The Good Sister: Part One (9 page)

When the doctors diagnosed me with agoraphobia, my mother didn’t accept it, but over time I suppose she had no choice. She watched me slowly retreat from the world. Night after night, I would wake, screaming in fear, mumbling almost incoherently about nightmares. The psychologists and psychiatric doctors said it was post-traumatic stress. Then as I grew older, my fear seemed to morph into nyctophobia or fear of the dark. Then xenophobia, fear of things or strangers, not to mention severe panic or anxiety attacks. My mother and my sister learned to accept this Trinity because the fearless little girl they knew never completely emerged from the ashes. Someone else came out of the rubble in my place.

On Friday afternoon I went to the main house to meet Mrs. Addison. A large pile of telephone files sat, waiting for me.

“Trinity,” Mrs. Addison greeted. I perused the stack of files. “I know it looks overwhelming, but keep in mind I’m looking for one phone number, not a bunch of random information, so our search is narrowed.”

I took a seat at the table. Pulled up a file box. “Okay.”

“I want you to highlight this phone number,” Mrs. Addison said. She handed me a yellow highlighter and a piece of paper with a phone number written on it. “Every time you find this phone number I want you to mark it, highlighting the time and the date of the call.”

“Sure,” I said.

“I have another meeting in the city. Will you be okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Remember to stop and take a break every so often. And don’t feel like have to get through all of the files today.”

“Okay.”

“And thank you for your help, Trinity. I do appreciate it.”

“Mrs. Addison—”

“Please, call me Gwyneth.”

I had a hard time calling Reid’s mother Gwyneth. Nonetheless I took in a large breath then exhaled.

“Gwyneth,” I said. “I should be the one thanking you.”

****

Monday. It was the beginning of the week. Reid would be sending a postcard or a picture so I wanted to be the one to intercept the mail. I showered quickly, pulled my hair back off my face, restraining the wild curls into a clip, put on one T-shirt instead of my standard two, and headed out the door of my house. My focus remained on the long drive in front of the estate.

“Trinity, love, where are you going?” my mother called out.

“I’m going to get the mail.”

I made it past the halfway point when my hands started to shake. The edges of my vision began to shimmer with that distinctive onslaught of panic closing in. My mouth went dry like I had eaten cotton. My breath increased along with the rapid secession of my heartbeat. The palms of my hands broke out into a clammy sweat. I was forced to stop. I closed my eyes, trying to gain my breath.

I pictured Reid standing at the end of the drive. I visualized his face, his smiling face. I saw him call out to me, hand extended, waiting. Using that visual as motivation, I placed one shaky leg out then allowed my foot to hit the ground. I placed my next leg out and found to my surprise I moved three more steps. I froze again when the massive iron gate, the street, and the large rock post that held the mail box came into view. I closed my eyes. If I wanted Reid I was going to have to do better than this.
You want Reid, so stop being such a scaredy cat.
I placed one foot in front of the other, walking a wobbly line.

My hands were shaking like a leaf as they came out in front of me. I grabbed hold of the rock post. Held on as my body swayed. I wondered if I were on a ship and needed to gain my sea legs. I took in a breath then steadied before punching the security code into the pad. I knew this would unlock the gate, but the
buzz
startled me for a moment. As the gate rolled back it gave me access to the outside world. I felt a lump in my throat. I’d made it to the end of the driveway. The street was within my view. I flipped open the mailbox door, pulled the mail out, a dozen or so envelopes and a small brown box, then shut the door. I’d actually done it. I lifted my chin upward to feel the sun on my face.

I turned, hit the security pad, and closed the gate. Someone honked a car horn. I jumped, let out a piercing screech of a scream, and ran full speed up the driveway as if the devil himself was on my tail. I was out of breath, clutching to the mail, but I had done it. No matter if I was screaming like a crazy person as I ran back up the drive. No matter if I was sweating like a pig or shaking like a leaf, I had done it. No one could take my accomplishment away.

I stopped running when I saw my mother. She hugged me. When the rigidity kicked in and I squirmed, trying to breathe, she let go.

“I’m going to the main house,” she announced, allowing me the victory without the need for fancy words, which only seemed to tangle me up more.

“Okay,” I said and handed my mother the mail. “Wait.” I spied a small brown box with my name on it. I took the box then handed my mother the rest of the mail.

I watched my mother walk off. Deep down I knew my mother was experiencing something beyond joy in this moment. She was just trying hard to hide it. I guessed my relationship with her was always something of an uncomfortable, seemingly wordless one. Oh, we talked, but mostly about nothing of importance. We had a hard time with words, especially when it came to my accomplishments, of which there were very few, but even more so when it came to my failures, of which there were more than I could count.

I looked at my box. By the postmark, I knew it was from Reid. I shook it by my ear as I walked into the Zen garden. Something rattled around inside. I perched herself on my boulder bench. Shook the box once more then slid my finger under the brown edge of the paper wrapped around the box, finally breaking the taped seal. The brown paper was stiff, course, and reminded me of old grocery sacks.

In my lap sat a white box. I studied the small container intently before lifting the lid. There was a dark green stone the color of jade, smooth and almost heart-shaped, tucked inside. I picked it up and held it in my hand. It wasn’t very heavy, and a little bigger than a silver dollar. I felt the smoothness of the stone, and discovered my thumb rested easily within the middle hollow. I rubbed the stone before I picked up the note card.

The note card smelled of jasmine and said:

Baby bird,

I found this. Someone told me it was a wishing stone. It has the power to grant a wish, take away your fears. Maybe you could make a wish. Give it some of your fears. I hope you are well.

Reid

I clutched onto my wishing stone as though my life depended on it while my mother drove me to the eye clinic. Due to my condition, the doctor agreed to make the consultation along with the procedure all in one visit. I figured Mrs. Addison persuaded him of such, but imagined the persuasion came at an extra cost.

When the car finally stopped, I took in a deep breath. My eyes had been shut the entire drive. I heard honking horns, and the noise of the traffic mix into the buzzing sounds of the city. I blocked it out. I found that place deep inside of me, and went there. The quiet, tranquil place.

“Ready?” my mother asked.

I nodded before taking my mother’s arm.

When I made it to the waiting room, I sat down and closed my eyes, all the while rubbing the wishing stone Reid sent me. I figured people were probably watching me, believing me to be insane, but I built that wall up to conceal the thought. I concentrated on Reid. My mind went to the silver of Reid’s eyes, the lines of his body, the tone and texture of his voice.

I heard, “Trinity Winslow.”

My mother took ahold of my hand. I was far too old to have my mother hold my hand, but I needed the support in order to walk into the exam room. I kept my focus on the floor and witnessed my feet move forward. I knew they were my feet, yet I had that feeling. As if I were unsure I was actually moving. I’d experienced this detached feeling many times before. In an attempt to break this detachment I glanced at the carpet and noticed it was deep green with a wave pattern.

“Mrs. Winslow,” a kind female voice greeted. “Mrs. Addison has explained our possible dilemma today.”

I glanced up to see the nurse, dressed in a light pink smock. Her brown hair was cropped short, and she wore a silver lip ring. I touched my own lip in sympathy, and wondered if piercing your lip hurt.

My mother started to reply, “Yes, well, Trinity—”

“Trinity is standing here in the room.”

Mom blinked. She stared at me like I’d suddenly sprouted a third eye. I clutched to the stone in my hand. If I wanted Reid I had to do better.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said, “I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable, Trinity.”

I mustered up a half grin that remained partly obscured by my curls.

“It’s fine. I do a bang up job at making myself uncomfortable,” I replied.

The nurse asked, “Trinity, what can we do to help you feel more comfortable?”

I thought about that for a moment. No one ever bothered to ask that specific question of me before.

“May I ask what your name is?”

“Sure, Trinity. I am Lillie. Most people call me Nurse Lillie, but you can call me—”

“Nurse Lillie,” I said. “And the doctor’s name?”

“Doctor Richards,” Nurse Lillie replied.

I puffed out my cheeks with air then exhaled. “Okay, well, it helps to know your names, and it will help if I can keep hold of my wishing rock.” I rubbed it, allowing my thumb to feel the soothing smoothness. “It helps me with the anxiety to rub it,” I explained, “and it also helps if no other people I don’t know enter my space.”

“Trinity, I assist Doctor Richards so it will only be myself and the doctor. Would you like your mother to stay?”

I looked at my mother. “I need to do this on my own.”

She nodded. “I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me.”

****

November 3
^rd

I entered the main house, gazed at the staircase then made my way over to the study. Mrs. Addison had given my quite of few projects, but it was coming to an end. The last box of records awaited me. This time I was looking for wire transfers to a bank in Zürich. I tugged the box across the desk, and sat down.

I noticed a family portrait perched on the corner of the large oak desk. It must have been taken when Reid was twelve or thirteen. Next to it sat another photograph. He was wearing a navy blue cap and gown, and holding a diploma in his hand. Obviously that photo was from his high school graduation. I picked up the silver frame that contained the family portrait, and marveled at how Reid had always been beautiful, never gangly or awkward. I gawked at the younger face of Reid, but his eyes were still the same. Liquid pools of silver.
Snap out of it, Trinity.
I was daydreaming of Reid instead of getting my work done.

I pulled the lid off the box and grabbed the first section of records while my other hand made its way to the crystal pen holder. I snagged a familiar yellow highlighter. The ringing of the phone cut through the room. Startled, I jumped. Subsequently the files in my hand scattered on the floor in disarray.

“Cheese and crackers!” I bent down to pick up the folders. I expected the phone to stop. My mother had to be around somewhere. But the phone rang, and rang, and rang… “Mother, the phone!” I yelled out. No response. I bit my lip, took a breath, gazed at the phone for a moment then picked up the handset. “Addison residence,” I greeted.

There was a long pause. A breath.

“Trinity?”

My stomach flipped.

“Reid,” I said, the sound of my voice was clear, not breathy. This surprised me.

A pause.

“Trinity, how are you? And what are you doing answering the phone?”

I giggled. Reid stilled.

“I’m fine,” I answered. “I’m working for your mother. She had some files she wanted me to go through for her, and, well … the phone started ringing. I was the only one here, so I answered it.”

A breath. An exhale. Another long silent pause. It became so quiet, I wondered if Reid was still on the line.

“Reid, are you still there?”

“Yes,” he said. “You are working for my mother?”

“Yes, Reid.”

“I have to admit you surprised me, Trinity.”

“Some surprises aren’t all that bad,” I teased.

“No,” he agreed, “some surprises aren’t all that bad.”

“Do you need me to give a message to your mother?”

“I can call my back, baby bird. It’s probably best I give her the news.”

“What news?”

“Trinity, you sound different,” he commented.

“Not the same baby bird you remember?”

“No,” he admitted.

“That may not be all that bad either,” I said.

“There is nothing wrong with being my baby bird.”

“But I was never yours.”

Silence.

I should say something.

“Thank you for all the postcards, the pictures, and the wishing stone,” I interjected, breaking the sound of nothing.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked them.”

I wanted to ask him about the chateau without being so obvious.