The Sisters

by Rosalind Noonan

  Winston. He probably broke his phone again and was using a friend’s line to call her. Quickly, she tapped the talk button and pressed the phone under her hood as she tried to keep walking. “Hello?”

  “My name is Kip Wyman and I’m with the Alaska State Troopers. I’m calling for Glory Noland. Is that you?”

  “Yes.” Dread rushed through her, heavy, sullen, and icy cold. Was Winston in trouble with the law?

  “And you’re related to Winston Noland?”

  “He’s my husband.” A frightening pause as wind rattled the branches overhead, sending leaves and water cascading down on them. “Is he okay?”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Noland, but your husband is dead.”

  She didn’t believe him. He couldn’t have said that. She wheeled the stroller around and hurried back to the cover of the school awning. “What did you say?”

  “Your husband was found deceased in his vehicle this morning.”

  Deceased. A chill came over her as she turned the word in her mind, feeling as if everything was happening from a distance, at the end of a cold, vacant tunnel. Her legs kept moving, the rain kept falling, but something inside her froze. Plunging under the cover at the school entrance, she parked the stroller against the brick wall and turned away. “What . . . what happened to him?”

  “His car went off the highway, down into the ravine. It’s an isolated stretch of road without guardrails. From what we can see, he’d been there awhile. Maybe a few days.”

  “Days?” So he’d been gone—dead—all this time that she had been getting aggravated with him for not returning her calls? “All that time and no one stopped to help him?”

  “We don’t get much traffic up that way, especially this time of year when the tourists and snowbirds have headed south. And you couldn’t see his car from the highway. I figure it took a few days for someone to drive by slow enough to notice the tracks going off the road.”

  As her hands gripped the brick wall, digging into the jagged edges, she imagined Winston suffering alone . . . in pain. No. It couldn’t be true.

  “How do I know you’re who you say you are?” she asked in a shaky voice. “This could be some terrible joke.”

  “I wish it weren’t true,” he said in a quieter voice. “As I told you, I’m Kip Wyman, from the Yukon Division of the State Troopers. Listen, I can give you a number to call back after you’ve processed this. That way you can confirm who I am, too.”

  “I have your number in my phone,” she said coldly. “I’ll call you back.”

  “Mommy, I’m cold,” Ruby complained. “The wind is making me wet.”

  Glory waved her off, staring into a dark tunnel of death matters such as funeral arrangements, legal notifications, and spreading the word to family and friends. She’d never done this before, tucking away all the loose pieces at the end of someone’s life. Never before, and she didn’t want to do it now.

  “All right then, Glory. You take care, now.” Officer Wyman sounded sad. “Call me back soon with your questions, ’cause I know you’ll have a bunch and I’m here to answer them for you. I’ll help you through the details with his body and personal effects and such.”

  Personal effects. Hearing that phrase made it real. Winston was gone. A tiny whimper escaped her throat, but she forced herself to take a deep breath and stay focused. “Okay. I’ll call you back,” she said. She cut the connection and stared at the old brick building, the walking path she had ventured down countless times with the stroller, the play structure Ruby liked to climb. Everything looked the same as ever, but that was an illusion. Everything had changed.

  This was her ground zero.

  * * *

  Moving like a zombie, Glory got the kids home, hung the wet items over the tub, and cut up an apple for Ruby to snack on. Sometimes to celebrate Fridays they got an early dinner at the pancake house, but not tonight.

  Glory couldn’t see that she’d ever have an appetite again.

  In a trance, she nursed Aurora and stared at the cartoon characters on the PBS show she’d put on to keep Ruby occupied. Any way to delay calling Kip Wyman back. She closed her eyes and tried to make it all go away, but there was no escaping the cold, hard knot of dread inside her, a frozen stone that would never thaw. This would not go away.

  Finally, she called the number and a woman answered, confirming it was a branch of the state troopers. Wyman came on the line quickly, his voice warm as an old friend. “How are you doing, Glory?”

  “Not well. I feel numb.”

  “That’s a normal reaction in situations like this. I’ll help you out on this end as much as I can. Right now, you should get a pen and paper and take notes, because you’ve got too much on your mind to remember all this.”

  Glory started writing on the backs of envelopes for junk mail. First there was the matter of Winston’s body, which she couldn’t afford or handle. She told him she would contact Win’s father for those decisions. Or maybe his aunt Rosalee would want to travel up to Alaska to retrieve her nephew’s body. A trip like that would be impossible for Glory and her girls.

  “The vehicle was totaled,” Wyman said. “Did you have comprehensive coverage?”

  “Just basic liability,” she said. The car hadn’t been worth that much, but now Glory was left with no transportation.

  Wyman would help her donate the wrecked car for scrap and would send her papers so that she could get a refund on registration from the DMV.

  “I guess I should have asked you in the beginning if your husband had a will. Do you know if he had one?”

  “He didn’t. We knew we’d need something when the kids were born, but we thought there was time. He was young, not even twenty-four yet.”

  “We all feel like there’s time.” The trooper had been in touch with Winston’s employer, who would send Glory his final check. Did she want Winston’s belongings shipped to her via UPS? Only his wedding ring. His other possessions—his shoes and shirts, the warm parka they’d picked out before he’d headed north—she couldn’t bear to see the remains of who he’d been. She would keep his wedding ring and the T-shirt he’d left behind. That was all.

  “I’ll have the coroner send you the death certificate,” Wyman said. “You’ll need a few copies for legal purposes. If I were you I’d make some copies and hold on to at least one original, as they’re difficult to replace.”

  She thanked him, though the idea of keeping the documents in her and Winston’s home chilled her to the marrow. Before he ended the call, Officer Wyman reminded her that she needed to let Winston’s family know.

  Call the people she didn’t know. She promised to do it. Wyman would call back in a few hours to check on her and retrieve contact information for Winston’s father.

  Between scraping together macaroni and cheese, feeding Aurora, and walking through her crankiness, Glory tried to hear his voice, imagine him here in the apartment, carrying Ruby around or sitting at the head of the table. How could she be drawing a blank?

  The contacts on her phone listed his aunt’s information: Rosalee Noland. It seemed like a friendly name, but Rosalee had never approved of Glory enough to spare a smile. Bracing herself, she called the number and listened as it rang on and went to voice mail.

  It seemed like a crummy thing to leave a message, but what if Rosalee was screening the call? What if she never answered? Glory would be doomed to call her every day from here to forever.

  When the voice mail beeped, Glory left a message. “This is Glory, and I’m sorry to leave this in a message, but I have to tell you that Winston is gone. He was killed in a car crash near his job in Alaska.” She included Officer Wyman’s phone number, suggesting that Rosalee call him for the details. That would take Glory out of the mix and save her from the harsh words Rosalee was likely to have for her. There’d be blame, for sure. All those “if our boy hadn’t married you, he’d be alive” scenarios, which Glory just couldn’t take right now. After she hung up, Glory felt a stab of regret. It was so col
d to leave a message like that on voice mail, but what the hell? She’d never done this before, and she was drowning here.

  She wasn’t surprised that his father didn’t answer. A long-haul trucker, he was probably on the road, driving north through California or east through Wyoming. She left a similar message, though maybe her voice was a little softer this time. The one time Winston had brought Glory up to Springfield to meet his father, Tom Noland had been personable, with smiling eyes and a chuckle that chugged along. He’d bought them lunch at a local diner and asked Glory questions about her family. Afterward she told Winston that he seemed like a nice man. “Yeah,” he agreed, “but he was never around. I’m not going to be that kind of father.”

  But now you are that kind of father, and it’s not your fault. No one to blame but life and death.

  If there was some other thing she was supposed to do, it would have to wait until morning. Leaving the television on, she plodded into her bedroom and found that Winston’s side of the bed had a tiny lump under the covers. Ruby slept there, tidy rows of Cheerios on the nightstand beside her.

  You have to tell her in the morning.

  Oh, God. Maybe morning will never come.

  She slid under the covers beside her daughter and fell into a dark, restless sleep.

  CHAPTER 16

  I’m dying.

  Glory had always believed that a person could die of a broken heart, and now she knew it to be true.

  In the days after she received the news about Winston, Glory felt her life break apart in pieces, like a tree that was being systematically taken down, one limb at a time. She was physically ill, unable to eat or sleep, tenderly sipping water to soothe a scalding sore throat. She was worn down by the infernal noise in her ears, the chorus of things unsaid, the memory of interactions that would no longer be repeated. The simplest actions like making tea or climbing into bed seemed like a betrayal of Winston because he would never enjoy them again.

  The sickness came in waves, roaring in her ears, dulling her brain. The flu? She would have thought so if her heart didn’t physically ache in her chest. Twice she passed out on the way to the bathroom and ended up crawling. If the illness swallowed her up, she would go in peace, except for her girls. She needed a plan for her girls, who weren’t being fed or bathed properly. Her milk seemed to have dried up, and she’d had to coax Aurora into taking a bottle with chalky formula, while Ruby seemed to be surviving on cold pasta and applesauce. She needed help.

  In desperation, Glory called her mother. She pulled a blanket over her shoulders, slipped on her clogs, and stepped out into the gray drizzle to tell Katherine about Winston. The girls were in the apartment, and she hadn’t told Ruby yet, didn’t have the strength to deal with that.

  Katherine couldn’t resist gloating. “I told you it wouldn’t work out. What did he do? A street fight? A drug overdose?”

  “No, Mom.” She sank onto the porch, sitting on the top step where it was dry. “It was a car accident.”

  “DUI?”

  Glory didn’t know about that, but she insisted that it wasn’t his fault. “He was working hard and supporting his family. Why can’t you respect him for that?”

  “Well, he didn’t succeed!” Katherine snapped. “And now I guess you want money.”

  “That would help, so I can get a sitter, and get to a doctor. And pay some rent.”

  “Oh, my baby girl, you have got to grow up. I’ve already given you half of my savings, and that wasn’t enough?”

  “We needed a car.”

  “Lot of good that did you. Listen, Ray doesn’t know I sent you money, and I’m afraid of what might happen if he finds out. He’d be gone with the wind. I can’t send any more. I don’t have it, anyway.”

  Glory believed that. Her mother had retired from her job as a school lunch lady with a meager pension. “What about the girls? Can you take them for a while, just till I get back on my feet?”

  “You can’t be asking that. We live in a one-bedroom trailer, and I’ve never even met your kids. You can’t pass them off on strangers, Glory.”

  “You’re their grandmother.”

  “In name only. You made your choice when you decided to disrespect my opinions years ago. The damage is done. You can’t expect me to fix your life now that things with your husband have soured.”

  “He died, Mom. Why can’t you understand that he didn’t do anything wrong? He was killed, and now my heart is broken and I’m sick and I need your help.”

  “I feel for you. I really do, Glory. But I got problems of my own. You need to grow some gumption, girl. Pick yourself up and move on.”

  Move on . . . as if she had anywhere to go. With a groan, she arose from the cold porch as her mother rambled on about things that didn’t matter. “I gotta go feed the girls.”

  “Okay, Glory. You take care now. Let me know how things work out.” As if she cared. Katherine just didn’t want Glory to hate her.

  Inside the apartment felt stuffy and warm, the heat pumping. Pushing open one of the windows in the front, Glory collapsed on the fat chair near the screen and sucked in fresh air. What would happen to her girls if she died in this little apartment? Maybe she should write down a will, asking Miss Mandy to take both her girls. She’d read somewhere that if you write something down, even on the back of a napkin, the courts have to honor it.

  It was hard to imagine Miss Mandy, in her pretty flowered dress and pink lipstick, trying to keep her two girls happy. She’d have formula on her dress, and no time for those gold highlights at the hair salon. Or maybe Miss Mandy would train them well, like pets. The girls would sit at their little desks all day and go to their little beds each night right on time. Tears stung Glory’s eyes as she realized Miss Mandy might be a better mother than she could ever be.

  Resting her chin on the worn brocade of the chair, she noticed someone coming in through the gate out front. A woman in a black raincoat with the hood up. A flowered skirt beneath the hem of the jacket. For a moment she thought Miss Mandy had come, but that was wrong.

  It was the social worker, Juana Lopez, coming to the door.

  Her heart thudded in her chest as Glory ducked down. Had Ms. Lopez seen her? She scrambled down to the floor, pressing her face to her palms.

  Please, don’t take my girls away.

  Had she heard about Winston? Maybe she knew that Glory hadn’t gotten Ruby to school all week. And Glory had never called her back about that fire report.

  Ms. Lopez thought Glory was an unfit mother.

  Glory crawled under the window and rose to shut the curtains just as the doorbell rang. It was her!

  “Mommy,” Ruby called from the bedroom, “there’s someone at the door!”

  “Shh!” Glory hissed, standing frozen behind the door. Now there were footsteps on the stairs, and Ellen’s voice in the vestibule, calling.

  Glory backed against the wall, hugging herself as Ellen spoke with Ms. Lopez.

  “I know she’s home. I heard her talking down here.”

  “Glory?” Soft knocking on the inner door. “It’s Juana Lopez, from Portland Child Services. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

  Aurora was fussing in her playpen, awakened by the noise. Glory crossed the room to retrieve the baby and duck into the bedroom, where Ruby had arranged a family of rubber duckies in a circle on the bed. She spoke to them quietly as she gave each one a moment in the center next to the mommy duck. “Don’t worry. You’ll get a turn. You will, too. Soon.”

  Thank God Ruby didn’t feel her mother’s panic. The doorbell rang again, twice.

  “Someone’s at the door, Mommy,” Ruby said without looking up.

  “I know, I know.” Glory pushed Rory’s hair from her face and clipped it back with a baby barrette. At least she was quiet now. “We’re just going to sit here quietly until they’re gone.” She changed the baby’s diaper and put her into a onesie that wasn’t as dirty as others. They were running low on diapers and needed a trip to the laundromat,
but Glory couldn’t imagine that happening. She had been ready to bag the dirty clothes and put them into her mom’s car for a trip down to Roseville, but Mom wasn’t going to drive up to rescue her and the girls. Now there was no hope in sight.

  The mail slot opened and a business card dropped to the rug. Glory left Aurora on the bed with her sister and crept out to the living room, where she could hear Ms. Lopez and Ellen talking in the vestibule.

  “At this point, I just need them out,” Ellen was saying.

  “They’re behind on the rent, and I can’t afford to take the hit. I’m a single woman with a fixed income.”

  The social worker’s low voice was harder to understand, but Glory heard her promise to “find them a place.”

  She was trying to take the girls away.

  Weak and trembling, Glory went to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, and forced herself to drink. She had to get better, get hydrated, get some food in her. If she didn’t pull herself together, she would lose her girls.

  * * *

  The answer had come to her by accident. It was Ruby who’d asked if they could go to the mall to get a quesadilla. The inclination to say no was strong. Glory had been saying no to most of her requests, including going back to school. The daily trip to school and back held too much of a risk of Child Services swooping in and grabbing the kids.

  Maybe it was crazy to hope they would change the rules, but Glory had to give it a try. She took the extra time to wash her hair and put on the black dress she saved for special occasions. She put the girls in outfits purchased for Aurora’s baptism, an event that had been postponed until Winston’s return. “Sometimes you need to put a little sparkle on,” she told the girls as she straightened the white eyelet trim on Aurora’s cap.

  As soon as they stepped off the escalator on the second floor, the sisters waved and called to her from a large table in the food court.

  “We’ve missed you!”

  “Where have you been?”

  “So good to see you.”