Secret Sister (26 page)

“Dying?” I pictured the red-headed woman I’d seen at the Schribner Insurance office. “I saw her a few weeks ago and she looked fine.”

“Life is a gift, no guarantees from moment to moment. You know that.” Seth opened the door. “Let me know when you get back to the U.S. of A.” He patted my back as I walked by, and then closed the door of his office, leaving me in the waiting room, which still smelled faintly of smoke.

Thirty minutes before when I’d stood on this spot, I’d known exactly what the immediate future was going to bring. I was headed to the airport. I would have dinner, buy a magazine. Fly to New York, then on to Paris. Tomorrow I would be thousands of miles away from my past, from Roxanne, safe with my memories of Cathy.

Now as I walked out of the waiting room and into that dark summer night, I was sure of nothing.

The nurse at the desk at the hospice said Betty Haverty was in room nine.

“Is her daughter with her?” I asked.

“Yes, I think she is still here. She was reading to her earlier tonight. Are you a friend of Roxanne’s?”

“Thank you.” I headed down the corridor and found Betty alone in the room.

I was stunned at her appearance, and had I not been told who she was, I would not have recognized her. Her hair was gray at the roots and grown out an inch or so where it faded into a pale red. Her sallow skin stretched gauntly over the bones of her face.

She squinted at the door when I knocked. “Who’s there?” Her voice was sticky with drugs.

“It’s Nick Chance, Mrs. Haverty. May I come in?”

“Nick?” She didn’t say anything else for a few moments and I wondered if she’d fallen asleep. “Please come in, Nick,” she whispered.

I sat in the wooden chair beside her bed. She was hooked to an IV, but there were no other pieces of medical equipment in the room. There were two bouquets of flowers, and a stack of books and magazines. There were also several prints of paintings taped to the wall by the window.

I recognized many of them, by Monet, Pissaro, and Van Gogh.
The Old Bridge at Bougival
was pasted onto a piece of purple construction paper, eye level across from her bed. Cathy’s favorite painting. I had taken her to see it twice, when visiting my relatives in the east. She sat and cried when she looked at it, but always seemed happier for having done so.

My heart beat faster. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Haverty?” I took her hand, which was dry and hot.

“Not too good, Nick. They discovered that I have the most virulent type of ovarian cancer there is. I don’t have too long.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, overwhelmed.

“Me too.”

Silence filled the room. There were low voices in the hallway, and I listened for a familiar one.

“Thanks for coming to see me,” Betty said.

“I’m glad to. I’ve wanted to call you for a few weeks now and tell you I was sorry for my behavior at the insurance office. I acted like a jerk and what I said was unfair. I hope you can forgive me.”

“I understand. You were suffering. It’s a part of the grieving process, lashing out.” Her eyes closed, then opened wide. She seemed to be trying to focus.

“Is Roxanne around?” I asked.

“She’ll be back. She’s gone to get me some soda. Orange Crush. I told her I kept thinking of when she was little and we would buy a six-pack of Orange Crush, the kind that came in the tall glass bottles, for a summer treat. She went to get me some, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to drink it.”

I leaned toward her, sorrow swelling in me like an ocean wave. “I have to get going, Mrs. Haverty. I’m catching a plane later. And I don’t want to tire you out.”

Betty’s eyes were watery. “I have good days and bad days, and except for falling asleep every few minutes, this is a good day, actually. So I’m glad to see you. I asked Roxanne to call you a few days ago. She said she left a message but she never heard back from you. I think she was lying. She never did ask you to come, did she?”

“I’m here now.”

She laid her hand, light and insubstantial as a bird, on my arm. “You’re being tactful. That’s good of you. Can you stay a few minutes? There are a couple of things I want to tell you that you don’t know. That you should know.”

“Of course.” Had Roxanne told this woman the same story she’d told me and Seth? I hoped with all my heart she hadn’t hurt Betty by trying to convince her that her daughter was actually dead.

“I was married only once, when I was very young. To a Mexican guy, Francisco Ruiz,” Betty said. “He was handsome and smart, but wild. Not a good match for me at all. He wanted us to move to Texas because he had family there, and he wanted to get a job in the oil industry. I didn’t want to quit college, and told him frankly I didn’t plan on being married to a man who worked on an oil rig.” Betty shook her head. “I’ve been a snob my whole life.”

I didn’t know what to say so I just patted her hand.

“So he left me, and like a lot of people who are jilted, I looked immediately for someone to make me feel good about myself again.” Betty’s eyes stared off toward the window. “I met another man very quickly after Francisco left me, one night in a bar. A good-looking white-collar type. His name was Padrig Sullivan.” Betty’s voice caught.

My brain whirred as it processed the information. The name Padrig Sullivan was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it. I worked in the insurance industry, which was full of guys with Irish and Italian surnames. I’d known plenty of Sullivans.

Betty swallowed, and I heard her teeth scrape against each other. I asked her if she wanted a drink, but she shook her head.

“Padrig was married, happily he told me the last time I saw him, but he was a drinker and when he drank, he overlooked that fact. I had an affair with him, if you could call a week of sleeping with someone an affair, and I got pregnant with Roxanne. When I told him, he broke off seeing me, and told me he had a wife, who was also pregnant. They moved away to Arizona, I understand, and I had Roxanne with only my mother to help me. It was hard, but I always fantasized he’d come back to me. And to Roxanne. Be a father to her. A girl needs a father to love her, or she’ll have many problems with men when she’s an adult. That’s a pretty well established fact.”

Betty ran out of steam then, and closed her eyes. I didn’t understand why she was telling me this. Roxanne’s father wasn’t some guy named Ruiz, and Roxanne had been raised without her real father.

Is she trying to get me to feel sorry for Roxanne?

Betty opened her eyes. “Can you bring me a few of those ice chips in the pitcher?”

I took a spoon and clumsily fed her some.

“Padrig and his wife and their daughter came back to Sierra Monte a couple of years later, when Roxanne was only three. Padrig called when he got back to town, but I wouldn’t have anything to do with him if he wasn’t going to leave his wife. He died of a heart attack shortly after that. But I met his wife several years later, by accident. She and I were on a PTA committee together. She had remarried but it wasn’t working out. She knew I was a professional woman, and asked if I knew a lawyer.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. I gave her the name of someone good. But she never got divorced. She died shortly after that. Like Padrig, she was shockingly young. Cancer, I think.” She chuckled mirthlessly as if she found this ironic. “I don’t think she ever knew about my affair with her husband. And she didn’t live to see her daughter grow up, like I got to.”

I nodded as if I understood. But I didn’t. My throat was tight. I glanced at the pictures taped to the wall and thought about where the closest AA meeting was. I wondered if I had enough time to get there before I had to leave for the airport.

“When Roxanne was about thirteen, I told her the truth about who she was,” Betty said softly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have.” A tear dripped down her cheek.

“No, no I think you did the right thing,” I said.  “She should know who her father was.”

“And who her sister was.”

“Sister?”
My voice didn’t sound normal to my own ears. “I didn’t know Roxanne had a sister. Oh, you mean half-sister? Padrig Sullivan’s other child?”

“Yes. Catherine. Catherine Lorraine Sullivan.” Betty stared directly into my face. “Cathy. Your wife.”

Chapter 23

Nick at Sierra Monte Hospice

I gasped and stared at Betty.

“Your Cathy,” Betty repeated. “It was a shock to me, when Roxanne met Cathy and took a shine to her. She always referred to Cathy as her ‘secret sister’ when they became best friends, even before she knew the whole sordid truth about me and Cathy’s father. I thought Roxanne would have revealed all this to Cathy at some point, but Rox said a few months ago she never told Cathy this story. She couldn’t think of any way to explain the truth without Cathy hating her.” Betty’s eyes welled with tears.

“But that’s insane,” I protested. “Cathy would never have blamed Roxanne for something
you
did.”

“I agree. But Roxanne said that Cathy’s life was a horror after Padrig died, and then Cathy’s mother got sick and she was stuck with a stepfather who was a drunk. Roxanne felt Cathy would hate both of us on her mother’s behalf, maybe even blame my infidelity with her father for her mother’s illness.”

“Cathy didn’t have it in her to hate anyone.”

“You may be right,” Betty replied. “But Roxanne has always been so insecure. She never believes anyone will love her unless she’s perfect. She’s incapable of trusting anyone. Even Cathy. Roxanne loved her, and would have done anything for her, but I don’t think my daughter even trusted her. Roxanne told me once that someday she would get the opportunity to do something special for Cathy, to make it up to her about our family’s indiscretions. And then the accident happened . . .” Betty’s voice collapsed and she closed her eyes.

I sat mute and numb while these facts roiled around my brain. Cathy,
my Cathy
, was Roxanne’s half-sister. Cathy’s father, who she always referred to as Patrick Sullivan, was Roxanne’s father, too.

Happenstance, coincidence, ‘twist of fate
.
’ Call it what you will, the story was stunning. A hundred comments over the years from my wife and her friend, about how close they were, how they thought alike, even the funny golden spot in the iris that they both had, suddenly took on a new significance.

“Nick!”

I jumped as Betty opened her eyes, her voice loud and firm.

I leaned toward her. “Yes?”

“I told you this because I think it might explain why Roxanne has tried so hard to connect with you lately. I don’t know what went on between the two of you last November, with the abortion. She didn’t tell me everything. But since the car accident, Roxanne has changed so much. She’s different from the daughter she was before. More loving, and more giving. More open and ready for life than I ever dared dream she would be. I don’t understand it, Nick, but maybe this change is the gift she hoped to give Cathy.”

My thoughts were spinning so fast trying to keep up, I heard humming in my ears. “How do you mean?”

“I think Roxanne is trying to be like Cathy in the hopes that you’ll rekindle your affair with her, and she can take care of you
for Cathy
.”

Betty stopped talking. Her eyes closed and her breathing, though ragged, fell into a steady rhythm as she fell asleep.

I stood and buried my fingers in my hair, thinking if I pulled on it hard enough, my brain would quiet down and let me think clearly.

Betty had seen changes in her daughter’s temperament, demeanor and personality. Everyone who met the ‘new’ Roxanne commented on these differences.

She wasn’t the woman everyone knew before the accident.
But what did it mean?

Betty thought Roxanne was emulating Cathy because she had a plan to rekindle a love affair with me. Betty didn’t know there had
never
been a love affair.

Which proves what?
I felt like banging my head against a wall, but I knew it wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t drown out the only conclusion that bubbled up through the muck inside my head.

Could what Roxanne said be true? Could she really be my wife?

No. It’s absurd.

I knew I had to get the hell out of there. I turned to the door and took a step but stopped.

Roxanne stood at the entrance clutching a carton of soda. Her face was pinched and tears flowed in two silent rivulets down her tan cheeks. She had obviously been there long enough to hear what Betty said.

But why would Roxanne be upset at hearing her mother recount that story? That she and Cathy were half-sisters
wasn’t
news to her
.
Roxanne had known the truth for years.

But the shock on her face was real. Roxanne was undone, her body trembling, her nose red and running.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“No.” She stared beyond me at Betty, the tiny gold glint in her eye bright as a lit match against a night sky. “I had a sister? My God, I never, ever guessed. Why didn’t Roxanne ever tell me?”

This woman standing in the doorway with her hair pulled back, her gauzy blouse and faded jeans and dangling earrings, should have been the picture of a free spirited California girl. Instead, she was a study in grief.

It can’t be.

I told myself Roxanne was pretending, playing this to the hilt. But her shock and grief was too compelling to be faked. Unless she just didn’t remember, because of the accident.

I crossed my arms across my chest as the air in the room thinned. If this woman standing here wasn’t Roxanne, was it really Cathy, holding vigil at the deathbed of her best friend’s mother?

“What are you doing here, Nick?” She set the soda on the floor beside her and leaned against the wall, dashing her tears away with the back of her hand. “I thought you left town.”

“I’m leaving soon.”

“When?”

“Tonight.” I checked my watch. “I should head out now, I guess.”

She stuck out her chin as if bracing for a blow. I couldn’t begin to imagine what she was thinking.

I didn’t know what the fuck
I
was thinking.

“Have a safe trip, Nick,” she whispered.

I opened my mouth to say something that was half-forming in my mind, but a gasp from Betty silenced me. Roxanne hurried across the room.

“I’m here, shhhhh.” Roxanne’s voice was soft as a balm. “What can I get you?”

Betty opened her eyes, but looked past Roxanne and focused on my face. “Nick? Nick Chance, is that you?” She turned to Roxanne and her smile faded. “Oh, hi Cathy. You brought your hubby to see me?” Her voice was hoarse. “He was mad at me before, but he’s not now. Can you find Roxanne for me, dear? She said she’d be back soon. She’s going to sleep here tonight again. I’m going home tomorrow, but I don’t think I can drive.”

Roxanne sat and took Betty’s hand and curled her own around it. “It’s me, Mom.
Roxanne
. Things are a little confusing for you right now. Just go to sleep. Rest, okay?”

Betty squinted and then a rattling sigh escaped. “I’m losing it, Roxanne. It must be the medicine. I’ll be a drug addict when I get out of this place. But I
can
see you now. Such a pretty girl. Prettiest girl I ever saw.”

“Just close your eyes and rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Betty closed her eyes. She was snoring in seconds. Roxanne straightened the blankets, ignoring me.

“So you are Roxanne. At least you’ve finally admitted it,” I said. I wasn’t ashamed at sounding angry.

She stood up and motioned for me to follow her. Outside in the corridor she glared at me. “The woman is dying, Nick. I told her that to comfort her. It’s a kindness I’m doing for her, and for my best friend, for my sister.” Her voice roughened. “Can’t you understand that?”

“How generous of you. To change identities out of the goodness of your heart.”

She looked like she might hit me. For a long moment, she searched my face. “I do have a good heart, Nick. And if Roxanne is who
you
need me to be so you can get on with your life, well, okay. I’m not going to argue with you anymore.”

“Good.”

“So go. Leave,” she said. “Goodbye.”

Say what you will about Roxanne, she sure knew my wife well. Because she’d figured out that if this exquisite woman standing so near
had
been my Cathy, this is what she would say and do. Cathy would be empathetic enough to humor a dying friend, would pretend to be Queen Elizabeth if it took away a little pain.

A lump formed in my throat. Around me, everything felt as if it was moving, like a slow motion earthquake. The racket in my head started up again and I wondered if this was how it felt to lose your mind.

I needed a drink.
A hundred drinks
. Anything to get away from this impossible situation.

“Bon voyage, Nick.” Roxanne sighed. “Say hello to Bougival for me.” She brushed her lips against my cheek and walked down the hallway.

I couldn’t think about this anymore.

I looked through the doorway at Betty. How could this woman be so near to dying? A few weeks ago, she was the picture of health.

It was the same as when my dad died. One morning, while I was lying in bed pretending to sleep to get out of doing my chores, he was outside washing the car, mowing the lawn. By late that same afternoon, he was in a morgue, cold and dead, and none of us even got to tell him, ‘You were a great dad, thank you, we’ll miss you forever.’

A few weeks ago, my wife was bursting with life and good will with a hundred years of future, our future, ahead of her. I never got to tell her she was the best part of my life, the best part of me. I never got to kiss her goodbye.

My hands shook. I balled them into fists and clenched my teeth together. I was a grown man. I lived in the post 9/11 world. I knew life wasn’t fair, and that tragedy struck out of nowhere even on a sunny, sky-blue summer day. But I was furious that it was my world that had crumbled.

I looked at the spot where Roxanne had stood a few moments before, but there was no sign of her. I couldn’t leave things like I had with her, though I had no idea what else I could say. I knew I should go after her and tell her . . .

Tell her what?

I didn’t know. But I had to see her one more time.

I rushed down the hallway, trying to rehearse an articulate, conclusive argument to make it clear to Roxanne that I would never believe her claims about Cathy, but I didn’t resent her and wasn’t angry with her anymore.

Cathy would want me to do this. She would want me to help her friend.
Her sister!

My heart raced. I trotted around the corner to the left, following the signs for the lounge. For the first time since Cathy’s death, I was doing something positive. I just had to find Roxanne and tell her to let the past go, let the crazy thoughts about what had happened to her dissolve and to believe she would be happy again someday.

The lounge was empty. I retraced my steps, but ended up near the emergency exit. I turned on my heel and a minute later found myself back at the receptionist’s desk.

“Did Roxanne Ruiz go by here?” I asked the woman.

She hadn’t seen her. She’d just come on duty.

I hurried out to the parking lot, the sunlight fading into shadows around me. The visitor parking lot was empty, except for my car.

Roxanne was gone.

The scream of an ambulance siren blasted out on the street, but I didn’t bother to look at it. I walked over to my car, accepting it really was too late for me to try and make peace with Roxanne.

I had a plane to catch. All I had to do now was drive to the airport, crawl inside that wide body, and fly through the night, forevermore to live a day ahead of my old life, thousands of miles away from my loss.

‘The Green Parrot’ is a gay bar in Silver Lake where Cathy and I used to meet Bradley for drinks. It’s in a block of buildings just past the reservoir on Lemon Avenue, a quiet road on the residential edge. The bar stands discreetly between Rosa’s, a small Mexican take-out, and a commercial nursery that had been closed for a couple of years.

I’d been sitting in my car in the nursery parking lot since 11:45 p.m., waiting for Bradley. It was now one-thirty in the morning. I looked back at the bright red entry door of the Green Parrot, wishing Bradley could read minds and hear me calling him. He always hung out at this place on Saturday night. When I first spotted his car, I decided not to go inside and look for him. Not that gay bars freaked me out; I just wasn’t up to dealing with anyone except Bradley.

But I needed to talk to him about Cathy, about how much I missed her, how I was feeling insane. Bradley would understand. He’d stayed home for six months after Mitch died. And he’d almost overdosed himself—accidentally, he still swears—after his mom passed. I could talk to him about how I was feeling, without him judging me or blaming me, the way Seth seemed to.

I looked at my watch again. One thirty-three. I leaned back and closed my eyes. When I left the hospice clinic a few hours ago, I had driven to LAX, and gone into the terminal, though I never made it to the Air France boarding area. Instead, I sat for a couple of hours at Coco’s Bar, a little joint tucked in the International concourse, across from a Bed, Bath and Beyond.

A Scotch was ordered, straight up. It sat on the bar in front of me while I smoked half of the pack of cigarettes I had paid eight bucks for.

The noise inside my head had subsided but I was definitely lightheaded from the cigarettes. I hadn’t smoked since high school and I wondered what they were filling them with these days.

Finally I’d folded a ten for the waiter under the untouched booze, and called Zoë from a pay phone. I left a message telling her and her friend Ramon not to come get my car at the airport as we’d planned, because I had changed my mind about flying to France tonight. I told her I loved her and that I was going home instead and would call her tomorrow.

I didn’t tell her I was considering driving up to Mt. Wilson and jumping off one of the power station towers later tonight, but if she listened closely, she might have heard the stress in my voice. For about two seconds I had also considered saying, “
I found out tonight that Roxanne and Cathy were actually half-sisters, and Betty Haverty is dying of cancer, and, oh by the way, Roxanne says she isn’t Roxanne. She’s says she’s Cathy.”