overwhelmed.”
Cindy nodded into the receiver.
Her sister sighed. “I wish I had your life,” she said.
Cindy laughed as she hung up the phone.
“What’s funny?” Heather asked.
“My sister’s idea of an apology.” Cindy stared at the TV. A second young woman, whose dark bikini matched her ebony skin, was climbing into a hot tub with a bald-headed, tattoo-covered man who looked like a black Mr. Clean.
“What’s she sorry for?” Heather asked.
“That’s just the point. She isn’t.” Cindy shook her head, trying to remember the last time she’d felt close to her younger sister.
(Memory: Eight-year-old Leigh shadowing Cindy’s every move, following her from room to room, as if glued to her side. “Why does she have to do everything the same as me?” Cindy protests, pushing Leigh aside.
“The same as
I,”
her mother corrects. “Besides, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”
“I hate her.”
“I hate her too,” Leigh echoes.
“You’ll love each other when you grow up,” their mother promises.)
Did they? Cindy wondered now, watching as Mr. Clean explained his various tattoos to his curious companion. She and Leigh were so different. They had different interests, different styles, different tastes. In clothes, in politics, in men. Try as they might, and occasionally they really did try, they never quite seemed to connect. Their empathy was forced, their sympathy strained. They tolerated each other. Sometimes just barely.
Strangely enough, their relationship had been at its best just after Cindy got married and again just after she got divorced. When Cindy eloped with Tom to NiagaraFalls without a word to anyone, it had been Leigh who’d convinced their parents to get over their anger and accept the young man Cindy had chosen. Leigh had been a regular guest at their tiny apartment, a co-conspirator after the fact.
After Tom walked out, taking Julia with him, Leigh had been equally supportive, dropping over dinners, going grocery shopping for her distraught sister, offering to baby-sit Heather. For months, she’d called first thing every morning and again before she went to bed. She’d made sure Cindy had the best divorce lawyer in the city. She’d literally clapped her hands when Cindy’s settlement guaranteed her security for life.
Leigh’s own marriage, to a high school principal, had always seemed happy enough. Warren was a kind man, patient to a fault, and he seemed to genuinely love his wife. “Warren would never cheat on me,” Leigh had said on more than one occasion, and Cindy had nodded her agreement, confident in the rightness of her sister’s assessment, pretending not to hear the silent addendum, “the way Tom cheated on you.”
“Mom?” Heather was asking now. “What’s the matter? Why are you smiling like that?”
Cindy unclenched her teeth. “Just this stupid TV show.” She flicked off the remote control, watching Mr. Clean and his companion disappear into darkness.
“Hey …”
“Call your father for me. Please,” Cindy added when her daughter failed to respond.
Heather slumped toward the phone. “I don’t understand why you can’t call him.”
“I don’t want to speak to the Cookie,” Cindy muttered.
“What?”
“Just call him.”
Heather punched in the numbers, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she waited for someone to answer the phone. “Hey, Fiona,” she said while Cindy scrunched up her nose, as if she’d just smelled something unpleasant. “It’s Heather. I’m fine. How are you?”
Cindy walked back into the bathroom, stuck out her tongue at her reflection. “I’m just fine,” she said in the Cookie’s chirpy little voice. “Right as rain. Happy as a lark. Peachy perfect.”
“Is my sister there?”
Cindy grabbed a brush, dragged it through her hair, listened for the answer.
“Is she expected there for dinner?”
So, Julia wasn’t there. At least not yet. “Ask her if she’s heard from
Cindy nodded into the receiver.
Her sister sighed. “I wish I had your life,” she said.
Cindy laughed as she hung up the phone.
“What’s funny?” Heather asked.
“My sister’s idea of an apology.” Cindy stared at the TV. A second young woman, whose dark bikini matched her ebony skin, was climbing into a hot tub with a bald-headed, tattoo-covered man who looked like a black Mr. Clean.
“What’s she sorry for?” Heather asked.
“That’s just the point. She isn’t.” Cindy shook her head, trying to remember the last time she’d felt close to her younger sister.
(Memory: Eight-year-old Leigh shadowing Cindy’s every move, following her from room to room, as if glued to her side. “Why does she have to do everything the same as me?” Cindy protests, pushing Leigh aside.
“The same as
I,”
her mother corrects. “Besides, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”
“I hate her.”
“I hate her too,” Leigh echoes.
“You’ll love each other when you grow up,” their mother promises.)
Did they? Cindy wondered now, watching as Mr. Clean explained his various tattoos to his curious companion. She and Leigh were so different. They had different interests, different styles, different tastes. In clothes, in politics, in men. Try as they might, and occasionally they really did try, they never quite seemed to connect. Their empathy was forced, their sympathy strained. They tolerated each other. Sometimes just barely.
Strangely enough, their relationship had been at its best just after Cindy got married and again just after she got divorced. When Cindy eloped with Tom to NiagaraFalls without a word to anyone, it had been Leigh who’d convinced their parents to get over their anger and accept the young man Cindy had chosen. Leigh had been a regular guest at their tiny apartment, a co-conspirator after the fact.
After Tom walked out, taking Julia with him, Leigh had been equally supportive, dropping over dinners, going grocery shopping for her distraught sister, offering to baby-sit Heather. For months, she’d called first thing every morning and again before she went to bed. She’d made sure Cindy had the best divorce lawyer in the city. She’d literally clapped her hands when Cindy’s settlement guaranteed her security for life.
Leigh’s own marriage, to a high school principal, had always seemed happy enough. Warren was a kind man, patient to a fault, and he seemed to genuinely love his wife. “Warren would never cheat on me,” Leigh had said on more than one occasion, and Cindy had nodded her agreement, confident in the rightness of her sister’s assessment, pretending not to hear the silent addendum, “the way Tom cheated on you.”
“Mom?” Heather was asking now. “What’s the matter? Why are you smiling like that?”
Cindy unclenched her teeth. “Just this stupid TV show.” She flicked off the remote control, watching Mr. Clean and his companion disappear into darkness.
“Hey …”
“Call your father for me. Please,” Cindy added when her daughter failed to respond.
Heather slumped toward the phone. “I don’t understand why you can’t call him.”
“I don’t want to speak to the Cookie,” Cindy muttered.
“What?”
“Just call him.”
Heather punched in the numbers, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she waited for someone to answer the phone. “Hey, Fiona,” she said while Cindy scrunched up her nose, as if she’d just smelled something unpleasant. “It’s Heather. I’m fine. How are you?”
Cindy walked back into the bathroom, stuck out her tongue at her reflection. “I’m just fine,” she said in the Cookie’s chirpy little voice. “Right as rain. Happy as a lark. Peachy perfect.”
“Is my sister there?”
Cindy grabbed a brush, dragged it through her hair, listened for the answer.
“Is she expected there for dinner?”
So, Julia wasn’t there. At least not yet. “Ask her if she’s heard from
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