed some tweaking. “Tommy, I’m here to explain. Everything. Can I come in?”

  He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “How do I know it’s not just more of the same doubletalk shit you’ve been feeding me these past couple of weeks?”

  Eyeing TJ, who still hovered protectively near the door, I took a step inside the apartment, praying I wouldn’t end up getting tackled. “Tommy, I swear I’m here to tell you everything. No secrets, bare my soul, the whole bit. And, I promise, if you don’t like what I say, I’ll go away and you’ll never have to see me again.”

  He watched me cautiously, his face a mixture of emotions. He wanted to believe me, I could see that, but he had also been hurt, badly, and didn’t feel he could trust me. I dared another step, locking my eyes with his. I could see the hunger there, the pleading, the pain. The electrical currents sizzled between us, causing goose bumps to race down my arms.

  Closing his eyes, he banged his head against the wall and sighed. He opened his eyes, and without looking directly at me, gestured with his head for me to follow him. My breath came out with a gasp. I hadn’t realized I had been holding it.

  TJ grumbled as Tommy strode into the kitchen, still without looking at me. “Coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  Behind me the front door slammed shut, making me jump. “I’ll be in my room watching the game,” TJ said, shoving me slightly as he lumbered past. At least I think he meant it to be slight since I didn’t actually fall down.

  Tommy glanced up and nodded. The unspoken part of that communication probably went something like: “If you need me to throw her out, just yell.”

  TJ closed his door as I removed my coat and sauntered across the living room. I had chosen an outfit I knew he liked – a long, dark blue turtleneck sweater, a short black skirt, black tights and long black boots. I left my hair long and loose, also the way he liked. As a finishing touch, I used foundation to cover the circles under my eyes – thanks to my nights of broken sleep – and added eyeliner and mascara to my usual blush and lipstick. Hopefully I looked better than I felt.

  So far, it appeared to be a waste. Tommy refused to so much as glance at me. Picking my way through the mess I normally associated with guys’ apartments – papers and dirty dishes strewn everywhere – I leaned again
st the stove. An empty pizza box from Uncle Frank’s Pizza sat there, the red drawing of Uncle Frank’s face smiling up at me.

  Tommy kept his eyes fixed on a puddle of spilled cream as he handed me a brown mug with the words “I’d rather be having a beer” on it.

  “Not much room to sit here.” He surveyed the dirty dishes piled on the small round table. A torn tee shirt was draped over one of the chairs.

  “Living room’s fine.” I carried my coffee to the living room. He followed me.

  I chose the olive green chair closest to the television. A football pregame show was on. In one fluid motion, Tommy sat down in the brownish orange sofa, scooped up the remote from the cluttered coffee table and turned the television off. Impressive move.

  He sipped his coffee. “So, talk.”

  Perching on the edge of the seat, I crossed my legs and balanced my mug on my lap. “I’m not exactly sure where to start.” I gave a little self-conscious laugh. “This was easier in my head.”

  Tommy didn’t answer, simply drank his coffee and waited.

  I took a deep breath. Might as well get it all out in the open. “I have Cystic Fibrosis.”

  His face went blank. “You have what?”

  “Cystic Fibrosis. It’s a genetic disease that causes my body to produce too much mucus. It’s the reason I have asthma, because the mucus gets into my lungs. It’s also why I have to take pancreatic enzymes – digestive enzymes – because the mucus interferes with my digestion and I can’t digest fats.”

  Now he looked puzzled. “Isn’t Cystic Fibrosis the disease that … ” his voice trailed off, his confusion deepening.

  I studied the inside of my coffee cup. “Chances are the disease will kill me, yes. Sixty percent of people with Cystic Fibrosis don’t live past their twenty-fifth birthday. Even those who do … .” I raised my head to meet his eyes. “My life expectancy is not great, even under the best of conditions. It appears I have a fairly mild case, but I’ll never die of old age.”

  Tommy leaned forward and put his football-shaped mug on the coffee table, after first moving a bill from Riverview Gas and Electric and a Sports Illustrated magazine. “Cystic Fibrosis,” he repeated to himself.

  I rushed on. Now that I had started, I needed to get all of it out. “I’m very susceptible to bronchitis and pneumonia. Even a bad cold could very quickly become life-threatening. As a child, I came pretty close to dying once. My mother somehow managed to nurse me back to health. Kept me out of school for a couple of years, tutored me at home. She took such good care of me I hadn’t had another serious attack since, but it’s only a matter of time.”

  He rubbed his forehead with his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I reached out to push aside an empty Chinese takeout carton so I could put my cup on the table as well. “I didn’t tell anyone. It wasn’t just you. I didn’t want anyone to know. People treat you differently when they know you have a terminal disease. Sometimes you’re stuck with all kinds of pity, but a lot of the time you get shunned, mostly because people don’t know what to say. Sometimes they act like you have leprosy or something. I’m not contagious. It’s a genetic disease, but some people can’t get that through their heads.”

  Tommy raised his head, his hair now even more mussed up than before. “But still, you should have told me.”

  I looked down at my hands – the skin was dry, chapped. “That’s why I broke up with you. We were getting too close, and I knew I’d have to tell you. And I didn’t know how you’d react. I know I’m pretty normal now, but this will change, as much as I hate to admit it. And it’s not pretty either. How could I ask you to take this on? You, with your golden future? You don’t need to be shackled with some slowly dying girlfriend.” There. I had said it. The truth. I was terrified to look at him. What would be his reaction?

  I heard him let his breath out. “Is this why you resist taking care of Brandi’s cat? And why you won’t make any plans beyond a day or two? Because you’re afraid you may end up in a hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  He slumped back into the couch. “Wow. Of all the things I thought you’d tell me, I can honestly say I never guessed this.”

  “There’s more, if you want to hear it.”

  “More.” He said it almost as a laugh, but there was no humor in it. He stared at the ceiling. “You might as well. I’m pretty much numb from shock, so I think I could hear anything right now.”

  I settled myself in the chair, feeling a strange sense of calmness. Now that I had told him about my disease and he hadn’t run screaming from the room, I felt like maybe I could confess everything.

  And I did, starting with Cat’s disappearance as a child all the way up to Halloween night. I talked about the strange letters and how David had tried to blackmail me. I even told him about my dreams and how the church dream had been transformed.

  He was silent during it all. For me, the effect was cathartic. I hadn’t discussed my disease with anyone since I walked out of a support group in eighth grade and informed my mother I wouldn’t be returning. The more I talked, the more I wanted to unburden myself. It felt the way it did when, as a child, I tripped on a gravel road, skinning open my leg. The wound became puffy and infected. Rather than tell my mother, I squeezed the greenish puss out of it myself – disgusting, but on a deeper level it felt good. Cleansing. Purifying. Like I was finally ridding myself of a dark and evil curse.

  When I finished, I felt lighter, clearer, healthier even. But then I glanced at Tommy and my positive mindset died. He looked ill.

  I stared down at my lap. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have told you everything.”

  Tommy rubbed his face, ran his hands through his hair. “No. No, I’m glad you did. I’m just a little … overwhelmed by it all.”

  I reached for my coffee, now cold. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe Tommy really wouldn’t be able to handle it. Oh God, what if I was right after all?

  He pulled himself to his feet, his movements slow and labored, as if carrying a huge weight. “Give me some time to digest this. I’ll call you.”

  He’ll call me. Right. Where have I heard that before? I placed my coffee on the table and picked up my coat, not trusting myself to look at him, sure he would see the devastation in my eyes. “Sure, whenever you’re ready.” I tried to keep my voice bright, but I knew I sounded fake. Miserably fake. “I know it’s a lot to handle.”

  He nodded, running his fingers through his hair again. Keeping my hands at my sides so he wouldn’t see them shake, I strode past him. “See you.”

  Opening the door, I reminded myself that I would respect my promise. I would stay out of his life. I would not beg. This was his choice. I would allow him to make it and save both of our dignities.

  His arm shot out and hit the door, blocking my exit. I kept my eyes focused in front of me. “Kind of hard to leave with your hand there.”

  “Kit,” he murmured, leaning down so his face was close to mine. I could feel the heat of his breath on my cheek. “Look at me.”

  Closing my eyes for a moment, I willed myself to relax, to rein in my emotions. When I felt as under control as I could be under the circumstances, I opened my eyes and tilted my face toward him.

  His eyes were a mixture of emotions, so jumbled I could barely read them. Sadness, shock, confusion, but affection as well, although maybe that was wishful thinking on my part.

  “I want you to know, I’m glad you told me.”

  I nodded, unable to speak. The tension between us was unbearable. He dipped his head slightly, as if he was going to kiss me. I couldn’t move, even my breathing stopped. The thought of those warm lips against mine, drawing me close, full of anticipation and promise, shook my very being.

  Suddenly, abruptly, he straightened, leaving me reeling. “See you.”

  It happened so quickly, I felt unbalanced,
as though I might tip over. My breathing started again, sounding harsh and violent. My worst fear realized. Complete and utter rejection.

  “Yeah,” I said, and yanked open the door. I just wanted to get out of there and away from him.

  I managed to keep myself under control until I stumbled into the frigid, still air. The sun shone, adding no warmth, mocking the cold. But once outside, I could no longer contain my tears. They coursed down my cheeks, leaving trails of burning heat, then pure ice in their wake, matching my emotions tear for tear.

  Chapter 17

  Tommy’s reaction almost made me lose my nerve, until I pictured my friends first hearing my deep dark secrets from David. That kept me going.

  First I went to Rocky’s Pizza for a slice of vegetarian pizza and a small salad. Anything to keep my strength up, although I didn’t much feel like eating. Then it was off to Elena’s.

  Her reaction was pure, vintage Elena. “Honey, you should have told me,” she cried, throwing her arms around me, almost causing me to burst into tears again. “I can’t believe you carried this burden all by yourself for so long.”

  Her response soothed me, nourished my poor, hungry soul. Until then, I had no idea how badly I wanted that reassurance, how much I needed that support. Even so, I couldn’t tell her about Tommy, knowing I wouldn’t be able to control my tears if I did.

  Next, I went in search of Brandi. I found her studying at the Union. And, again, what I expected I received – pure, vintage Brandi.

  “Aren’t you a little old to still be hanging around with Cystic Fibrosis?” she asked, looking me up and down.

  I started to laugh. As odd as it seemed, Brandi’s reaction reassured me. Never have to worry about her pitying me.

  I felt so much better. At least, just as long as I didn’t picture Tommy and his confused face and slumped shoulders … no, I wouldn’t go there. I wouldn’t think about him. I couldn’t. It was better this way. Better for him to find out now. I refused to keep stewing over it.