Forbidden Sister

by V. C. Andrews

  “I’ll be back every day,” she promised. “You can call me whenever you want, no matter what time.”

  “Okay, Chas,” I said. “Thanks.”

  We hugged.

  “Do you know when the funeral will be?” she asked, as if she had just remembered what this was all about.

  “What funeral?” I said. “This is just a dream.”

  She nodded, her eyes flooding with tears, and then she turned and left as quickly as she could. I didn’t blame her. When she got outside, she probably felt as if she had come up out of a grave, I thought.

  I understood why Mama wanted people to exhaust her. By the time the last mourner had left our home, she was ready to collapse.

  “We have a lot to do tomorrow,” she told me. “Just try to get some sleep.”

  I followed her up to the bedrooms. When she paused at mine, I wanted to ask about Roxy. Would she try to reach her to tell her? Did that matter at all to her? Once again, Mama surprised me. She really could read my thoughts.

  “We’ll think about your sister tomorrow,” she said. She kissed me and then went to her bedroom like someone who was stepping out of this world and into another.

  I was surprised at how tired I was and grateful that she had been wise enough to exhaust us both. I fell asleep like someone under anesthesia.

  She was up ahead of me in the morning and waiting for me in the kitchen. We hugged without speaking. I looked at the breakfast she had prepared and shook my head.

  “I know you think you can’t eat, Emmie, but you must.”

  To emphasize, she began to eat herself.

  “Your father’s company has placed an obituary in the New York Times,” she told me.

  I looked up at her. I felt certain she was telling me this to open the conversation about Roxy. Who else did she care about seeing it?

  “You think Roxy will see it or learn about Papa today?”

  She glanced at Papa’s empty chair as if she thought his spirit was there listening. “Your father and I talked about your sister more and more lately. He was still very angry about her, but he was beginning to soften. I left a message with her service last night,” she said.

  My heart raced with anticipation. “And?”

  “I’ve heard nothing back. It took a great deal of effort to get your father to find out how to reach Roxy. He gave me the information only two days ago. It was as if he knew what was coming,” she said, and took a breath so deep I thought she had reached back into her youth to find the oxygen.

  “Why didn’t she call you back right away? How could she ignore this?”

  “Maybe she didn’t get my message yet,” Mama said. “Maybe she doesn’t care. I did what I thought I should,” she added, glancing toward Papa’s chair again.

  Every time the phone rang after that, I held my breath, expecting it to be Roxy, but it wasn’t. Mama’s family in France called as soon as they were up and about. The only one I spoke with was my mother’s brother, Alain. I hadn’t spent much time with any of her family, and I was very young when I did, but I could recall him the best. He was the nicest and sweetest of them all. Mama had recent pictures of her sisters and brother. They were a good-looking family, but besides being strikingly handsome, Uncle Alain had a softness in his smile that could make anyone he met feel comfortable. As Mama herself said, Uncle Alain had the most positive energy. He was still unmarried, and although Papa had never come out and said it, especially in front of me, he believed Alain was gay. Mama never said anything about that. I knew he was a successful international attorney, but aside from that, I knew little else.

  Mama advised all of her French family not to come to the funeral. They were all very busy with their lives and families, and she assured them that she would be fine. She promised that she and I would visit France as soon as we could. When she spoke to them, she spoke only in French. I thought I heard her mention Roxy’s name when she spoke with her brother Alain and her sister Manon, but not when she spoke to her younger sister, Chantal.

  Papa’s company sent a limousine to take us to the funeral parlor and the church to make arrangements. I took it as a compliment that Mama did not try to get me to stay home and avoid all of it. Instead, she made me feel adult and equal. In fact, she gave me the impression that she needed me and leaned on me for support. Because of that, I pushed away any childish thoughts or feelings. It occurred to me that we don’t just grow up on some schedule. Events jolt you or drag you into maturity. I was sure that the day Roxy walked out of our home and into the New York streets, she put aside all of her youthful feelings and thoughts and immediately became a young woman. She had no choice. Either she did that, or she would not survive.

  Papa hated the idea of an Army career but was the first to admit that it made men of boys and women of girls. “If you have no choice but to grow up, you grow up,” he would say.

  Nevertheless, I was anxious to get home at the end of the afternoon to see if Roxy had left a message. There were messages, condolences, and offers of assistance from other friends and some cousins on both sides but no message from Roxy. No one at my school had called to leave me a message except for Chastity. She wanted to come over to tell me what everyone was saying at school. Suddenly, all of that meant little or nothing to me. When I didn’t call her back, she called again. I was sure she was really more interested in what was happening with Roxy.

  I told her not to come over, because both my mother and I were too tired. More visitors came to offer their condolences, however, and some who had been there the day before returned for a little while. People didn’t stay as long. Mama wasn’t hiding her exhaustion. Enough food had been brought in to feed us for a week. Neither of us ate very much, and it was more difficult to fall asleep this time. I was still hoping to hear from Roxy, even expecting her to show up, but none of the later phone calls were from her or anyone who knew her. When I thought about it, I considered the possibility that she was out of the country or somewhere far away and still hadn’t picked up the message or heard the news. I didn’t ask Mama about it. I thought it was just adding to her pain to mention Roxy now.

  Throughout my father’s funeral and the burial at the cemetery, I hoped Roxy would appear. I imagined her stepping up between us and taking Mama’s hand and mine, but she never came. I didn’t know until the next day that Mama had called her hotel and tried to leave a message containing the details of Papa’s services for her that way, too.

  “What happened?” I asked her when she told me.

  “The receptionist said there was no one by that name living there. She probably has changed her name, or perhaps she has left that place and gone to some other state or even another country. Whatever. I’ve done all I can about it, Emmie. We have enough to do.”

  I said nothing. I didn’t have the nerve to tell her that Chastity and I had been spying on Roxy and that I knew for certain that she was still living at the Beaux-Arts. I thought that would only make her feel worse.

  Mama wanted me to return to school immediately. “The longer you stay out, the harder it will be for you to return,” she said.

  “I don’t want to return ever,” I told her. “I hate that school now.”

  She looked as if she would collapse under the burden of any more trouble and turmoil. I felt terrible complaining.

  “Emmie, I don’t have the strength to start looking for some other school for you right now. Please,” she said.

  “I’ll finish the year, but I’d like to go to a public school, Mama.”

  “We’ll see,” she said.

  I told myself I would just grin and bear it, but what I had more trouble accepting was Roxy’s complete disinterest in our father’s passing and our mother’s grief. I was no longer interested in her as much as I was angry at her. I didn’t care how she had been treated. She had brought the trouble on herself. She was at least partly, if not mostly, to blame, especially if she could be this heartless now. I was determined not to let her get away with it.

 
I certainly wasn’t going to tell Chastity what I was planning, and I couldn’t tell Mama, but that night, I sat at my desk and composed a short letter.

  Dear Roxy,

  You and I haven’t seen or spoken to each other for years. You knew that Papa knew who and what you were now. There’s no point in pretending anything. I don’t care how angry you were at him and Mama. Papa died, and Mama left you a message with your service and your hotel, and I know you are there. She tried to reach out to you, thinking you might have an ounce of decency left. I think it’s horrible that you wouldn’t even respond.

  All I can say is that even with your rich possessions, you’re someone I pity.

  Your sister,

  Emmie

  I folded it and put it in an envelope with the charm bracelet she had given me years ago. On the front, I wrote in big block letters: TO ROXY WILCOX.

  I told Mama I needed to go for a walk. She nodded and went back to the papers she was studying in Papa’s office. Then I left the house and marched with such determination that I didn’t see or hear anyone around me until I reached the Beaux-Arts. I stood outside for a moment. Of course, I thought how much Papa would hate me doing this, but it was too important to me. He’d have to understand.

  I entered the lobby and immediately stopped. I was sure Roxy was just getting into the elevator. She was with a man, and just before the doors closed, I saw him put his arms around her waist and pull her closer.

  The desk clerk looked up. He was a very thin man with large dark eyes and thick dark brown hair. I didn’t think he was much more than in his twenties.

  “Can I help you?” he asked when I hesitated.

  My heart was throbbing so hard I didn’t think I could speak, but I stepped forward.

  “Yes, you can,” I said. I slapped the envelope on the desk. “That woman who just got into that elevator was Roxy Wilcox, right?”

  He stared at me for a moment and then leaned forward, his beady eyes looking like two glass ebony marbles. “Who are you? What do you want here?”

  “I want you to make sure she gets this, and you don’t have to pretend that she isn’t here. I know that was Roxy in the elevator just now. I’ve seen her here before. When you hand it to her, tell her it came from her sister.”

  He looked at the envelope and then at me. Before he could say a word, I turned and marched out. I can’t say I wasn’t afraid and trembling.

  I made my way home as quickly as I had made my way to the hotel.

  There were many ghosts chasing me, Papa’s in the lead, all of them bawling me out. Their voices grew louder. I was practically running down the sidewalk, my hands over my ears. I bumped into people, cut between people, even stepped into the street to get past older people who were walking too slowly.

  I was sure I looked like someone fleeing, someone too terrified to look back.

  11

  I said nothing to Mama about it, but for the remainder of the evening and even after I had gone to bed, I listened for either the telephone or the door buzzer. The telephone rang once, but it was Mrs. Maffeo calling to see how we were doing. I heard Mama talking to her. When she came by to say good night, she looked so tired and defeated that I couldn’t even think of mentioning Roxy. But thinking about her kept me up most of the night. I tossed and turned, worried that I might have done something that would make things worse somehow. Maybe Roxy’s company, or whatever it was called, didn’t know who she really was. Maybe someone would be coming around to check up. I knew that would be very disturbing for Mama. Roxy could come here when I was in school, too, and she might be nasty and terrible to Mama.

  As much as I hated the very thought of returning to school, I rose as early as I would on any school day when Papa was alive. Despite all that Mama and I had been through during the past days, I still dreamed that I would see Papa sitting in the kitchen, his Wall Street Journal beside his coffee cup. The sight of me dressed and ready that early always had brought a smile to his face. How I longed to see that smile again.

  Mama was right behind me. When I saw her, I wished I hadn’t risen and dressed before it was necessary. There was no one there to impress. I thought Mama was forcing herself to be energetic just for my benefit.

  “I’m all right, Mama. You didn’t have to get up this early. You know I can look after myself.”

  “Of course you can. I’ve got to see our accountant and our attorney today. I have their first appointment of the day,” she explained.

  “Why do you have to do everything so quickly? You need to rest, Mama,” I said.

  “Things have to be done now,” she insisted.

  I wanted to ask why. Were we in some sort of financial trouble? Surely, with Papa’s success and his life insurance, we would be fine. Were there things they had kept hidden from me? Whatever it was, she shouldn’t have to bear the brunt of it all alone, I thought, but I could see that continuing the discussion would only tire her out. I ate my breakfast and kissed her before I started out for school. When I hugged her, she seemed to be trembling, but she forced a quick smile and, as usual, told me to be careful. She used Papa’s favorite expression: “Stay alert. You’re always on guard duty.”

  “Yes,” I said. We smiled at each other even though our hearts were heavy.

  Chastity had e-mailed me a list of all the work I had missed, but I hadn’t done a single thing. I had little or no enthusiasm for school and even walked like someone who was walking in her sleep, someone really not sure where she was going. When I saw the school ahead of me, I almost turned away to spend the day wandering the city, maybe hanging out in Central Park. Chances were good that no one at school would call about me, because they all would think I was still in mourning. But Chastity did know I was coming, and if she called to see where I was, Mama would be terribly frightened.

  From the moment I arrived, I saw how differently my classmates were looking at me. Some actually seemed terrified to speak to me. It was as if they thought they could say something or do something that would send me into hysterical sobbing for which they would be blamed. They forced smiles, asked how I was, but as quickly as they could, they moved away. Meanwhile, Chastity acted like some sort of bodyguard, answering for me or guiding me along. She was always looking for a way to feel important, and my tragic situation gave her a new opportunity. I couldn’t have cared any less about that or anything else involving my classmates.

  I didn’t see Evan until lunch. The moment he set eyes on me, he broke away from his friends and approached while Chastity was getting our food.

  “I was really sorry and shocked to hear about your dad,” he began. “Please tell your mother how sorry I am.”

  “Thank you.”

  I avoided looking at him, but whether he felt guilty about the way he had treated me or was simply curious, he followed with, “Does your sister know?”

  I paused. I had all sorts of angry responses piling up on my tongue, but I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter if she does or doesn’t, Evan. That won’t bring back my father,” I said, and joined Chastity at our usual table. He didn’t follow.

  “What did he want?” Chastity asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I don’t want to talk about him or hear about him,” I told her so firmly that she quickly nodded. “None of these kids interests me anymore. I don’t care what any of them have to say, so don’t bring me any gossip.”

  Because of the look on my face and the tone in my voice, she hardly said a word during the remainder of the lunch hour. I’m sure she thought I was like a tube of nitroglycerin. It would take the slightest nudge to see me explode.

  My teachers thought so, too. They were all quite sympathetic and considerate, speaking extra softly. None demanded anything of me. All told me to take my time and come to them if I ever needed some extra help. The truth was, my interest in being a very good student had waned with Papa’s passing. I think I achieved my high grades for him as much as for myself. Mama wanted me to do well, too, but I knew she would readily acce
pt Bs, even Cs, now.

  Every day that followed seemed as gray and dull as the previous one. They all ran together like one long day, in fact. Once I reached school in the morning, my body tightened. It was as if I had gone into rigor mortis along with Papa. I imagined I looked like someone simply going through the motions. I never raised my hand to answer a question, and none of my teachers called on me. It was as if I was in an invisible cubicle. In fact, it wasn’t long before friends who had tried to reconnect began to act as if I weren’t there. I suppose I wasn’t. I mean, my body was there, but my mind drifted so much and so often that most of the time, I didn’t hear them speak. A few times, someone asked me a question and even repeated it, but I didn’t respond. They all looked at one another and at Chastity, shrugged, and then went on to something else.

  As this continued, I could see their attitude toward me harden further. Whatever pass they had given me because of my father’s death gradually disappeared. I was just annoying to them now. It was easier to leave me out of conversations or plans. It reinforced the feeling that I had become invisible. At first, Chastity didn’t mind, because she was usually left out of everything anyway, but I soon felt sorrier for her than I did for myself. She was left with only me again, and I wasn’t good company. She might as well be alone.

  Evan and his friends were another story. I had no idea what sort of things he had told them during the short time we had been seeing each other. I had a dreadful suspicion that he might have exaggerated the way I knew some boys did in order to appear more sophisticated than their friends, bragging about sexual relations or something.

  Now that some time had passed since my father’s death, my forbidden sister was fair game again. At least a half dozen of Evan’s friends came right out and asked me if Roxy had been invited back into our family. Some of the boys began to make remarks in the hallways.

  “Is she working out of your house?”

  “What’s her number? How much does she cost?”