Two Sisters: A Novel

by Mary Hogan

  The train tossed Muriel and her mother together like socks in a dryer. Lidia said, “Look at me,” but Muriel stared straight ahead. Gently pinching her daughter’s chin between her two fingers, Lidia tried to turn Muriel’s head. Her fingernails were filed in a perfect U shape; her polish was the exact color of her skin. Bloodless and white. Muriel resisted until she felt her mother’s nails dig into her flesh.

  “You’re almost grown up now, aren’t you?” Lidia asked.

  Muriel didn’t answer. Head up, facing her mother, she noticed her lipstick was smeared beyond the borders of her lips. She wanted to say, “You’d better fix that before Dad sees it.” But she didn’t. She said nothing, kept staring at Lidia’s lips, watching them move as she said, “Grown-ups can tell the truth without telling every detail of it.”

  Being a grown-up wasn’t so hot, Muriel decided then and there. It meant absolute silence from curtain up to curtain down even when there was no one in the theater to talk to. Grown-ups smiled with their lips, not their eyes, pretending nothing was wrong when there absolutely was. Muriel wanted her mother to let go of her face. With her head tilted up like that, she couldn’t avoid seeing the lines around her tense, messy-lipsticked mouth.

  “I need you to understand what I’m telling you, Muriel.”

  Tugging her chin away, Muriel said, “I understand.” Then she flattened her back against the subway seat. Lidia leaned forward and bent over to make sure they were eye to eye. “I’d hate to end our special Saturdays because I lost track of time. That would be awful, wouldn’t it?”

  Like a sudden stop on the M train, Muriel felt her world dislodge in one jerking motion. She struggled for composure, tried to halt the tremble in her lips.

  “Sweetie?”

  Silently, Muriel nodded.

  “Okay then. Let’s make a deal right here and now. Whatever happens on our Saturdays is between us. You and me. Nobody else’s business. We can see any show we want, eat any dessert we want. Daddy doesn’t have to know a thing. No one does. I’ll be really careful never to lose track of time again. I promise. Okay? What do you say? Can I continue to have my special matinee days with my very special girl?”

  Muriel lifted her head and stared her mother straight in the eyes to ask the one question that had been haunting her since she’d seen her in the fading daylight, standing beneath an awning across the street, her neck bent back, her hair tumbling past her shoulders, tucked into a doorway where she thought no one could see her, having a Broadway kiss.

  “Wasn’t that Father Camilo?”

  Chapter 16

  THE ENTIRE LUNCH was surreal, as if they’d descended on the brass-edged escalator of the Plaza Hotel and into a parallel universe. Muriel had never seen her sister act so strangely. She seemed intoxicated on two glasses of wine. And when Pia abruptly announced, “Time to go,” leaving Richard and Edward pouting like schoolboys, she left the waiter a hundred-dollar tip and hurried into the bathroom to throw up.

  “What can I do?” Muriel asked, helpless, from the next stall.

  Between heaves, Pia said, “I’ve always been a cheap drunk.”

  Outside, in the horsey air of Central Park South, Muriel hailed a cab.

  “Let’s walk,” Pia said.

  “Walk? You just threw your guts up.”

  “I’m fine now,” she said, as serenely as ever. “Walk with me.”

  To be truthful, Muriel wanted to put her sister in a cab and send the driver straight to the train station. She’d eaten so petitely at lunch she was already feeling a rumble in her stomach. Across the street, she could catch the M5 and be home in twenty minutes. Her day could pick up where it left off, before she was so rudely interrupted. There was still time to put the old towel back on the bed, crawl under the comforter, and pop open the metal lid on the Garrett’s tin. She could still snuggle into her Sunday.

  “Could we ask for a lovelier day?” Pia lifted her face to the sun.

  Muriel stared, agog. “You just roarked at the Plaza!” Then she stopped on the sidewalk and waited for Pia to notice and stop, too. When Pia turned around, Muriel said, “You never did tell me why you’re here. Why, exactly, are you here?” She reached up to untie the scarf.

  Pia being Pia didn’t respond. She simply gazed at the ridiculously expensive knickknacks in the store windows along Central Park South and said, “Isn’t that emerald turtle divine?” Like a teenager, Muriel theatrically rolled her eyes. In the hundreds of times she’d taken the bus past these very same stores, she’d never once seen a soul enter or exit. They appeared to be fronts of some sort, as if the real business was conducted behind a two-way mirror in the back-office door. Or worse, they were tourist traps for wealthy foreigners who didn’t want to stray too far from their luxury hotels to buy a memento of their trip to a New York City luxury hotel.

  They walked. Muriel fumed. She yanked the scarf off her neck and made a one-act play out of dramatically jamming it in her purse. Pia was holding her hostage. It wasn’t fair. Enough was enough. And never would she call a bejeweled turtle—or anything else—divine.

  In silence, they continued west toward Columbus Circle where Muriel had every intention of kissing her sister good-bye.

  RISING UP LIKE two giant flasks, Time Warner Center on the western curve of Columbus Circle is a vertical mall. Whole Foods fills the basement, a twenty-five-million-dollar penthouse kisses the sky. In between are chic, expensive retail shops into which Muriel Sullivant would never set foot.

  “Window-shop with me,” Pia said as they neared the intersection between shopping and the bus home.

  “I already have a window.” Muriel leaned in to kiss-kiss Pia’s cheeks and ask, “You know how to get to Grand Central, right?”

  “Don’t make me go home just yet.” Pia’s purging had completely sobered her up. In the bright sunlight, however, Muriel did notice that her beautiful sister was pale in a yellowish sort of way. Her eyes seemed more deeply set into their sockets. Shopping was the last thing she needed and the very last thing Muriel wanted. Now or ever.

  “Not today, Pia. I have, um, stuff to do.”

  “Ten minutes, max. Please.”

  Muriel stopped and looked at her full on. “What is with you?”

  Pia sighed. “I was hoping you would be. My little sis. Whom I see so seldomly.” With the confidence of a woman who is never denied, Pia marched straight for the entrance to the vertical mall before Muriel had a chance to process the Brady Bunch way in which her sister was now frequently using the word “sis.” Yes, the day had been odd, indeed.

  “You could use a new pair of shoes, Muriel,” Pia tossed over her shoulder. “If you can call those things on your feet shoes.”

  And her original sister was back.

  Of course Muriel followed. As she always did. She plodded along in her cheap peep-toe shoes, which, she suddenly noticed, really belonged on an elderly woman’s feet.

  Inside the mall Muriel balanced herself on the escalator by resting her wrists on the handrail. Germs didn’t care if you were in an upscale mall or not. She asked Pia, “Looking for something in particular?” Then she inhaled the sickening sweetness of the overly perfumed air. Pia smiled her angelic smile and meandered, floor by floor, standing in front of one softly lit window display after another. Right foot jutted out, left hand on her chin, tilting her head this way and that, she seemed intent on evaluating every damn mannequin in the mall. Sis Big Foot stood loyally behind her.

  “What do you think?” Pia asked, finally. “Like it?” She pointed to a placid-faced mannequin wearing an elegant gray satin sleeveless dress.

  “It’s you,” Muriel said, honestly.

  “I think so, too.”

  Muriel was stunned. Together, they walked into the store.

  “Can I help you ladies find anything?” A toothy twentysomething approached them the moment they set foot through the door. Muriel said, “Could you please show me your size sixteens?”

  “She’s pulling your leg,” Pia
said to the salesgirl’s befuddled expression, flashing the most genuine smile Muriel had seen all day. In its glow, Muriel felt radiant. “I’ll be over in accessories,” she said, beaming.

  While Muriel sauntered away, Pia said, “That gray satin in the window. Do you have it in a size four?”

  The salesgirl nodded and left to fetch the dress. “The dressing rooms are at the back of the store,” she said. “Go on in. I’ll bring the dress to you.”

  Overhearing, Muriel thought, Toto, we’re definitely not in T.J.Maxx.

  “Muriel?”

  Muriel looked up. “Yes, sis?”

  “Come with me?”

  “You’re done already?”

  “To the dressing room.”

  “The dressing room?”

  “I need you.”

  Muriel scoffed. “Since when do you need my help buying clothes?”

  “Today. I need you today.”

  Briefly wishing she’d drunk that second glass of wine after all, Muriel sighed and followed her sister to the back of the store.

  Unlike the shower-stall versions she was used to, with their muslin pull curtains that never quite reached the end of the rod, this dressing room felt like a walk-in closet. Plenty of room for two. There was even a slatted wood bench. Still, there was no way to avoid the accusing three-way mirror and interrogation lighting. Muriel felt compelled to confess she was premenstrual. “Nature makes you fatter when you’re fertile? Like it isn’t hard enough getting a date?”

  Rustling up a courteous laugh, Pia gently touched Muriel’s hair. Involuntarily, Muriel pulled away. Then, feeling ashamed, she returned her head to the palm of her sister’s hand and left it there, hoping the dress would arrive to save her. Instead, Pia removed her hand and turned to examine her face in the mirror. A grim expression stiffened her lips. Muriel sucked in her stomach. When she crossed her legs, she was horrified to notice she’d missed a spot while hastily shaving earlier. In the water balloon bulge of her white calf, tiny black dashes looked like an asphalt scrape.

  “Here you go.” Politely, the salesgirl tap, tapped on the dressing room door. “I also brought you a size two. They run a little large.”

  Muriel uncrossed her legs and tucked her Yeti feet beneath the bench. To give Pia privacy while she slipped out of her clothes and into the dress, she memorized the contours of her lap, wondering if they made Spanx in white.

  “Zip me?”

  When Muriel looked up, she was startled to see the bony spine in Pia’s back. As she zipped up the dress, she noted that it was the size two.

  “Well?” Pia asked, turning around. She smoothed the front, angled to the right, then left. Form fitting, the sleeveless, slate-colored satin dress fit her well. A bit gaping in the armholes, but perfectly suited to her slim frame.

  “I like it,” said Muriel.

  “Me, too. Wow, that was easier than I thought.” Pia exhaled hard and ran her hands down the front of the dress again.

  “What’s it for? Does Will have some work thing or something?” Noting that her lip gloss could use refreshing, Muriel sat back down and poked around in the bottom of her purse. “You taking a cruise or something?”

  Pia stood absolutely still, her gaze lingering on the scalpel-straight part of her hair. Muriel said, “Aha!” and brandished the lip gloss like a trophy.

  “Muriel—,” Pia started. Then she stopped.

  “Too shiny?” Muriel tilted her puckered, freshly glossed lips up at her sister. “Too pale?”

  Said Pia, solemnly, “We need to talk.”

  Letting her head fall forward, Muriel blew air through her sticky lips. “Here we go,” she said. Finally. Lecture time. Pia had waited until they were trapped in a dressing room beneath the incriminating overhead light to launch her dissertation. Wasn’t that just like her! Don’t you think it’s time you grew up? Seriously, Muriel, don’t you? The Bible clearly states you must be fruitful. Multiply. Fertility declines dramatically after thirt—

  Alarmed by a strange guttural sound, Muriel’s head popped up. Pia was facing her. Her right hand rested on the left side of her chest as if she was about to say the Pledge of Allegiance. “Ah, Muriel,” she said, “I’ve been dreading telling you this.”

  “It’s not like I haven’t heard it before.”

  Pia took a deep breath but said nothing. She sat on the bench next to her sister and rested her free hand on Muriel’s knuckles. Tears rose in her eyes. All of a sudden Muriel felt a surge of blood rush to her cheeks.

  “What is it?”

  Pia’s mouth opened and closed like a carp.

  “What? Is it Mom? Will? Emma?”

  Muriel could feel her heart hit her sternum. Her cheeks burned. Tears had spilled over Pia’s lower lashes and were slowly rolling down her cheeks. One heavy drop landed on the lap of her satin dress and quickly spread in a dark circle. The overhead light baked the top of Muriel’s head.

  “You’re scaring me, Pia. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sick,” she said so quietly Muriel thought she’d misheard.

  Noting Pia’s hand still on her chest, Muriel asked, “Your heart?”

  Pia slowly shook her head no and let her hand fall away. Her lips hung loosely on her face. Without meaning to, Muriel stood up and grabbed Pia’s clothes from the hook on the wall. She held them out to her. Insanely, she wanted Pia to put her own clothes back on. If they moved quickly, they could run back to the Plaza. Richard and Edward might still be there. The chef would clack his tongs again. They could order dessert. Another round of drinks.

  “I don’t want Will to pick out my dress,” Pia said softly. “Or Mom. I want it to be perfect, and I’ve lost so much weight lately.”

  Still holding Pia’s clothes, Muriel flicked her head as if a gnat buzzed past her ear. Pia stood and gently took her clothes out of her sister’s grip and set them on the bench behind her. Then she lifted both hands and placed them on either side of Muriel’s warm, magenta-colored cheeks. Her hands felt cool, like their mother’s. Her touch was so soft it was almost not there at all.

  “It’s God’s will,” she said. “There’s nothing we can do.”

  Speechless, Muriel gaped at her sister. The bones on top of her arms were round knobs, the hollows on either side of her neck were so deep they could hold water. Her shoulders were hunched and their blades were as curved and sharp as a boat’s propeller in dry dock. Actually, her skin was more green than yellow. Greenish gray. How had she missed that outside? And Pia’s eyes were recessed so far into her skull they cast a shadow. With her lipstick faded, her lips were nearly white. She’d vomited at the hotel, coughed on the bus and in her apartment. Plus, those were ribs on either side of that skeletal spine. My God, was it possible she’d been looking at her sister all day and not seen her at all?

  “I don’t understand.” Muriel’s voice sounded like it was coming from down the street.

  “My breast. Now lungs and liver. Some bones. I didn’t know until it was too late.”

  Dizzy, Muriel’s brain crashed. She missed the meaning of her sister’s words. Something about her bones? Had she broken one? Too late for what?

  “I need your help,” Pia whispered, suddenly looking so fragile it was as if Muriel was the strong one. “Can you help me?”

  Unable to trust her mouth to release a coherent word, Muriel nodded.

  “I’m going to buy this dress and give it to you to hold for me. This is the dress I want to wear. Period.” Pia looked down at the dark teardrop stain. “That should disappear without leaving a mark. If it doesn’t, can you have it dry-cleaned?”

  Muriel blinked and swallowed as Pia went on. “Natural polish and natural lips, none of that thick makeup they trowel on you. Will has to deal with Emma. He won’t know how to handle these things. He won’t care about them. But I do. I care. Do you understand? I need to make sure I can count on you to make it happen.”

  “What are you telling me, Pia?” Muriel felt the heaviness of the very air around her. Wi
th no preliminary welling of tears, she simply started to cry.

  “It’s going to be okay.” Pia’s arms encircled her younger sister. Softly she cooed, “I need you to be strong for Emma. Can you do that for me?”

  Again Muriel nodded, though she was nowhere near telling the truth. Pia was the strong one in the Sullivant family. And Lidia. Muriel was the afterthought.

  Pulling back, Pia stroked her sister’s hair and said matter-of-factly, “Don’t let them restyle my wig. I have it done every week and it’s exactly the way I want it.”

  Wig? Muriel looked at her sister’s shiny blond hair, the way it brushed against her shoulders so evenly, so flawlessly. Even after being bent over a toilet bowl, after clothes mussed it up. Her hair fell perfectly back in place. Shame bowed Muriel’s head. It was true: she’d been so full of herself she hadn’t seen her sister at all.

  “One last thing.” Lifting Muriel’s chin with her cool, bony hand, Pia gazed deeply into her younger sister’s wet eyes. “This is the most important thing I’ve ever asked of anyone. I trust you, Muriel. Will you grant me one last wish?”

  She sniffed hard, nodded, steeled herself as Pia inhaled the whole world into her chest.

  “Don’t tell Mama.”

  “Wait. What? No.”

  “You know it will kill Mama to lose me. And it will kill me sooner to watch that happen. I can’t bear it. I’m asking the impossible, I know. But, please, Muriel, can you keep my secret?”

  With the fullness of her body and soul, Muriel wanted to flatly refuse. She wanted to shake her head and sheepishly confess she was one of those people who blurted out the truth no matter what. Honesty occupied every fold of her heart. That’s what she longed to say. It pumped through her veins, formed the sinew that bonded her muscles to her bones. “Sorry, Pia,” she wished she could utter, “I’m not your girl.” No way could she be counted on to keep a confidence. Not her. Pathetic, but true. No chance it could be done. But of course that was a lie. Keeping secrets was Muriel’s specialty.