Forbidden Sister

by V. C. Andrews

  It was almost impossible to hail a cab in this weather. Every one I saw had passengers in it. There was nothing to do but put my head down and walk. In my eagerness to look nice for Mama, I had put on the wrong shoes for this kind of weather. My feet were freezing by the time I had walked two blocks. I gazed into the windows of restaurants along the way. The people I saw talking and laughing looked completely oblivious to the weather outside. It was as if I were looking through a magic window into a world where there were no sick loved ones, no inclement weather, no fear of what the future might bring, simply no unhappiness.

  These people would enjoy one another’s company, sit down to a wonderful dinner seasoned with laughter and affection, and afterward, contented and high on their pleasure, step out looking surprised that there was a storm of any sort. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Their happiness would keep them warm and safe.

  How could I be one of them? Wasn’t I supposed to be? Wasn’t that what Roxy had said? We would go to dinner, surely at a fancy restaurant? Maybe at that dinner, I would have learned a great deal more about her and about what had happened. Maybe we would have grown closer and been well on our way to being sisters again.

  “Maybe, maybe, maybe,” I chanted, like someone who had gone mad on the streets of the city. I looked up defiantly into the snow and walked on. I crossed avenues and made turns casually, as if the sun were shining. All of the bad news, the tension, and the disappointment made me giddy. I felt like Gene Kelly in Singin’ in the Rain. I heard myself laughing and caught the curious, even frightened, looks of some people hurrying by me. By the time I reached our street, my hair was soaked, but I was still oblivious to the cold. When I entered the house, I shook myself off like a dog, threw my wet coat on the floor, and sat right there in the entryway. For a moment, I was dazed, and then I just began to cry. I sobbed hard, so hard that my ribs hurt, until I was exhausted.

  I struggled to my feet and made my way up the stairs, using the banister to pull myself along. When I got to my bedroom, I peeled off my clothes, leaving them all in a pile at my feet, and then I went into the shower and ran the water as hot as I could stand. My skin was sunburn red when I stepped out and began to dry myself.

  Now truly exhausted, I fell onto my bed and tucked my blanket in around me. In minutes, I was asleep. In a dream, I heard the doorbell ringing and ringing. Finally, I rose and went downstairs. When I opened the door, Papa was standing there.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “I leave for a little while, and the place falls apart?”

  I quickly embraced him, and he closed the door. I kept my head against his chest and held on to him so tightly that he couldn’t move.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” he said. “It’s all right. I’m here. Everything will be all right. The cavalry has arrived.”

  I laughed and looked up at him. That was just what he would say.

  But then he popped like a bubble and was gone.

  “Papa!” I screamed. “Papa, where are you?”

  I ran through all of the downstairs rooms and then hurried back upstairs. When I looked into his and Mama’s bedroom, I saw him lying there just as he was in the funeral parlor. I put my hands on my temples and screamed and screamed until . . . I woke up, gasping.

  It was nearly midnight. After a few moments, I was calm again, realizing I had been dreaming. I fell back onto my pillow and looked up at the dark ceiling. I vaguely thought about not having eaten anything, but I really didn’t have any appetite. The best thing to do, I told myself, was try to get back to sleep, get up as early as I could, and hurry back to the hospital.

  It was something easier thought of than done. Everything came rushing back at me, but I was too tired to cry anymore. Reliving the day finally tired me out again, and I did fall asleep. I woke up with a start, having slept longer than I intended, and then I rushed about, picking up my clothes, dressing, having a glass of juice and a piece of toast with jam because I knew Mama would be upset if I didn’t eat anything first. It was probably going to be her first question when she saw me, I thought. I washed and dried my glass and dish, then I started for the front door.

  Before I reached it, the buzzer sounded, and I stopped like someone instantly frozen. My dream returned. Was Papa out there? The buzzer went off again and again. With my legs trembling, I stepped forward and opened the door. Roxy was standing there in a jacket and hood. She was in jeans and a pair of nearly knee-high black boots.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “Don’t be an ass,” she said, stepping in and closing the door behind her. She didn’t look at me, however. She stood gazing at the entry and the hallway. “I never even dreamed I would be back in this house.”

  I folded my arms over my breasts and leaned against the wall.

  She glanced at me and lowered her hood. “I came around last night and pressed the buzzer for almost ten minutes.”

  “I didn’t hear it,” I said, and thought that probably was responsible for my dream about Papa.

  “You have any coffee?”

  “I didn’t make any, but we have it. Why?”

  “I’m knocking on doors in the neighborhood taking a poll. Why do you think?”

  She walked to the kitchen.

  “She always kept her kitchen immaculate. I was afraid to eat anything, worried I’d drop a crumb or something.”

  “She’s not like that.”

  “Maybe now,” she said.

  “Why didn’t you meet me yesterday?” I demanded.

  She ignored me and looked into the closets. “Amazing,” she said. “Everything is exactly where it was when I was here.” She turned to me. “I remember every little detail of this place, because the general insisted on everything in his life being organized. Did he bounce quarters off your sheets to see if you made your bed properly?”

  “Stop it, and stop calling him the general.”

  She stared at me a moment and then hooked up the coffeepot and began to prepare the coffee. She spoke as she worked. “Unfortunately, my life isn’t all that much freer now. I simply have a different general running things, and just like here, there’s little or no room for any opposition or refusals. You get your orders, and you follow them or else.”

  “What orders? What are you talking about?”

  She turned after she had the coffee started. “The people I work for don’t want to hear about sick mothers, dead fathers, and destitute sisters.”

  “I’m not destitute.” I sat at the kitchenette.

  She took out the coffee cups and saucers and then the milk. “What do you have to eat? Any buns, bagels, muffins?”

  “There are muffins in that big bowl,” I said, nodding at it.

  She took two out and put them on a dish. Then she looked into the refrigerator again. “I should have some juice.”

  “So have it.”

  She poured a glass. “Did you have anything?”

  “What difference does it make? Stop talking about food. Where were you?”

  “I was given an assignment I couldn’t refuse. I thought about calling the hospital and leaving a message for you but then thought that might be worse.”

  “It wouldn’t have been.”

  She smiled. “Did you tell her I came to see how she was?”

  “No. I didn’t want to tell her anything, since you hadn’t showed up and might never,” I said. “She didn’t need any more unhappiness.”

  She nodded, then sat and cut a muffin. “What did you do about dinner?”

  “Nothing. I wasn’t hungry. I probably wouldn’t have eaten much even if you had done what you said you were going to do.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. It couldn’t be avoided. I’m here now. We’ll have something to eat and go see her. How was she?”

  “She wasn’t really alert. I don’t know if she’ll remember that I was there.”

  “So see? No harm done,” she said, and got up to get the coffee.

  “No harm done?”

  “Don’t get dramatic on
me,” she warned. “You want some coffee? Don’t tell me you don’t drink it, either. The French love their coffee.”

  “Okay,” I said, relenting.

  She poured us both a cup and sat. “What was so important last night?”

  “I told you. An assignment.”

  “Is that really what you call it?”

  “Let’s not talk about me. You have to go back to school, you know.”

  “I hate that school. I don’t care.”

  “What would your . . . what would Mama think if you didn’t go back?”

  I sipped my coffee and nibbled on one of the muffins.

  “Well, let’s do first things first,” she said. “We’ll go see her and then talk about the rest later.”

  “Later? What if you get another emergency assignment?”

  She smiled. “I was afraid you and I would be too different even to talk to each other, but I see you have my personality after all.”

  “Please,” I said. “Spare me the compliments, if that was a compliment.”

  She laughed, then finished her coffee, grabbed another piece of muffin, and got up.

  “Let’s go.”

  “First, we’ll clean up this mess,” I said. I brought the cups and saucers to the sink, turned off the coffeepot, and began cleaning it.

  “Maybe we’re not all that alike,” she added, and put what was left of the muffins back in the bowl.

  When we stepped out, I was surprised to see the limousine waiting.

  “You didn’t have that last night.”

  “Reward today for being such a loyal employee last night,” she replied. The driver got out to open the door for us.

  It wasn’t snowing anymore, but there was a good two inches, and the sky was still quite overcast. It was very cold, probably below freezing. I didn’t want to say it, but I was happy that Roxy had been rewarded. We got in and were driven to the hospital.

  “I hope the sight of me doesn’t put her into shock,” Roxy said when we got out of the limousine.

  For the first time, I wondered how Mama would react to her. Surely, it would be wonderful for her to see her daughter, even like this, but would she smile, or would she burst into tears, and if she did that, would it be very bad for her? Would she look at Roxy and think of all she could have done to keep her home, all she didn’t do, and would that make her feel even worse?

  When I didn’t respond, Roxy paused to look at me. “You’re not sure this is a good idea after all. Is that it, M?”

  “Of course it’s a good idea. You’re her daughter. I told you how bad she felt about what happened to you.”

  “Yeah, you told me,” Roxy said, and walked quickly ahead of me. But when we reached the ICU, her step slowed. From the look on her face, I thought she was going to back out for sure.

  “She’ll be glad to see you,” I insisted. “It will be something good after something so horrible.”

  She turned away.

  I put my hands on my hips and raised my voice. “What is it? You were ready to see her yesterday, weren’t you?”

  “I was going to see her, but I’m not saying I was ready,” she replied. She looked at the door. “Don’t you think I imagined seeing her again, thought about it, dreamed about it?”

  “I don’t know. How would I know? You didn’t want to before she got sick, and when I came to see you . . .”

  “Forget about it,” she said. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  She moved quickly to the door, and we entered the ICU. I could see that Mama was raised a little in her bed and sipping something through a straw. When she turned and saw us approaching, she stopped sipping and lowered the plastic cup. Her eyes widened. I moved ahead to kiss her, but she didn’t react. She was fixed on Roxy.

  “Am I dreaming?” she whispered.

  “How are you feeling, Mama?” Roxy asked, as if she had never been gone.

  “Roxy,” Mama said. “My Roxy.”

  I looked at Roxy. Her lips trembled, but she sucked in her breath.

  Mama reached out for her. Roxy looked at her hand and then took it and embraced her. For a long moment, they held on to each other. I had the feeling that either one would crumble if they let go. Roxy did first, and then Mama released her so she could step back.

  “You’re very beautiful, Roxy,” Mama said. “Très jolie.”

  “Thank you.” She looked at me. “She’s not bad, either.”

  “Both of you . . . together . . . this is my dream,” Mama said.

  “Yeah, well, you picked a helluva place to have it, Mama,” Roxy said.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Me? I’m terrific.”

  “I tried to get you to come to your father’s funeral,” Mama said.

  “I was there . . . at the cemetery,” Roxy told her.

  Mama smiled. “I was hoping . . .”

  “Let’s not talk about the past now, Mama. Let’s talk about your getting up and around again as quickly as you can.”

  “Yes, yes . . .” Mama smiled, and then her face reflected her discomfort. “I think it’s time for one of my pills,” she said.

  I looked to the nurse, who was watching us. She nodded and started around the counter. We both stepped back as she gave Mama her medicine.

  “Has her doctor been here yet?” Roxy asked the nurse.

  “Not yet. She’s doing fine,” she added. She smiled at me and returned to her station.

  Roxy tightened the corners of her mouth and glanced at me.

  “Are you going to look after her while I’m in here?” Mama asked Roxy.

  “Her? You brought her up right. She can look after herself and me,” Roxy said.

  Mama nodded and smiled and reached for my hand. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” Mama said to Roxy. “It’s just so wonderful to have you here.”

  “I’m fine, Mama. Just think about yourself for once, will you?”

  Mama looked at her and nodded, and then she turned to me. “Have you spoken to Aunt Lucy? Did she call?”

  “Oh. I don’t know. I didn’t check the answering machine, Mama.”

  “It’s all right. We don’t know what to tell her yet anyway,” Mama said.

  I looked at Roxy. Was it possible she knew more?

  Mama’s medicine began to take effect. I could see her eyelids weakening. She took a deep breath and lowered herself to the pillow.

  “You need to rest a lot right now, Mama,” Roxy said. “We’ll go get some lunch and return. How’s that?”

  Mama nodded. She wanted to keep alert, to talk, to enjoy the sight of her two daughters together at last, but her body was shutting down again.

  “Dieu merci, tu as été retourné,” Mama said, almost in a whisper. I looked at Roxy. She understood, of course. “Thank God, you have come back.”

  I leaned over to kiss Mama.

  Roxy hesitated and then did the same.

  We started out together.

  “Have I?” she asked herself as we left the ICU.

  “Have you what?”

  “Come back?”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  I wouldn’t for some time yet.

  16

  Roxy and I returned to the hospital after lunch. Dr. Hoffman had been in to see Mama. One look at her face told us that he had explained everything. She did her best to hide the truth from us, not knowing that Dr. Hoffman had already spoken to us. She told us that he said she would have to stay a while and then come in for some treatments, but everything would be fine. Roxy said nothing to contradict her, and neither did I.

  Mama didn’t ask Roxy any questions about her life now, and Roxy didn’t volunteer any detailed information. She did ask Mama about our French relatives, and Mama went on about them, happy to talk about her family. We stayed until the nurse told us we should let her rest, and Roxy invited me to have dinner with her. She did so in front of Mama so Mama would know we were going to spend time together.

  “We’ll take you home to change,�
� she said when we left the ICU. “I’ll pick you up in two hours.”

  “Why didn’t we tell Mama that we had spoken with her doctor, too?” I asked on the way out of the hospital.

  “You have to let her handle this the way she wants to handle it, M,” Roxy said. “Otherwise, it will be even worse for her, not that it can get much worse,” she added in a softer voice.

  We got into the limousine. The driver had been watching for us and had the vehicle right in front of the hospital.

  “She looked so small in that bed,” I said. “Didn’t she?”

  “Yes.” She looked out the window. “But the last time I really looked at her, before I left home, she looked smaller, more like she was the child and I was the mother. I think what was happening was just too overwhelming for both of us.”

  I described what Mama had told me about the way she went looking for her, often taking me along with her.

  “I wasn’t in the city then.”

  “Where were you?”

  “At a house on Long Island.”

  “Why? I mean, how did you get to be there?”

  “It’s a long story,” she said.

  “Didn’t you ever think of coming back?”

  “Yes, but by then, it was too late.”

  “Too late? Why?”

  “I don’t want to talk about all that now, M. It almost seems unfair of me while she’s in there so sick. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, seeing how adamant she was.

  “We’ll have a good dinner,” she promised, softening her tone.

  When she dropped me off at the house, I hurried in to change. I had so many feelings twisting and turning around inside me. It felt as if I had swallowed a ball of rubber bands. There was the terrible heaviness of Mama’s condition driving me to burst out in hysterical sobs, and there was the excitement of being with Roxy and getting to know her again. What she had done, how she had gotten to where she was, all of it was fascinating to me. I was confident that we would draw closer and she would tell me everything, but feeling good about it or what it might mean seemed out of place right now. I felt guilty not thinking only of Mama.

  The phone rang while I dressed, but I didn’t answer it, nor did I check the answering machine. I didn’t want to hear anyone else’s voice or speak to anyone. I knew how well dressed and put together Roxy would be when she came to pick me up, and for the time being, at least, concentrating on my own appearance took my mind off everything else. Of course, I was afraid she would cancel on me again, and that was mostly why I wouldn’t answer the phone. Finally, just about two hours later, I heard the door buzzer and put on my coat. The driver was there. Roxy was waiting in the limousine.