Runaway Twin (13 page)

“Cora. My great-aunt, Cora.”

“Cora! Yes, that's right. Cora. Is she still living?”

“I don't know. I didn't stay with her very long. She sent me to live with her son.”

“Jerod? That no-good who caused her nothing but trouble from the day he was born? He took you?” She sounded genuinely shocked.

“He didn't keep me long, either.”

“Well, that's no surprise. I can't imagine Jerod putting himself out for anyone, not even an orphaned cousin. Where did he send you?”

I didn't want to go through the whole long list of people I'd lived with, so I said, “I became a ward of the state. I've been in foster homes.”

“Maybe you were better off that way. Jerod had a mean streak.” Connie poured tea into two china teacups, placed them on matching saucers, and set them on the table.

I sat across from her. “Now I'm looking for my sister, Starr. I hoped someone here in the neighborhood would know where she went to live.”

“You came to the right place,” she said.

“You know where she is?”

“I don't know exactly where she is now, but I know who took her after the accident. It was the Andersons, Al and Becky Anderson. They used to live down the street, and they didn't have any children, and when Loretta's sister said she could take only one of you girls, Becky and Al offered to adopt the other one.” Connie's head bobbed up and down as she spoke, as if confirming her own facts. “They were a nice young couple.”

Knowing how many rules and regulations Hiss has about foster kids, I was amazed that Starr and I had apparently been placed in new homes without anyone ever notifying the authorities.

“You said the Andersons used to live in this neighborhood. Do you know where they went?”

“No. They moved not long after they took the girl,” she said. “Becky said they needed a bigger yard, with room for a swing set.”

“Did any of your current neighbors live here back then?” I asked. “Maybe someone else kept in touch with them.”

“No. The street has changed a lot these past few years.” She shook her head sadly. “Nobody stays put anymore. They move in, live here a year or two, and move on. Some of the houses are rentals, and they're all owned by the same company. I think the company's trying to buy the whole block so they can tear everything down and build condominiums.” Connie sipped her tea. “It isn't like it used to be, when folks raised their family in one spot.”

“Do you have a telephone directory that I could look at?” I asked. Anderson was a common last name, but maybe first names would be listed.

“You aren't going to make a long distance call, are you?” Connie asked. “My phone bill's too high as it is.”

“I'm not going to call anyone,” I said. “I only want to see if there's a listing for Al and Becky Anderson. Maybe they still live in Enumclaw, and I can find their address.”

She handed me the directory, and I turned to the
A
section. Several Andersons were listed, but no Al and no Becky. However, there were two Andersons with the initial
A.
I copied down both addresses.

“If you want to call the Andersons, it's okay,” Connie said. “As long as it's a local call.”

I could tell she was curious as a cat to know if one of the names in the directory was the one I wanted.

“I think it will be better if I go in person,” I said. “Thanks for the tea and for your help.”

“You let me know if you find your twin,” Connie said. “I always liked Loretta. She made the best banana bread.”

I rode back to the main part of town to get something to eat. While I ate, I marked the addresses for the two A. Andersons on my map. One was only eight blocks away; the other was a couple of miles east of town.

I tried the closer house first. When I rang the bell, a chorus of barking dogs erupted. They yipped and yapped so loudly that I didn't hear the door click. A young man with purple spiked hair put his foot in the door to keep a pack of Chihuahuas from rushing out.

“Stay back!” he said. “No barking!” The dogs kept yapping.

The heavy silver chains around the man's neck clinked as he edged out the door. He kept it cracked open, and the dogs pressed their noses to the crack, sniffing and barking.

“I'm looking for Al and Becky Anderson,” I said.

“Not here.”

“Are you Mr. Anderson?”

“I am, but my name isn't Al. It's Aaron.”

“Sorry to have bothered you,” I said.

He used his foot to shove the dogs back so that he could go inside. The door closed, but the barking continued.

I rode to the other address, hoping I was not nearing a dead end in my search. If this was not the right Anderson, what would I do next? How would I find Starr?

As I pedaled along, the homes I passed became bigger. Most had three-car garages and large lots. The address, when I found it, was a big white house with green shutters. Window boxes bloomed with pink geraniums and the lush green lawn made me want to walk barefoot on it. It was the kind of house you see on the cover of a magazine. While I sat on my bike, looking at the house, a young boy rode by on a scooter.

“Hi,” I said. “Do you live around here?”

He stopped. “I live on the corner.”

“I'm looking for the Anderson family,” I told him. “Do you know if this is where they live?”

“That's it,” he said.

“Do they have any kids?”

“Nope. No kids.”

I tried to swallow my disappointment. This wasn't the right Anderson, either.

“They have a teenager, though,” the boy said. “She babysits me sometimes.”

A teenager! My scalp tingled as I asked, “What's her name?”

“Starr.”

I could barely breathe. This was Starr's home. I had found her! I felt like shouting to the skies,
I found her! I found my twin sister!
but I tried to stay calm. I didn't want this little kid to be the first to know who I was. I wanted Starr to be first.

The boy pushed off on his scooter, rode down the street, and turned into the driveway of the corner house.

Suddenly I was aware of how scruffy I looked. Maybe I should get cleaned up before I went to the door. I wanted Starr's first impression of me to be favorable. I sat on my bike and debated. One part of me wanted to rush to the door and another part of me didn't. I realized my hesitation had nothing to do with my appearance. I was frightened. I felt the way I had the one time I had been in a school play, just before I went on stage—nervous, afraid I'd make a mistake, scared the audience wouldn't like me.

I had dreamed of my reunion with Starr for so long. In my dreams, it was always the same. I told her my name, she gasped and flung her arms around me. We cried tears of joy and swore we would never again be separated. Never!

Starr won't care what I'm wearing,
I told myself.
She'll be so glad to see me that nothing else will matter.
I got off my bike and started up the curved brick path that led to Starr's front door.

I
approached the house slowly. A honeysuckle twined around a trellis near the door, and I paused to inhale the sweet scent. After imagining this moment for so many years, now that it was here I wanted to savor it. It was really happening at last; I was about to be reunited with Starr.

My heart beat faster as I rang the doorbell.

A girl my age opened it. My eyes swept over her, noting the similarities. She had the same oval face as I have, the same dimple in the left cheek. Her hair was the color mine had been until I dyed it. It was Starr!

I could barely speak over the lump in my throat. Finally I managed to whisper, “Hi, Starr. I'm Sunny.”

She raised her eyebrows, looking quizzical. “Who?” she said.

“I'm Sunny,” I repeated.

She still looked blank.

“Your twin sister.”

“You have the wrong house,” she replied. “I don't have a sister.” She started to close the door.

“Wait!” I said. “You were born on April tenth, right? And your mom was killed in a car accident when you were three.”

A voice from behind Starr said, “Who is it, honey?”

“You'd better come,” she said. “It's some girl claiming she's my sister.”

A blond woman wearing a blue sweatsuit appeared behind Starr. She gasped when she saw me. Even with my dark hair, I could tell she saw the resemblance.

“Are you Becky Anderson?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“I'm Sunny Skyland,” I said. “I'm Starr's twin sister.”

“I told her she has the wrong address, that I don't have a sister,” Starr said. “You tell her, Mom. Maybe she'll listen to you.”

The woman said, “I'm Starr's mother. Her adoptive mother. Come in, Sunny. We need to talk.”

Starr gaped as her mother held the door for me.

Mrs. Anderson sat in an overstuffed chair, and motioned for me to sit, too. I chose the sofa. Starr remained standing.

“As you can see,” Mrs. Anderson said, “this is something of a shock to us.”

“Mother!” Starr said. “Are you saying I do have a sister? I'm a twin?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Anderson said. “When your mother was killed, you and Sunny were separated. We got you, and Sunny went to your grandmother's sister.” She looked at me. “Isn't that right?”

“Yes,” I said. “She didn't keep me, though.”

“She didn't?” Mrs. Anderson seemed stunned by that news. “But she loved you! She loved both of you. She wept when she signed the document that allowed us to adopt Starr. She only did it because she knew she couldn't possibly cope with two young children.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Starr said. She looked furious. Instead of being thrilled to find me again, she was angry at her mother for having kept me a secret.

“Your dad and I did not intend to deceive you,” Mrs. Anderson said. “At first we had planned to arrange visits so that you girls would remain close, but you never talked about your twin. You never wondered where Sunny was, or said you missed her. If you had asked about your sister we would have tried to contact her, but you never once mentioned Sunny. As the months went by, it seemed best for us not to bring up the subject, either. You were happy; you had adjusted well. You didn't seem to miss your family, or your old life. We were afraid if we talked about your past, about your mother and your grandma and your sister, it would only stir up your grief.”

The words hurt terribly. During those times when I had cried myself to sleep every night, missing Starr, she had not even asked where I was.

Mrs. Anderson continued, “We never heard from your great-aunt Cora, so we assumed she had made the same decision about not keeping in touch. After your adoption was final, and your last name was the same as ours, we decided to let the past be forgotten.”

Starr sank into a chair, looking shocked.

Mrs. Anderson turned to me. “If your great-aunt didn't keep you, Sunny, where have you been?” she asked. “Who raised you?”

“First I went to live with her son, but he abandoned me. Since then I've been in a series of foster homes.”

Starr stared at me as if I'd said I'd been living on Mars.

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Oh, that's terrible! We wanted both of you. At the time, I said it didn't seem right to separate twins, but everyone felt you should stay with a blood relative, if possible, and Cora swore she wanted one of you but couldn't handle both of you.” She stood suddenly and told Starr, “I need to call your father.”