Forbidden Sister by V. C. Andrews
Surprisingly, Mama was in good spirits. Perhaps Dr. Hoffman hadn’t yet told her the latest news about her condition. Once she saw that Roxy wasn’t with me, she asked me question after question about her, but I didn’t have any of the answers she wanted. I didn’t know very much more now about the life she had led than I had known before she showed up at the hospital. I did tell Mama how much Roxy regretted what had happened and how much she really loved her. That pleased her. Then she, too, started on Aunt Lucy and Uncle Orman’s offer.
“They have no one at their home but themselves. You’ll have everything you could want there, Emmie, and you wanted to leave the school.”
“Yes, the school, but not you, Mama.”
She smiled, but it was the smile of someone who knew that the wish I had was soon going to be impossible. Maybe the doctor had been there after all. Mama was too good at hiding things.
“At least think about it, ma chère. Will you?”
“Okay, Mama, I’ll think about it.”
“Good, good. Now, tell me about school, about the house, any calls, bills, and what you’re planning to have for dinner,” she recited, and closed her eyes to listen. I stayed until the nurse pointed out that Mama was fast asleep.
I went home to make myself some dinner. Finding things to do was the best way to keep myself from thinking. I was grateful for all of the homework I had to catch up on and the new assignments, too. Every once in a while, I would pause and listen to the stillness in our house, still not accepting that everything had changed and would change even more. I had to go down to the living room and sit reading the way I would when Papa was alive. He would be settled in his chair, and I would be right across from him on the sofa with my legs pulled up and folded under me. He called me a contortionist.
I smiled, remembering. The chair was creased and worn where Papa’s large body had fit comfortably. I ran the palm of my hand over the arm of it as if I were stroking his arm. One time, he had fallen asleep in it. When I got up to go to my room, I paused and kissed him on the cheek. His eyes opened. He realized what I had done, and he smiled and said, “Trying to turn a frog into a prince?”
“You’re no frog, Papa,” I had whispered. I whispered it again as if he were there and it was all happening.
I still could hear his laugh as I ascended the stairs and then heard him telling Mama why he was laughing. It was as if their contentment and happiness could carry me up like some magic carpet and gently put me to sleep, wrapping the sense of security around me like an invisible blanket. Would I ever sleep like that again?
Roxy called me just before I went to bed to tell me that she was indeed leaving. She would try to call from St. Thomas. She asked how Mama was, whether I could tell if the doctor had spoken to her yet. I told her I wasn’t sure.
“She asked a lot of questions about you,” I said. “Questions I couldn’t answer.”
“You don’t want the answers, and neither does she,” she told me. “Take care,” she added, and hung up.
The five days she was away seemed more like weeks, because every day was long to me. I woke up much earlier and, dreading going to bed, stayed up much later. Ironically, I did some of my best schoolwork and was ahead of everyone in all of my classes. I didn’t tell Richard any more about Mama. In fact, I was so into my work and shutting everyone else out that he began to drift away. Whatever spark of interest he once had in me was snuffed out. I couldn’t blame him. As mean as it might sound, the truth was, I didn’t care.
That was especially true about Chastity. Despite her persistence, I said little to her. My indifference dropped the final curtain on our rocky friendship. We would look through each other in hallways and classrooms. It became that way with more and more of the friends I once had. Although I was there, doing my work, going through the motions, I began to feel as if I was really disappearing, slowly, perhaps, but fading away like some very, very old photograph in a carton in some basement. I moved in my own silent capsule, shut off from almost everything and everyone. The phone rarely rang, and when it did, it was usually one of Mama’s friends or one of the wives from Papa’s firm who were still vaguely interested in us. I promised to pass on their best wishes and told them little or nothing about Mama’s condition. I couldn’t find the words for that, and they seemed to understand. They were what I called “get guilt off my back” calls. But I couldn’t blame them.
Roxy did call me from St. Thomas on the second night. I told her I had called Uncle Alain and that he had told me he was working on coming to America soon. None of my French aunts had called yet.
“They’re getting everything from Alain, I’m sure.”
“Aunt Lucy called, too.”
“Oh? How did you handle her? They won’t give up on you, you know. It’s a matter of military pride or something.”
“I told her I would think it over. That shut her up for a while.”
Roxy laughed. I was going to ask her if she was having a good time, but I didn’t want to know. She told me when she thought she would come around again, and we ended the conversation with her saying, “You’re stronger than I was at your age.”
How could I be? I wondered. She was just a little older than me when she had stepped out alone in the world, when she had the courage to take so many risks. Did her anger alone give her the power to do that? How did she survive? It seemed so long ago when Chastity and I were so fascinated with Roxy and wanted to know everything about her. That interest had waned for me, but it was returning, maybe because of Mama’s questions. Perhaps I would start asking more personal questions, I thought.
Two days later, I was surprised when I arrived at the hospital and Mama said she would be coming home the next day. She had been walking a little and was sitting up. I saw she had done her hair and put on some of the makeup she had asked me to bring.
“But don’t you have to stay to have some treatments?” I asked her.
“No, no,” she said. “I’ve got to build myself up now. That’s all. Don’t worry. You go to school. Everything has been arranged.”
“Of course I won’t go to school. I’ll have to help you settle in, Mama.”
“No, I’ll have a nurse with me until you come home. She’s going to pick me up here. A limousine will take me home. I told you, it’s all taken care of. You’d just be sitting around most of the morning, waiting. It’s a waste of time. Go to school.”
“Aunt Lucy arranged it?” I asked. That was probably her way of inserting herself and pressuring me, I thought.
“Aunt Lucy? No. Your sister made all the arrangements,” she revealed.
“My sister? Roxy? When?”
“Yesterday.” She smiled. “She’s called me every day this week.”
“She has? She never said . . . well, I haven’t heard from her for a few days.”
That meant that Mama had told Roxy what was happening before she had told me. Suddenly, a surge of pure green envy flowed into my veins. Why would Mama confide in Roxy more than she would confide in me? Roxy was the one who broke her and Papa’s hearts, not me. Roxy was the one who had run off and not shown her face again until I forced her to.
And this wasn’t the biblical prodigal child’s return. Roxy had not found herself. She hadn’t changed one iota. She was still Fleur du Coeur, wasn’t she? She was still what Papa had shouted that day, a high-priced prostitute.
“What is it, Emmie?” Mama asked. It didn’t surprise me that, as sick as she was, she could still see into my heart and mind.
“Nothing,” I said. I tried to smile. “I’m just worried, that’s all, and want to be there to help you.”
“You will be. I’m not having a nurse around the clock, no matter what anyone says. Most of the time, it will just be the two of us. Like always,” she added.
I couldn’t stop the tears now, but I didn’t make a sound. I was like one of those dolls that can cry. Mama reached for me, and we hugged. I held her as tightly and as long as I could before I left. I was really feeling de
For a while, I just sat in the living room, sulking. Then I opened my purse and plucked out Roxy’s blue card. I hoped I would be interrupting her and made the call. After four rings, I was about to hang up when I finally heard her say, “Roxy.”
“It’s me.”
“Oh. Anything wrong?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you had made arrangements for Mama to come home?”
“She wanted to tell you all about it herself. Why, what did she say?”
“She said you had called her every day.”
“Right.” I heard some music start somewhere behind her. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she added, hoping to hang up.
“No.”
“No?”
“Why is she coming home without any treatments? She said all she has to do is get stronger.”
The music got louder. “Shit,” I heard her say. “Wait a minute.” I could hear her close a door. “Why don’t you wait until I get home tomorrow,” she said, “and we can spend more time together? It’s really a bad moment for me. I have to go down to the patio and . . .”
“Oh, so sorry to have interrupted your work.”
She was silent. I thought she was going to hang up on me. I knew that what she said next was coming from her anger. “You’re the whiz kid, M, the A-plus student. Why can’t you figure it out?”
“Figure what out?”
“Why she’s coming home so fast. She doesn’t want any treatments. She heard it all from her doctor.”
“What do you mean?” I said, my voice cracking. I knew what she meant. I was just hoping that by driving her to say it, she wouldn’t, and somehow it wouldn’t be true.
“She weighed the options and decided she would rather have some quality time at home.”
I didn’t respond.
“Damn it, M, she’s coming home to die,” she said. “I gotta go. I’ll see you as soon as I can tomorrow.”
Then she hung up.
I didn’t. I stood there holding the phone. The child in me wanted to pretend that I hadn’t called Roxy and didn’t have this conversation. I wanted to imagine that none of this was happening. It was all a bad dream. All I had to do was put the receiver back on the cradle, and everything would be back to the way it was. Papa would be alive and waiting for me downstairs. Mama would be finishing her dinner preparations. They were going to open a new bottle of red wine that Uncle Alain had sent from France. There was music, Mama’s favorite, Edith Piaf. We’d speak in French to add to it all. It would be one of those rare nights when neither of them would think about Roxy or any unhappiness.
I would feel as if I were along with them when Papa was courting Mama. Before my soul was plucked out of that cloud of souls to enter the body that would form in Mama, I was given a preview. These two lovers would become my parents, and I would inherit their histories. I’d favor Mama’s, because Papa’s wasn’t as charming and romantic, but his influence would be there. As they talked and laughed, toasted old friends and old memories, I would sit silently, smiling and thinking how lucky I was to have them and how much I loved them.
Why couldn’t I just walk downstairs to that? Why did I have to walk down to the silence and the shadows? I won’t walk down, I thought defiantly. I won’t give in to reality. Curling up in bed, I hugged myself and shut my eyes as tightly as I could. I held my breath as long as I could, and then I screamed a long and piercing “NOOOOOO!” My throat hurt when I stopped, but I wouldn’t open my eyes, and I wouldn’t go downstairs.
Darkness crawled up to me, however. It slipped past any light, slid along the walls and over the floors, oozed into my bedroom, and then fell over me, shutting out the last glimmer of hope.
Mercifully, sleep also invaded, and I didn’t wake up until the first light of morning sent shadows retreating to wherever they go to wait for their time to return. I decided that I would not go off to school as if it were just another day. Instead, I worked on the house, vacuuming, polishing furniture, washing windows, and making sure Mama’s bedroom was prepared. I put on fresh linens and went down the street to buy some fresh flowers. I defrosted a roast and began to prepare it, following her recipe. She had warned me that it would take most of the morning before she would be released. Hospital paperwork, waiting for the doctor, whatever would click off the hours. I nibbled on a little lunch and hovered by the front window, waiting for the sight of the limousine.
A little before one o’clock, it pulled up to the curb in front of our town house. The driver got out and opened the door for a tall, light-brown-haired woman who looked manly from the back because of her wide shoulders and thick upper arms. She came around to help Mama out. The driver got the bags. Mama looked up at the house. She looked much smaller and thinner to me.
I rushed to the front door and opened it as they started up the stairs. They both paused, surprised. The nurse had large, spoon-shaped dark eyes and a U-shaped face because of her plump cheeks. The driver was just about to step ahead of them. He had the door keys in his hand. He stopped, too.
Mama shook her head. “I should have known,” she said. “This is my daughter Emmie, Mrs. Ascott. She was supposed to be at school,” she added, feigning a little anger.
“I’m way ahead of everyone in my classes, Mama. Besides, welcome home,” I said.
She smiled. As I took her other arm to help her in, she whispered in French, “Je suis content que tu sois ici. I’m glad you’re here.”
“I took some French classes,” Mrs. Ascott said. I didn’t know if she said it to mean that she was proud of it or that we shouldn’t try to say anything behind her back.
“Très bon, Madame Ascott. You’re sure to learn a lot more here.”
Mama laughed. She could give me no better gift than the sound of her laughter.
Maybe, if we ignored everything and everyone else, we could have a miracle, I thought.
Hope still had a place at our table.
18
The weeks that passed were filled with days like slow-dripping icicles. Did an hour suddenly become more than sixty minutes, a day more than twenty-four hours, and a week more than seven days? I think this feeling came from the way Mama wound down, with even the smallest of her gestures seemingly in slow motion. She looked like one of those elderly Chinese ladies doing tai chi in Central Park. I helped her with her needs as much as I could. Mrs. Ascott was there while I was at school and some days stayed until after dinner, but I got the impression early on that she was there mainly to dispense painkillers.
Roxy visited a few times during the first two weeks. Sometimes she came when Mama was asleep and didn’t stay long. Her first visit was the longest and the best, because Mama revealed that she had kept more of Roxy’s things than either Papa or I knew. She directed me to a carton in the small storage attic. I brought it down, and the three of us went through the pictures, some of Roxy’s little drawings when she was four and five, and some birthday cards she had bought for Mama and that Mama had bought for her. There were some memories they could laugh about and some stories about me when I was little that we could all laugh about, but after it was over, the three of us grew quiet. No one wanted to say anything that would resurrect the bad times and the complete break that Roxy had made with her family.
“How did you get along?” Mama finally did ask. “Where did you go?”
“I’ll tell you sometime,” Roxy said, smiling. “You’re tired now, Mama. You get some rest. I’ll return as soon as I am able.”
Mama simply nodded. She knew that Roxy probably would not talk about those days, not now, maybe not ever, at least with her. On the way out, Roxy gave me the first real sisterly hug since she had come to the hospital.
“Why is it,” she asked me, “that it’s the hardships and sadness that do the most to make us grow up?”
“I don’t know, Roxy.”
“No, no one does. Try not to be
I watched her leave and closed the door. It was the same door either Papa had closed on her or she had closed behind her on him. The effect was the same. She was gone, and whether he wanted to admit it or not back then, so was a part of himself. And for that matter, so was a part of Mama. Perhaps Roxy was trying to give that back to her before it was too late.
Or perhaps she was trying to get Mama back for herself.
Over the next month, Mama and I had many good days like that first one with Roxy. I shopped for food and prepared dinners following her recipes. She ate less and less after a while and ate mostly to please me, but at least we were able to enjoy some quality time together. Roxy was able to come to dinner only once, but she said I was already an impressive cook. She revealed that she never cooked anything. She either ate out or had food delivered, often even her breakfast. I thought she would start talking more about her life, but she seemed to realize that she was revealing too much and stopped talking about herself, almost in midsentence.
I wasn’t sure how much anyone outside our family knew about Mama’s illness. From time to time during those first few weeks, Chastity and some of the other girls asked me how she was. I always said, “Fine,” and left it at that. The way they suddenly stopped asking, however, suggested that the gossip mill had ground out the truth, maybe with some added embellishments. Bad news always had a way of rising to the surface. The worse the news, the faster it would pop up. I sensed it in the way Chastity and the girls looked at me and whispered. Evan couldn’t even look at me. Ironically, it was Richard, the shy boy, who eventually came right out one day in the hallway to ask me if there was anything he could do for me.
“Why do you ask?”
“I heard about your mother, how sick she really is. I just thought you might need something.”