There’s so much we don’t know. I wish Mom was alive to give answers. I wish Dad was of sound mind and approachable. I wish Irememberedmore.
I’m guessing my sister’s thoughts are similar, because her anger fizzles. She is whispering again, and I understand that, too. It’s not that anyone is close by, just that whispering is less threatening. “How long have you wondered about this?”
“Oh, God,” I roll my eyes, “since I was a teenager and had no idea why he was always so down on me. I mean, there were good times. But the bad times are the ones I remember.”
“I didn’t know.”
“And I didn’t say back then, because it sounded so absurd. But I’m not a bad person, Anne. I’ve learned that. People like me. Joy loves me. There is no one else in this world who treats me like he did.”
She looks like she wants to argue. Loyalty to Dad has been her credo. I hear a touch of challenge when she asks, “If he isn’t your biological, who is?”
I shrug, not ready to share the possibilities, much less their source.
“You look like us.”
“I look like Mom. We all do. Her genes must be the dominant ones.”
“Is that why you stayed away all those years, y’know, because we aren’t sisters?”
I pull her close. Once her initial stiffness fades, I say a soft, “Wearesisters. We have the same blood. Look at Joy. She’s probably more like you than she is like me. Nothing will ever change that.”
She nods against my shoulder.
“And no,” I go on, “it’s not why I stayed away.” Drawing back, I look her in the eye. “Well, maybe Dad is. He never said he wanted me here—and don’t defend him, you know it’s true. But it was me, Anne. Really. When I left, I didn’t know who I was. I had to find out.”
“You made a life in New York.”
“With Joy, but no family.”
“You have Chrissie.”
“She’s not like you and me. I want what we had before, Annie. I want us to be close.”
She sinks against the truck, seeming younger and more vulnerable. I join her there, my arm flush to hers as we look back at Gendy’s, where the last splinters of sun have faded and lights now outline the sprawling house.
“What about Jack?” she asks.
“Definitely not family, and definitely not why I came back. I mean it.”
“You loved him. I assumed he was it for you.”
“Me, too,” I admit, allowing myself to remember that night and the horror that followed. “But we said awful things to each other. Webelievedawful things of each other. People who are meant to be together don’t fall apart like that. And he didn’t chase me to New York, did he.” It wasn’t a question. “Didn’t contact me once all these years.”
“What was it like seeing him again?”
How to sum that up in a word or two or even three? I settle on, “Confusing.”
“Confusing, how?”
“Past to present. He’s the same, but different.”
“Do you like him?”
“I don’t know him.”
“Is he a danger to us?”
“Nah,” I say without having to wonder. “At least, not directly. He isn’t malicious, Anne. He wants answers about his mother. If those answers incriminate Dad, then yes, he’s a danger.”
