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One woman's journey to find her own voice, separate from her twin who died at age seven. |
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"Never Really Alone" is the story of Sarah Foster's journey to find her own voice, alone and separate from that of her twin sister, the more dominant personality of the two. Though death parts them at an early age, the co-dependent relationship Sarah had with her sister remains and she is unable to let go of her, so much so that even admitting to her death is not possible. Growing up in the fifties and sixties when child psychiatry is in its own way still a child, the help available for Sarah is severe and shocking. Her loss is only magnified by the fear and abandonment she experiences locked away from all she knows and loves. In and out of psychiatric hospitals through her adolescence and teen years, Sarah leaves home after a drunken binge, ending up in Phoenix, Arizona. Hoping to put her sister and the past behind her, she begins to settle in and try and re-invent herself as one individual instead of one half of a whole. However, wishing away a lifetime of experiences is like asking the sun to dim because the light is too bright for your eyes. I wrote most of this novel in a small coffee house in Franklin, Tennessee during a period of my life when I spent most of my time alone. However, I spent the last couple of months editing this manuscript, in the home office that I happily share with my husband. |
| Blogging is new to me, thus I pretty much have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. I'm guessing that it's probably a bit like writing on Facebook. So, here I am on My Blog, attempting to introduce strangers, friends and acquaintances to my work; translation: the written word, my written word. Broken down even further, one completed novel, "Never Really Alone", and one novel-in-progress, "The Last Chance." I hope you read them and I really hope you enjoy them. But even if you don't, please feel free to tell me. I have a pretty thick skin, really. Well, thanks for taking the time to stop by, I appreciate it. We'll talk again soon. |
| My encounter with Miranda Jean the night of the boating accident left me feeling as if I were sitting in a chair with uneven legs, just slightly off. On the one hand, it was absolutely the best possible thing that could have happened. Because of her ghostly appearance, Julia's life had been spared. On the other hand, after my recent trip down memory lane, it eased open that little box in my mind that held my mother's whispering, debilitating voice. The one that said things like, "You're not well, Sarah Jane. You're ill. You need to be hospitalized. No one can see the dead, Sarah Jane. You're sick." After all these years, I thought I'd put all that behind me. That day, so long ago, when Miranda Jean and I had said good-bye for the last time was the beginning of a healing process for me. I was finally able to mourn her death, because for me, that was the day she really died. At the time, I shared those feelings with Stephen and Aggie, but other people who knew me just assumed that my more quiet demeanor was a result of the demands of motherhood. Over the years since, I had talked to Miranda Jean in those few quiet, reflective moments of my life. I'm not sure why I did that, maybe because of the special relationship that identical twins share. Of course it was always a one-sided conversation, as I expected. But now things had changed. She had come back. I had proof. Otherwise, how would I have known Julia was in trouble? How would I have known where to find her? It could only have been Miranda Jean. Unless, it was some psychic connection between mothers and daughters. I'd read about that and there had been some studies done. But it was Miranda Jean, I saw her, I talked to her. God, I was so confused. So, like most of my adult life, what I usually did when I needed help, was pour two nice, hot cups of coffee and go find Stephen. He was easy enough to locate this early on a Saturday morning, before the girls were awake, reading the paper on the back porch. "Hi, can I offer you some coffee that's actually hot?" "You know me too well, dear. This cup's been cold for at least half an hour and I've just been too engrossed to get up and pour a fresh one." He took the cup, closed the paper and patting the seat next to him, said "What's bothering you?" "What makes you think something's bothering me?" "Well, let's see. You've been up since about five, I heard you puttering around. Since I got up you've re-arranged your spice cabinet, by the sounds of it at least twice, and if I'm not mistaken you hosed off the front porch. Those are not your usual Saturday morning habits Sarah. And whenever you're worried about something, your spice cabinet gets the brunt of it." "Am I really that obvious?" Stephen ran his hand through his graying, red hair, something he always did when he felt strongly or impassioned or simply nervous about something. "No, it doesn't have a thing to do with being obvious. I see that something is bothering you because I love you, and I can sense that you're in some kind of turmoil, or having some sort of crisis. What can I do to help?" A thousand thoughts went through my mind. In the end, the only answer was to ask for the help that was offered. "Stephen, I'm scared. To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure what it means for me that I saw and heard Miranda Jean again. She's been gone all these years. Now suddenly she's back? Why? Was she really here, or did I imagine it? Maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe she wasn't here at all. I'm not sure anymore." Stephen sat for a moment and didn't answer. Then he reached out and took my hands in his. And just like the lawyer he is, said "I think the first thing you have to be clear about is this, you are not sick. Nothing about you has changed between the day before Julia's accident and today. Your behavior isn't different in any way, and I think I would have noticed. I think what you may be experiencing now, is because of everything that happened. We've just survived a crisis. So, it would be understandable if you were feeling a lot of stress right now. Possibly you're just second-guessing yourself." "I suppose so." "As for whether or not Miranda Jean was a part of it, you said that she was and so I believe you. But if you're doubting yourself, that's alright too. The important thing is that whatever woke you and sent us to the lake, saved our daughter. Whether it was Miranda Jean or a mother's instinct or her guardian angel, I don't care and you shouldn't either. Because right above us sleeping soundly, underneath an awful, orange and green comforter is Julia, safe and sound. But, if you feel you have to figure it all out, you could consider talking to a therapist. I think my partner's wife, Elaine is still working in that counselor's office downtown. I can get the number if you want. I will fully support you if that's what you decide, but really I think you're fine." "Now I remember why I said 'yes' when you asked me to marry you. I hope the girls are as lucky as I am with the men in their lives." I hesitated for just a second, then said "Ask Elaine for the number, and let me think on it for awhile. I'm not sure yet just what I want to do. But I do feel better now, thanks, hon." He leaned forward and kissed me just as Catherine stepped onto the back porch with her usual, "Geez, do you have to start so early in the morning? Can't you be like my friend's parents? They never do that kind of stuff!" ****** The first day of school brought good news and bad for both girls. For Catherine, it turned out that Kevin 'from the lake' had moved into our neighborhood and was going to the same high school and would be in a lot of the same classes that she was taking. So most of her time was spent on the phone with one girl or another discussing plots and strategies involving Kevin and other cool guys. The bad news was that we still weren't allowing her to date, regardless of the 'fact that all' of her friends had permission. Julia, completely recovered from her boating accident, had developed a keen and sudden interest in philosophy, and spent a good portion of her time in heated debate with her teachers, her father and anyone else who would listen. The good news and the bad news seemed to be one and the same. It was going to be an interesting year. Stephen, as promised, had gotten the number for Jonathan Loring, PhD and I had called for an appointment, the earliest being seven weeks away. I decided that it couldn't hurt to at least talk to someone. After all, this was a psychologist, not a psychiatrist. This person couldn't even prescribe medication, and that made me feel better, safer. Aggie, getting older and a little slower had decided to sell the business. After much discussion, instead of buying it outright, Stephen and I had convinced her to let us buy in as half-partners as long as she would stay on as a very vocal partner, as opposed to a silent one. The last thing we wanted from Aggie was her silence. So I was going back to work full-time; and not just going back to work, but running a business. It's interesting to note how life changes yet always, essentially stays the same. Same habits, same likes and dislikes, same beliefs. Our days take the same patterns; we run the same errands, eat the same foods and see the same people, for that is the nature of man. Aggie didn't drive much anymore. She blamed it on her eyesight, but I think she just didn't trust her reflexes. So I was happy to take her wherever she needed to be, and she'd set up a doctor's appointment ages ago. It was a regular check-up, but we both knew this doctor had a bad habit of making his patients wait. So instead of sitting around with her, Aggie insisted I go ahead and run errands or have a cup of coffee and come back to pick her up. I knew better than to argue with her, so off I went. It was one of those bright, sunny days, where the blue, Arizona sky just goes on and on forever, and you can actually smell the sunshine in the air. I had planned on running errands, but it seemed like it would be wasteful to ignore the beauty of the day by not sitting down and enjoying it like you would a rich dessert. So I stopped at Jillian's Cafe, at one of their outside tables and ordered an iced coffee and a piece of lemon cake. I was already five miles past dreaming and two days from Neverland by the time the waitress brought my order and snapped me back to reality. I'd been thinking about Miranda Jean, and what our lives were like when we were smaller, before she died and about all the fun we used to have, running and playing and pretending. And I think for the first time I appreciated it for what it was, instead of what I lost. We did have a life together, it was short, but it was a life. And it was a good life. Then I thought about Catherine and Julia and all the wonderful things they shared with each other and would still share, and what a joy that would be for them. I hoped they appreciated what they had. I finished my cake and coffee, put some money on the table for my check and left. I turned right as I passed the cafe and walked down the street, past the hardware store and the pharmacy. When I got to the new dress shop, I stopped and looked in the window. There was a lovely green dress I thought I might go and look at, when I noticed my reflection. Standing next to me was a little girl with blonde braids, dressed in a green and yellow sun-suit, smiling up at me and waving. I looked at the sidewalk next to me and there was no one there. But when I looked back in the window, there she was, smiling and waving. It was Miranda Jean. As clear as my own reflection. Was that what she was? A reflection of my wandering mind? Did it really even matter? I smiled and waved back and inside of me I felt my heart open and fill. And in that moment I knew that in whatever form fate took us, whether it was dreams, apparitions or simply remembrances, we would always be together, as we were meant to be. I entered the store and asked the clerk to see the green dress in a size eight. After I had tried it on, paid for it and was walking out with the bright pink package under my arm, I realized I had come to a decision. As soon as I got home, I would call Jonathan Loring, PhD and cancel that appointment. I felt just fine about what was going on in my head and in my heart. -the end- |
| The smell of coffee brought me back to the present and the job at hand. I had nearly everything I wanted to keep boxed up. All that was left to do was to clean and pack the coffee pot. No matter what people said about the quality of drip coffee, I'd take percolated any day of the week. It may take longer but whoever said that good wasn't worth the wait? I made one last quick walk through the house to see if I'd missed anything, and aside from Miranda Jean's trunk, I had everything stacked on the porch. By the time I got all the boxes loaded into the car I'd changed my mind about the trunk. I went back up to the attic, opened it and removed only one thing, her golden heart necklace. We had each received one the Christmas before she died. Mine was still in my jewelry box at home, and though its value was purely sentimental, I enjoyed the thought of both of them sharing the same spot now. The rest of it was simply out of date, old clothes and toys and I didn't need any of it. After taking one last, long look, I locked the door and said a final good-bye to my past. I could mail the keys to the realtor. After that, all that was left was paperwork. It was funny how someone's entire life could be boiled down to some signatures and a cashier's check. It was three more days of driving before I could join Stephen and the girls at the lake. But it was three more days of memories and putting things in their proper place. I had been able to come to a kind of peace with my father after my mother died, but I think it was more because his defenses were down more than anything else. I had never been able to reach that with my mother, though I had tried once or twice after the girls had been born. More than anything I wanted Catherine and Julia to have a grandmother in their life, and so I tried to fix what didn't work with my mother. But the new frame I had put myself in didn't fit her and she refused to see me as anything other than her usual view, damaged and broken. Since I couldn't expose my daughters to that, they never had a relationship with her. By the time I made peace with my father they were already teenagers and they didn't need a grandfather hundreds of miles away that they didn't know. So by the time I arrived at the lake I was feeling melancholy and even a bit teary. Not at all what two active, fourteen-year old girls were looking forward to seeing. I barely got one foot out of the car when Catherine, in a bathing suit that left little to the imagination, as far as I was concerned, was going on and on about some boy who was staying in the cottage next to ours. And Julia the tomboy, in cut-off jeans and halter top giving me reasons why she should be allowed to take the motorboat out by herself. Where, I wondered, was Stephen to rescue me from motherhood? I thought that I deserved at least fifteen minutes to decompress after getting out of the car. "Where is your father?" Julia was the first to reply. "He's in the cottage making some kind of mucky-looking chili for lunch, and I for one am not eating it. I'm having a salad. Mom, don't you agree with me about the boat?" "Would you forget about the boat, already? I need to talk to Mom about Kevin. Mom, a bunch of kids are going into town tonight to see a movie. It's alright if I go, isn't it? It's not like a date, it's just a bunch of kids." Catherine had her arm wrapped around my shoulders, trying to win me over with affection, her usual plan of attack. "Girls, enough already! You know better than to double-team me as soon as I get out of the car. All of this can wait until after lunch. Now, if you don't mind, I have a couple of bags in the back seat. Go grab them and put them in the bedroom. We'll get everything straightened out after I've had a chance to talk to your dad." I headed inside and followed my nose into the kitchen. The mucky-stuff that Julia was referring to was Stephen's special white-bean chicken chili, which was one of his finer creations, served with toasted corn tortilla's. I snuck up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist and laid my head against his back. He turned around and lifted me right off the floor, kissing me soundly on the mouth. "Uggh! Would you guys stop doing that!?! It is so gross, can't you wait until we're not around to do stuff like that? Geeze!" Julia turned on her heels and left the kitchen with a grunt. Stephen just laughed. "Good, alone at last. How was your trip? Did you get everything taken care of, any problems?" I put a spoon into the chili to get a taste. "Mmm, good. The trip was fine, no problems to speak of, though it was really a trip down memory lane. But everything's taken care of, it's all up to the realtor now. I brought some things home, my mother's china, some stuff like that. Though I'm not quite sure what I'll do with all of it. I guess I'll figure it out eventually." He smiled. "I guess so. Well, have a seat, madam and I'll fill you up with the best white-bean chicken chili this side of the Mississippi. Girls. Time for lunch!" "So, what's all this about the boy next door and Julia taking the boat out by herself? Have you got everything under control?" Stephen smiled sheepishly. "Uh, I was kind of hoping you'd get here before I had to make any decisions regarding the boy next door. Although I've already said 'no' about taking the boat out. For goodness sake, she's only fourteen." I shook my head. "Thanks a bunch, Sweetie. Just what I wanted to do as soon as I got here. You're going to get yours." At that moment both girls walked in and headed right for the refrigerator, much to Stephen's chagrin. "Hey, what are you doing? There's a big pot of chili right here. Why are you looking in the fridge, what's wrong with my chili?" Catherine came over and put her arms around him. "Dad, there's nothing wrong with your chili if you want onion breath for the next three days. Personally I'm not okay with that. So, if you don't mind, I'm just going to have some fruit. 'Kay?" "That goes double for me Dad. See ya'." Julia walked out of the kitchen juggling two apples in the air. Catherine came to the table with a small bowl and an orange. As she peeled it, she turned on her angelic face, the one she used when she wanted something. "About tonight, can I go to the movies?" If I could have closed my eyes and wished the day away, I would have. Having teenagers was simply too much work sometimes. "Who all is going Catherine? And don't fudge with me on this because you know I'll find out, I always do." "Mom, what kind of attitude is that, I ask you? I mean really. Deb Rogers and her brother David are going, Sam from the boat rental place, Mary Clark and her little sister, Angie, Janet Riley, Kevin from next door and hopefully me and Julia. That is, if I can get her to go. Sometimes she's a real drag, y'know?" "She's not a drag, she's just choosy about what she does and doesn't do. She doesn't like to waste her time. Okay, so how's everybody getting there? Are there cars involved?" "Nope, no cars. We're going to walk. It's only about half a mile, so we decided we'd walk. So can I go?" She turned on that smile again, the one that could melt an igloo. How could I say no? "Alright, if you can get Julia to go, you can go. But you have to be home by ten o'clock. Do you understand me?" "Yes, of course I do. You're an angel, Mom, a real angel." Then she ran out of the room, probably on wings. I looked at Stephen and he just grinned at me. "Right, I'm an angel," I said, "or a fool." Stephen reached over and took hold of my hand and kissed it "You're not a fool, my dear, only the mother of two very precocious teens. Just be glad that's all they are. It could be worse, you know." "I know, all in all, we're pretty lucky aren't we?" In the back of my mind I was remembering all the things I'd done by the time I was their age. By fourteen I'd already been brought home more than once by the police, drunk and rowdy. But then again my circumstances were entirely different than theirs. I shook my head to clear it of all those unhappy snapshots of more painful days. There was no good reason to go there anymore. The world I lived in now, was a world blessed, a world of grace. That was all I needed to remember. When Stephen and I returned from the market the girls were in the kitchen making dinner. Stephen thought it was a pre-emptive strike in order to avoid his cooking again. I saw it as an extra offering to cement the positive outcome of their evening plans. Being a man he didn't see it that way, but girls are girls, no matter their age and we understand one another. Julia made an enormous Waldorf salad, heavy on the apples and walnuts, light on the dressing and Catherine made homemade biscuits, what she referred to as her 'specialty'. Aggie taught both girls to make biscuits when they were about six-years old and Catherine had been mesmerized by the dough. Through the years she had experimented with different methods and ingredients until she had perfected 'Catherine's Biscuits'. I had to admit, they really were special, even better than Aggie's. Neither of the twins were meat lovers, so of course, there wasn't any on the menu tonight, which meant Stephen would be hunting in the refrigerator later in the evening. It was a good thing I had picked up some ground beef at the market. He'd be into it and frying up hamburgers in no time at all. Catherine had convinced Julia to go to the movies with the rest of the kids and if she could have somehow pushed time forward to make seven o'clock arrive any faster, she would have. Though I was a little surprised she was able to talk her sister into going along. It just didn't seem like something Julia would want to do. "So, Julia what did your sister have to give you to get you to agree to go with her tonight...money, or promises of weekly chores? Or was it something bigger?" To my surprise, not only Catherine, but Julia too, who looked guilty. "Okay you two, what gives?" And as quick as it had appeared it was gone. Just two normal teens with nothing to hide, normal siblings with their normal day to day wheelings and dealings. And their words confirmed it. "Mom, what are you talking about? What do you mean, what gives?" This time it was Julia with the smile that would cause the angels to cry with envy. "Although you're right about something bigger. I made a very good deal with Cat. Five bucks and she does the laundry next week. Pretty good, huh?" "She drives a hard bargain, but I really want to go tonight, so I'll do what I have to do. But some day, Julia, there's going to be something you want, and then I'll get you, just wait and see." I felt like I was missing something. Or had I imagined it? It was probably just me, I was tired and emotionally exhausted and what I really needed was a large glass of wine and a place to put my feet up. By the time we finished dinner, it was nearly six-fifteen so the girls had just enough time to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen before they got ready to go out. Stephen poured two glasses of wine and led the way into the tiny living room of the cottage and we got comfortable in the overstuffed chairs that faced the window overlooking the lake. The girls came in about ten minutes to seven. Catherine had changed into a denim mini-skirt and pink T-shirt, and had taken her strawberry blonde hair down from its pony-tail and it hung loosely around her shoulders. She was wearing just a bit of pink lipstick, my only allowance of make-up. Julia on the other hand hadn't changed her clothes at all, she was still wearing the same cut-off jeans and blue halter-top she'd been wearing when I arrived this afternoon. The only thing about her that was different was that she'd brushed out her hair and pulled it into one long, thick braid that hung half-way down her back. And on Julia you wouldn't find a stitch of make-up. She had stated on more than one occasion that she thought it was ridiculous. For identical twins, you would never find two more different personalities. Catherine nearly burst into the room, "We're going now!" "Yeah, later Dad." Julia threw him a kiss and as she passed me, she neatly dropped a fleeting kiss on the top of my head. She was going through a period of feeling weird about parental closeness lately. It was obvious that she still needed it, but she really didn't want to admit it. Catherine, on the other hand, had always been extremely affectionate, as a baby and even now as a teen. She was a very tactile person and that part of her played into her emotions. She wrapped her arms around Stephen's neck and kissed his forehead, before coming over to hug me tightly and kiss my cheek. "I know Mom, stay together, be careful. Don't talk to strangers, don't get in anyone's car, and be home by ten. Will do. Bye, love you." And out into the night they went, no longer babies, but nearly young women. My God, I was growing more maudlin by the minute. Well enough of that, I thought. What I really need is more wine. Before I could even get up out of my chair, Stephen was in and out of the kitchen in a flash, refilling my glass. That was one of the wonderful things that I loved about him. He almost knew me better than I knew myself and even knowing, still loved me. Stephen put some jazz records on the stereo and we sat there, drinking wine and enjoying the sun setting over the water into the falling darkness. About eight-thirty I turned the lamp on and picked up an Ellery Queen mystery and tried to read, but between the wine, the music and the long drive, the day finally caught up with me and before long, I fell asleep. I was home again and I was running through the fields behind the house and then into the barn and up the ladder. When I got to the top, I jumped into the hay, it was soft and smelled sweet. Then suddenly I was in the tree house with Miranda Jean, but I wasn't small, I was grown and so was she. We were having tea and she was showing me pictures of her children. But they were pictures of my children. I tried to tell her that they were my children, but she didn't understand and suddenly she was small again and so was I and we were standing by the river and she was shaking my shoulder and calling to me. "Sarah Jane! Sarah Jane! Wake up, you have to wake up! Sarah Jane, wake up! Stop dreaming and wake up! Please wake up Sarah Jane, please wake up!" I opened my eyes and the room was still. What time was it? Stephen was gone. Had I been dreaming? Yes, dreaming about Miranda Jean, that was it. I felt a hand on my shoulder, shaking me. I looked down and there stood Miranda Jean, as clear as she had ever been. But the look on her face was something I had never seen before. Tears were streaming down her face and the fear in her eyes terrified me. Was I still dreaming? Yes, that must be it. "NO! You aren't dreaming Sarah Jane, you aren't. It's really me. You have to pay attention. Julia's in trouble, she's really in trouble. You have to get Stephen and come with me. She needs you. Right now, Sarah Jane!" That snapped me awake faster than anything ever had. There were no more questions that needed to be asked about dreaming or not. I ran to the bedroom to wake Stephen. I wasted no time explaining. I simply grabbed his arm and pulled. "Stephen, wake up, Julia's in trouble. She needs us." "What, what's that? What are you talking about? Has there been an accident? Is she in the hospital? Is Catherine alright?" All this time he was pulling his jeans on and slipping into his loafers. "No, I don't know. You have to trust me now Stephen. We need to get in the car. Miranda Jean has come back. I was dreaming about her and then suddenly she was shaking me and screaming at me to wake me up because Julia's in trouble. She's terrified, Stephen and so am I. She said we need to drive to where she is." He opened the car door for me and then got in the driver's sear. "Where do I go?" Miranda Jean sat in between us and was so still, I was afraid she wouldn't be able to tell me anything. But she looked up at me and spoke. "She went out in the boat by herself. She thought she could do it. She was okay until she got to the place called 'The Point'. It's real deep there and the boat got snagged on something. She was trying to get it free and she couldn't, so she stood up to try and reach further out and the boat tipped over and she went under. At first she was okay, she held onto the boat. But she tried to climb on top of it, and she kept slipping back. So she started kicking and then one of her feet got tangled in something. It's pulling her under, Sarah Jane, just like me. It's pulling her under. You have to save her. Don't let her go, please don't let her go." The Point got its name from the topography of the area, the shoreline of the lake reached out just like a pointer. But the water there was deep and swimming wasn't allowed and boating was discouraged. Stephen violated every speed limit posted and we pulled up to the shore within three or four minutes of the time we'd left the house. We jumped out of the car and Stephen went immediately to the trunk and retrieved the big flashlight he used for night fishing. Then we ran to the edge of the shore and began hollering for Julia. It only took a second to hear her calling for help. Stephen pointed the flashlight in the direction of her voice and we saw the boat and just the top of her head and her arm as she sunk down into the water. Stephen handed me the flashlight and with his shoes and all jumped into the water and raced through the same kind of evil that had taken my sister and now threatened to take my daughter. All I could see through the beam of the flashlight was a lot of splashing water, and all I could hear was the sound of Stephen's voice calling out Julia's name. Miranda Jean was no longer by my side and I guessed that the whole scene was more than her child's heart could handle and she had gone back to wherever it was that she had come from. Truth be told I wasn't certain that my heart could carry on with a loss such as this. I pointed the flashlight again out into the water and saw Stephen approaching the shore. Julia was with him, but she wasn't swimming, he had his arm around her chest and he was pulling her through the water. I refused to allow myself to lose control, not to be strong for Stephen and Catherine, but because I feared that I would lose myself and never find my way back. So I ran to Stephen and helped him as he lay my beautiful Julia on the ground. There were leaves and vines wrapped around her golden braid and her face was pale and her lips were blue. I knelt beside her and held her hand in mine. It was cold, colder than I ever would have imagined. I sat on the ground holding her hand and staring at her ashen face and closed eyes and I thought that surely this was the end of my life. In an instant Stephen snapped me back to reality with instructions. He began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and in between breaths told me to get the blanket from the back seat of the car. I ran as if demons were after me, grabbed the blanket and returned just in time to see Julia vomiting up the most beautiful and vile lake water I had ever seen. Thank God, she was alive, and the graced life I thought I had lost had been returned and blessed ten-fold. We took no chances and raced her to the hospital as soon as she could sit up. The doctor's initial exam seemed to indicate that she'd suffered no real injury, but they wanted to keep her overnight for observation and Stephen and I were in total agreement. So, once they had her all tucked into a gown and bed, and we had showered her with more kisses and hugs than she would ever need, we said our good-nights. Although we did promise her that there would be some serious conversation about taking the boat out, lying about where she was and other matters once she was feeling better. "Oh, yeah, that," she said, and offered up a weak smile. "Yeah, that," I answered and kissed her again. "But not now. For now, you sleep. We need to get back to the house and let Catherine know what's happened, and she also has a talking-to coming." When we got down to the parking lot and into the car, everything let go and I collapsed into a shaking puddle in Stephen's arms. He said nothing, but just held me until the storm subsided and I could finally breathe normally again and stop the tears pouring from my eyes. |
| The repairs to the house were estimated to take about two weeks, so we were all staying at Aggie's until they were completed. As soon as she'd heard about the fire she had literally jumped in and taken over. Before Stephen or I could even think about it she had her truck in our driveway and was loading the crib and assorted baby paraphernalia into it, telling us to "Hurry up and get your things." She was Godmother to both of the girls and was simply fulfilling her obligations, no more, no less. So to Aggie's we all went. But I felt, in all fairness I had to warn her about Miranda Jean. At my urging, Stephen took Catherine and Julia to his father's house for the day, so I could take my time telling Aggie my suspicions about Miranda Jean. But as usual, she beat me to the punch. "What's going on Sarah? And don't you dare tell me 'nothing' because I know something is bearing on you. You're starting to look the way you did near the end of your pregnancy when you weren't sleeping. Out with it girl." "I don't know where to start, Aggie. There is just so much filling up my heart and my head right now. But, the thing is, I'm really afraid to put it into words, because it seems as if the more I talk about it the more real it will become." I could feel the tears well up in my eyes again, like they had so many times in the past twenty-four hours. Aggie smiled at me and just like always, she made me feel better. Just looking at her, you understood that love was something tangible, something that you could touch and hold and carry with you. "Honey, words alone don't make something real or not, whether you whisper them or shout them so loud the angels can hear them. Sometimes just saying what you fear out loud, you can throw it away from yourself, so that you can deal with whatever it is all the easier, if you know what I mean." I didn't know what she meant and I said so. "No, I don't." "Well, sitting here saying nothing isn't going to help anyone, is it?" "No. You're right. Aggie something has happened to Miranda Jean, something bad. She's trying to hurt us. Me and the twins. At first it was just little thing, little tricks, mischief. But now, well now it's different. I know it sounds crazy, but I'm sure it was her that broke the crystal bear that cut my foot. There's no other explanation. And, well uh, I think...oh God. Aggie, she started the fire. I know it sounds insane, I know it does. And I don't want to admit it, but it's true. Stephen and I have talked about it and he agrees with me. I don't know why she's doing it, except that I think she's very angry with me. But I don't know how to make her stop." I could feel the tears falling again and my throat began to close up. "I'm so afraid for Catherine and Julia." I felt my body tremble from a place deep inside of me and it felt as if it would never stop. Aggie took a hold of my hand and held it very tightly, but said nothing for three or four minutes. We sat quietly in the afternoon warmth watching the clouds as they cluttered the azure sky with their wispy fingers reaching heavenward. "I think I understand Sarah. Unfortunately everything you've said makes perfect sense, from a child's point of view. But will you answer one question for me?" "If I can. What is it?" "Near the end of your pregnancy, when you stopped sleeping, what was going on? Did it have something to do with Miranda Jean?" At that point I figured Miranda Jean already saw me as the enemy, so I told Aggie all about the nightmares. She listened carefully and then said, "So, in the dreams she switched places with you, and now you think she's really trying to kill you?" "And the girls." "No, Sarah, I think the girls are just incidental. It's you that she wants." I didn't understand. "What do you mean, of course the girls are important. They were there for everything, they were there for the fire." "I know," she said. "But it's always been you. You stepped on the bear. The other things were just mischief, like you said. The serious things are about you. She's haunting you. She was haunting you in the dreams and she's haunting you now." "No! She's just a child, Aggie. She's not evil. Haunting? She can't be haunting me, that's ridiculous. No! That's not it. That can't be it." Aggie reached up and held my face in her hands and looked straight into my eyes. "Is it evil to try and burn down your house with your children asleep inside of it? Would that be the action of 'just a child'? Tell me Sarah. Think carefully before you answer." The trembling inside of me grew stronger and a fear I had never known gripped me and held my mind as if in a hunter's snare. "I can't believe it. Why would she be haunting me? What do I do now? How can I stop her?" "It's beyond us to know how this happened, how to know what turned her. But something must be done. You have to find a way to reach her, some way to stop her, before it's too late." I began to feel numb, as if I had looked back at the city of sin and been turned to salt. The trembling had stopped, but now I felt nothing, I was empty. "I think it's too late Aggie. She's more than I know how to deal with, she's smarter than I am." Suddenly I felt Aggie's hands on my shoulders shaking me. "Wake up! She's a child and you're a grown woman with a husband and children to protect. Don't you dare tell me she's won before you even try. Don't you even dare, Sarah Jane Kilpatrick, for I will surely wear you out! I will not lose you, I will not." And somewhere on some level I heard her, and somewhere inside of me a tiny kernel of the Sarah Jane I once was stood and defended herself. That evening, leaving Stephen and the girls in Aggie's good care, I went back to our house on Thayer Street hoping to somehow get Miranda Jean to come back to me. For all I knew, maybe she had been there the whole time and it had been me who'd been unable to see her. After all, it had happened before. Perhaps without the distraction of my family, it would be possible. The contractors had barely begun work on the kitchen and the odor of the smoke and wet wood permeated the whole house. But since the kitchen seemed to be the last place she had been, I thought that was the best place to try and find her. I figured that I had two things in my favor. First of all I had come alone, no Stephen and no children. It would just be me and Miranda Jean, no one else to pull my attention away from her. Secondly I was in the place where the fire started. I hadn't avoided it or been afraid to be there. I thought this might show her that I held no hard or mean feelings toward her. At least I hoped that was what she thought. There was so much about this that wasn't clear. There were a lot of things since Miranda Jean died that I didn't understand, things that even she didn't understand. Like, where did she go when I couldn't see her? And why couldn't I see her sometimes, even when I wanted to? And why hadn't she moved on to wherever it was she was supposed to go? Was it because of me, was I holding her back? And how did she know I was pregnant before I did? Could she read my thoughts? How did she get inside my dreams? I didn't have the answer to anything. Did she? I had no idea what I was even up against. Maybe Aggie was wrong, maybe she wasn't really haunting me at all. Maybe it was all just a horrid mistake. But tonight was about finding the answers once and for all. And like the dying man who can't decide whether or not he wants to know the exact day he will die; I would stay and call for Miranda Jean, knowing that finding her might bring me answers I never wanted. I stood in the center of the kitchen, pieces of burned cabinets on the floor around me and stilled my mind. After a moment I began to call for her quietly, but with a need so strong as to feel a pull on my soul. Her name over and over became a whispered prayer, sent out to the heavens and beyond, with a pleading just tinged with fear. I had no sense of time, and soon not even of place, for the room became darker and even the edges blurred and I lost the sense of the room. In time I felt my throat become dry and even the effort of a whisper became more than my voice could manage, yet still I called for her. My body seemed to be no longer my own for I had no sense of it, felt no part of it, neither arms nor legs, head nor torso. Still from somewhere I called out to her, for I heard her name. Low and quiet for the longest time, and then finally a whispered scream, "Miranda Jean." Then spent, there was nothing left and I fell to my knees, my tears mixing with the stale and dirty water on the floor. I heard no answer, no sound, no movement. I have no sense of how long I laid on the floor, or if I was conscious or not. I only know that as I laid there I felt the slightest touch on my shoulder, like a warm breath or the brush of a fairy's wing. I opened my eyes and she was there. I pulled myself into a sitting position and she stood directly in front of me, looking exactly as she always looked. A sweet, seven-year old baby girl, blond braids swinging, dressed in her green and yellow sun-suit, golden skin, kissed by the sun. Her smile was unchanged, as if nothing bad had ever happened, as if she had never gone away, as if I had just seen her two minutes ago. I opened my arms to her and she came to me as if I were her mother and she was my child, and I held her closer than a rose clings to its stem and I cried. I cried for the loss of my twin sister. I cried as a seven-year old grieves and I cried as an adult who loses a child. I cried tears that had been inside of me all those years when I had been made to deny her and I cried tears for all those years that I had been denied. And I cried for all of those things that we would never share because I grew up and she never would. And I cried for her and I cried for me. "Sarah Jane, I'm sorry for what I did. I didn't mean it. Really I didn't." She looked up at me and smiled. I wasn't sure how to respond to her. I knew she meant what she was saying, but I also knew that in essence she was a child and would always think like a child. And, that in itself could be dangerous. "I know you didn't mean it." "So, I'm back now and everything's okay, right?" "Miranda Jean, I'm really glad you're back. But I think we need to talk about something. I'm always going to be with Stephen and the girls, even though I'll always love you, too. Do you understand that?" She nodded her head. "I do, I really do. And I won't fool around anymore, I won't do anymore tricks. I won't be bad, I promise." "You're not bad. I don't want you to think that you're bad. Okay? But please, Miranda Jean, please tell me why you started the fire. Why did you want to hurt us?" Her face took on a curious expression. "I didn't want to hurt you or your babies at all. All I wanted was to be with you. So I guess I thought if we couldn't be together because you were so busy with Stephen and the babies, then maybe if you could come to where I was, then we could really be together again, forever." Aggie was right. Although I wouldn't really call what Miranda Jean had done a haunting. I finally understood it. I understood everything. She had been alone for such a long time. Even when she was with me, she was still alone. Like a man suddenly turned invisible, she was an undiscovered planet in an unknown universe. I could not imagine a more lonely or painful existence. And in this epiphany I realized that it was me that had been holding onto her so tightly. I was the one preventing her from moving on to where she belonged. I had, without any thought for her, been holding her prisoner. My eyes filled to overflowing, but I had no right to be released from this pain, not when I had been the cause of so much pain for her. "I'm sorry I made you feel so alone. But I know you understand that's not the answer for us, don't you? It's not for us to decide when we live or when we die. Is it?" "No." She smiled, but it took real effort on her part and the smile never fully reached her eyes. "Sarah Jane, it's harder now that you're all grown up. We don't like to do the same things anymore and well, even talking about stuff is different. You're not the same, are you?" I held her closer for a moment and laid my cheek on the top of her head. "You're right, I'm not the same as you anymore. It's almost like we're not identical twins anymore, isn't it? But I think if you had grown up too, we would probably be just the same, don't you think?" She pulled back from me and a big smile covered her face. "Really, do you really think so? Maybe I would be married too. And maybe I would have twin baby girls too, and we could live next door to each other and we could have coffee and cake every morning after our husbands went to work. Do you really think so?" "I think you've imagined it just as it would have been, just exactly as it would have been. Two peas in a pod, just like Sousa used to say. It would be so wonderful, Miranda Jean, so very, very wonderful. I'm so sorry that you didn't get the chance to grow up with me." Don't feel sad Sarah Jane," she patted my shoulder, "really, it's okay. We sure had a lot of fun when we were together, didn't we? And I sure got us into a lot of trouble sometimes, didn't I?" "Just enough to matter, but not enough to get spanked. It was always the perfect balance, just like we were. But you know we don't balance anymore, don't you? You're still a child and I'm all grown up." "You want me to go away, don't you." "No, that's not what I want at all. But I think that's what's supposed to happen, and I think I've been keeping you here, when you should be moving on to somewhere much better than here. You see everyone has a place. Somewhere they're supposed to be, like Stephen and I and the girls belong here." She got very quiet and still and the smile on her face disappeared. "Miranda Jean you know what I'm talking about, don't you?" Slowly she nodded her head. "I know, but I don't want to go there without you Sarah Jane. I'll be more alone than ever and I don't like to be alone. I want to be with you." I put my arms around her again and kissed her forehead. "Oh, but you won't be alone at all. Grandma and Grandpa will be there and our old dog, Samson and it will be wonderful there, I promise. You can watch over me and Stephen and maybe even be a guardian angel for Catherine and Julia. I promise you it will be wonderful. You have to move on, Miranda Jean. It's not right that you're still here. Do you know how to do it, to move on, I mean?" She nodded her head. "I think so. I tried a couple of times, when you couldn't see me. But I couldn't do it, besides I wanted to be with you. Do you really think I could be an angel? Even after the fire? I didn't really want you to get hurt. I just missed you so much, I wanted you to be with me." I stroked her hair and then her cheek. "I know honey, I know. Yes, I think you can still be an angel. I think everything will be just fine. Do you think you could do it now, move on?" She stood up and walked a few feet from me. "I see it, but I can't move, I can't. Something is pulling at me." I was sure I had let her go. I knew she should go and I was ready. What was holding her back? Maybe it was her, maybe she just wouldn't do it. "You have to go, it will be alright." "You have to let go of me, Sarah Jane, just let me go. You'll be alright." She turned to me and smiled. I opened my mouth to argue with her, but then I felt it. My whole body tensed and I realized I was tightly holding on to her with every part of me, heart and soul. I had to let her go. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and let go. "Can you feel it now, can you see it?" "I do Sarah Jane, I really do." She took a few more steps and then disappeared. A moment later I heard her voice, very faintly. "I'll watch you, Sarah Jane. I love you." Inside of me I felt something open up. It was an actual physical pain, as if something had been removed. Perhaps it was a part of my heart or maybe my soul. If I were to die and they did an autopsy, would they find a portion of me missing? I was certain that they would, for how could they not? |
| The next few days were unlike any I ever remembered. No matter what I did, Miranda Jean refused to show herself. Awake, asleep, pleading, cajoling, insistent or simply asking, it seemed as far as she was concerned I just didn't exist any longer. My emotions were like a roller-coaster. On the one hand, I began to grieve for her. I experienced a pain so deep that at times I could only take short, shallow breaths. If I breathed deeper, I feared my heart would surely stop. On the other hand, odd as it may sound, I still experienced the joy that my unborn child wrapped around my heart and soul. I was in such emotional conflict during that time that I could barely put two words together to form a logical thought. So, I was completely unprepared for the news I received at the doctor's office at my six-month check-up. "Do you hear that, Sarah?" Dr. Wagner asked me. "Listen carefully," as he put the earpieces of the stethoscope on my ears. "Is that the baby's heartbeat?" "Yes, that's it. Now, I'm going to move it over here to the right. Now listen carefully. Tell me what you hear." For a moment I didn't hear anything. Then he moved it over a bit more and then loud and clear I heard the heartbeat again. "I can hear it now. But I don't understand," I said. "How can I hear it over here, when the baby didn't move. Is the baby alright?" He took the stethoscope and folded it into his pocket and smiled. "I suppose we shouldn't be too surprised, should we? After all, you told me you're an identical twin. So, it's not all that unusual that you would have twins." I just stared at him. Nothing made sense to me. "Sarah, you're having twins. You have two babies in there, and it appears that you have two healthy babies in there, with two, strong, healthy heartbeats." It started to sink in, "I'm having twins, are you sure, twins?" Dr. Wagner just grinned again. "I'm sure. You heard the heartbeats yourself, didn't you? But we're going to have to make some changes. Twins are often born too early, Sarah. We don't want that to happen. You've already gained a good bit of weight with these little ones and your blood pressure is higher than I'd like. From now on I'd like you to stay off your feet. It's off to bed with you for the next twelve weeks. Or as long as we can get these babies to wait. I only want you up and around when it's absolutely neccessary. Now, do you have any questions?" 'Did I have any questions?' I had hardly taken in the idea of having twins. How could I have possibly formulated any questions yet? "Uh, no I guess not." "Okay, good. From now on, I'll want to see you every two weeks, but I'll come to see you at home. You can set that up with Janet in the outer office on your way out. Congratulations. I'll see you in two weeks." He shook my hand and that was that. After Stephen peeled himself off the ceiling, he couldn't have been happier about the news and wouldn't let me lift a finger. Fortunately, I was able to convince him that help from Aggie and LeAnn would be more than enough, and a nurse would not be neccessary. So, for better or worse I became the captive queen of my domain, waited on, fluffed and coddled, as I protected the two tiny lives I held inside of me from any and all dangers, real or imagined in the crazy world in which I lived. I say crazy because it was during that time that odd things began to happen. I was still trying to pull Miranda Jean back from wherever it was that she had gone, with no success. But, now I wonder if she wasn't the reason for the frightening things that plagued me. I had been on restriction for over six weeks when the nightmares began. I'd just finished a late lunch and must have dozed off. It was warm and I was standing on the bank of the river on my father's farm. The willow trees and water were sun-dappled and I could smell the rich summer earth. I turned my head and Miranda Jean was standing next to me. I looked down at her feet and I could see my own, the same size as hers and I realized I was small again. I could feel her hand, warm on my back and suddenly she was pushing me. Her voice was taunting, teasing, "Go on, scaredy-cat, jump in!" Then she pushed hard and the next thing I knew I was falling, head first into the river. The water rushed up all around me, filling my nose and my mouth. I choked and sputtered, swallowing as fast as I could, trying to breath, but only choking harder. I tried to get to the surface, but the river's tow pulled me under and I didn't know which way was up and which was down. Suddenly I wasn't struggling anymore. The next thing I saw was my father carrying my body across the field in his arms. Miranda Jean was following behind him, watching everything. He ran with me in his arms to the porch, all the way to my mother, who began to scream. It was then that I woke up. I was covered in perspiration and my heart was pounding as if it would surely burst clean out of my chest. The image that stayed in my mind was the look on Miranda Jean's face as she stood next to my father while he held my dead body in his arms. She was smiling. Like the day she had thrown the dishes to the floor, I was frightened. I put my fingers to my face and felt the hot tears that had gathered on my cheeks. At the time, it didn't occur to me that she might be responsible for the dream. But after the first one, they became more frequent and with each subsequent one, more detailed and more telling, certainly more terrifying. She always pushed me into the river. The outcome was always the same. I always died. But with each dream, more details were added. At first, time expanded; like taking more time to drown, choking longer, spending more time in the river. Then, more of the actual day was revealed. I saw myself laid out, dressed in my blue Easter dress, little lace socks on my feet, braids undone, and hair brushed out. And, always, there was Miranda Jean standing by and smiling, quite pleased with herself. The stress was becoming unbearable. I couldn't eat, I simply had no appetite, no matter which of my favorite foods Aggie prepared. I was terrified to sleep, afraid I would slip back into the dream. I feared that if I stayed in one of those dreams too long I might actually die. So not sleeping was the only defense I had. All of them, Stephen, Aggie, LeAnn and Dr. Wagner tried to get me to tell them what was wrong, to unburden myself. But sharing just didn't seem like an option. I couldn't be sure that Miranda Jean was causing the dreams, but I couldn't be sure that she wasn't. And though it seemed that talking about them might seem like a good idea to an adult, to a seven-year-old it would certainly seem like 'tattling', and the last thing I wanted to do was anger Miranda Jean further. It wasn't really me I was worried about, but I was too frightened to take any risks that might harm my babies. ******** Dr. Wagner had just arrived for my regular visit and was in the kitchen talking with Stephen. Aggie was keeping me company in the bedroom. I was eight months pregnant and going on sheer will. "Honey, you've got to get some sleep. You have to start thinking like a mother. Those little babies need you to rest. Now let me fix those pillows for you, okay?" She moved to the head of the bed and put her arm around my shoulders to ease me up a bit, so she could adjust the pillows behind me. As she did, I immediately felt a sharp stab of pain at the base of my belly and suddenly a rush of warm liquid between my legs. "Ahh, oh my God, Aggie!" "What, honey, what is it?" "I think my water just broke. Go get Dr. Wagner." "Are you sure? It's too early, you're not due 'til next month." She lifted up the blankets and looked down. "You're sure! Okay, I'll get him, you just sit tight." "Where do you think I'm gonna go? Ahh!" Another sharp pain landed against the bottom of my belly again and bent me over. Before I could catch my breath Aggie returned with Stephen and Dr. Wagner. "So, you decided to jump the gun, huh, Sarah? You didn't even give me a chance to examine you yet." "I didn't do anything, it just happened." Stephen moved to the head of the bed and took my hand. Dr. Wagner removed the blanket and with one look, covered me again and said. "You're just fine, dear. Now, it looks like we're going to have a couple of babies today. You've got nothing to worry about Sarah. They seem to be a pretty good weight and they're only about three weeks early. So, let's get you up and dressed and Stephen can bring you to the hospital. It's best you deliver there. I'll go and get everything ready for you." And with that he picked up his bag and left. Early the next morning, November 11th, 1965 at 4:14 a.m. and 4:17 a.m., Stephen and I welcomed two, identical, tiny girls into our lives and hearts. Of course, Grandpa Jonah, Aunties Aggie and LeAnn were awaiting them with as much enthusiasm as we were. As soon as Stephen got home, about 10:45 a.m., he called my parents and Sousa and shared the news with them. A second generation of identical twin girls had been born. Sousa's response was simply, "Praise be, it's about time!" Followed by, "How's my baby girl?" To which Stephen gratefully answered, "Sousa, she's finally sleeping, and I can't ask for anything else." It was the first time in months that I slept peacefully in a deep and dreamless sleep. I didn't wake until dinnertime when the nurse brought my two beautiful daughters to me for their evening meal. It wasn't until the twins and I arrived home when they were eight days old that I realized the strain I'd been under. Spending all that time in bed, I hadn't spent much time worrying about how I looked. Once we were home from the hospital, the first chance I got, I shampooed my hair and pulled out my make-up and curlers. One look in the mirror told me what had been obvious to everyone else. The circles under my eyes reached my cheekbones and even with the left-over baby weight I still had, my face was hollow and I was pale and ashen. 'Good grief, I had not only feared death, I looked like it.' Well, I hadn't had the dream since the girls had been born, so enough was enough. I rolled my hair, put on some make-up and determined that today was the start of a new me. No more fear and no more stress. Neither one was the basis of good mothering, and that was something I was determined to excel at. My daughters meant everything to me, and if letting go of Miranda Jean was necessary for their welfare, then that was what I would do. Stephen and I went round and round about naming the girls. Neither of us wanted to do the rhyming thing, Terry and Kerry, or Sandy and Mandy. We also weren't sold on the benefits for same-letter names like Elizabeth and Emily or Sandra and Sally. But we certainly were the repository for unsolicited advice from every person we'd ever known. People who would never think of offering you personal advice seemed to assume that they had the right, no the obligation, to share their opinion regarding naming your children. At any rate, after much discussion we decided to give the girls family names. Catherine, for Stephen's mother and Julia, for his grandmother. We chose their middle names from my side of the family, giving them both the name Lee, which was my mother's maiden name. The only remaining problem was telling them apart. We solved this by tying a green satin ribbon around Catherine's ankle and a yellow satin ribbon around Julia's ankle. Until they began developing their own personalities it was absolutely necessary, for they were truly identical. In the back of my mind I assumed Miranda Jean would return once the girls were born. When we were children she was the one who loved playing with our baby dolls, dressing them, bathing them, giving them baths and so on. I assumed that she would want to be part of their lives. As I waited, as I readied myself for her return, time passed and she didn't show herself. But there were times I know she was there. Instead of two cribs we decided to use just one. When they got older we would separate them, but for now I wanted to keep them together. I only had one dressing table, since I could only change one baby at a time. One morning I was changing Julia and I had left Catherine in the crib with the side-rail up. I finished changing Julia and took her into the living room to put her into the playpen and returned to the bedroom to get Catherine. When I reached the crib, the side-rail was down. I checked the mechanism to see if it was faulty but it worked just fine. I picked Catherine up, changed her and forgot about it, but later in the day it happened again. Then other things began to happen. I would put the girls in their high-chairs and fasten the safety belt, then a few minutes later the belt would be undone. Or I would fill the baby tub for their bath, check the water and it would be fine. Then right before I would lower the baby into the tub, I would check the water again and it would be too hot. Things like this kept happening. Either I was going crazy or it was Miranda Jean. One Saturday, without telling Stephen why, I asked him if he could look after the girls all day, because I wasn't feeling well. I wanted to see if he might experience the same kinds of thing. I knew that even if he did, they would be fine, because he was hyper-vigilant and he always double-checked everything. By the end of the day he had the same story to tell me. That's when he asked me if I thought it might be Miranda Jean. I thought it could be, what I didn't know was why? Why would she want to hurt my babies? It didn't make any sense. Miranda Jean was not mean, she was not evil. She was a child, with a child's mind. If anything, she was probably just trying to get my attention and this was the only way she could think of to do it. She certainly couldn't mean any harm, it just wasn't in her nature. But, now that she had my attention, what next? I didn't know. We had managed to give both girls their bottles, bathe them and get them into bed by eight o'clock, a record so far and we had settled into the living room with a bit of red wine. "Stephen, you're so good at figuring out how people's minds work. Do you have any idea how I might get through to Miranda Jean? Any way that she might understand that there's no reason to feel threatened, that I love her the same now, that I always have?" He set his wine glass on the coffee table and took my hands in his. "I don't know that there's anything specific that you can do, honey. After the episode in the kitchen, she disappeared. Now we both think she's up to some hi-jinks with these things with the girls, the bath water and the crib-rails and such. It's all pretty harmless stuff. So maybe if we just let go of it, she'll tire of it pretty quickly. Before you know it, she'll be missing you so much, she'll come back to you on her own. Besides, how long do you think she'll stay away from Catherine and Julia, as cute as they are? Could you stay away?" His smile was so convincing, it was easy to believe everything he said. ******** In retrospect, I should have known that talking to Stephen about Miranda Jean would have appeared to her as a betrayal. I was approaching the problem from the perspective of an adult, but as usual she was seeing things through the eyes of a child. The day after I talked to Stephen I awoke as usual without the alarm clock, but to the sounds of Julia, my early riser. She wasn't a crier, but always woke first and tended to babble and coo for awhile before she really started to cry. It was early dawn and still mostly dark as I walked into the nursery tying my robe around me. I was just inside the doorway when I stepped on something sharp and stumbled. I managed to keep myself from falling to the floor and hopped on one foot to the rocking chair by the window. I turned on the Little Lamb lamp on the night stand table and looked at the bottom of my foot. It had a deep three-inch cut on the heel and was bleeding profusely. I couldn't imagine what I had stepped on. I grabbed a clean diaper from the nearby changing table, wrapped it around my foot and hobbled to the doorway. There on the floor, shattered in a dozen pieces, was one of a set of crystal teddy bears Aggie had given the girls. The impossible thing was that those bears sat on the bookshelf by the window on the opposite end of the room. How on earth had that bear gotten on the floor at the doorway? It was a mystery that remained unsolved. I needed thirteen stitches to close the gash. As unnerving as that episode was, I finally started to relax, because the other odd little mishaps stopped. There were no more undone seatbelts or hot bathwater. No more lowered crib-rails. But just as calamine lotion seems to relieve the itch of chicken pox and you begin to finally get comfortable, even enough to begin to sleep; just as you are about to drop off, the calamine lotion starts to wear off and the vile itch comes roaring back, crawling inside and outside of your skin, threatening to drive you to madness. You are never safe, and I wasn't. Jonah bought us an ingenious double-stroller and the weather was perfect for an outing, so after I fed Catherine and Julia, we went for a long walk. We'd just returned and I'd put them in for a nap and decided to take one myself. There was a lovely breeze coming in the window and in no time at all I had drifted off to sleep. The next thing I knew I was choking and I smelled smoke. I jumped out of bed and ran for the nursery. There was smoke coming from the kitchen and it filled the hallway. I scooped both girls out of the crib and ran out the front door and didn't stop until I was on my neighbor's front porch, hollering for her to call the fire department. It only took them about five minutes to arrive and another ten or so to put out the fire. They insisted that the twins and I go to the hospital to get checked for smoke inhalation and I was not going to argue, not when it came to my babies. We weren't at the hospital more than twenty-five minutes or so when Stephen arrived in a mad rush. Once he knew we were alright I asked him if he knew anything about the fire or what caused it. He said that the fire chief told him that it was a baby bottle in a pan on the stove, with the burner left on. "There's not too much damage really, mostly smoke and water damage in the kitchen. But the main thing is that you and the girls are alright. That's what's really important." I went absolutely pale. "Oh my God." "What? What is it Sarah, what's wrong?" I stared at him and I could feel tears running down my face. "Stephen we just came back from a walk. I put the girls in for a nap and then I laid down too. But Stephen, I fed the girls before we left. There was no bottle in a pan on the stove. There were only two rinsed out bottles in the sink. I just fed them before we went out. There was no reason to put a bottle on the stove. It was her. Oh my God, Stephen. It was Miranda Jean. She tried to kill us. She tried to kill us, Stephen. Why would she do that?" The tears continued to fall and I collapsed in his arms. |
| I didn't speak to my mother again for almost a year. Oh, I sent a birthday card and a brief note when Stephen and I moved into a little house we rented, about a mile from Aggie's, but I couldn't bring myself to talk to her. Except for Sousa, I did call Sousa. I got in the habit of talking to her every other Saturday when my folks would be in town. Long-distance calls were an extravagance for us, but Stephen encouraged me because he appreciated the input into our mealtimes. He was referring to the fact that I usually got at least one and sometimes two recipes every time we talked. Sousa helped to keep me grounded. It took me a little while to get over all that had happened during my mother's visit. She had left a tiny lingering doubt in the form of my mother's voice, quietly whispering in the back of my mind. "You're not strong, Sarah Jane, you're ill. You need a doctor, Sarah Jane. You need help." Regardless of the facts, of reality, I had heard these words so many times over the years, my brain had a hard time telling the difference between what was true and what wasn't. But I was committed to finding a way over, through, or around her close-mindedness and judgmental thinking. It was more than just deciding not to speak to her. I had to make a conscious effort not to listen to that voice. Sousa helped me do that. She helped me to move on from my mother and her arsenal of poison-wrapped aid, to see her for what she was, a sad and frightened woman who after losing one daughter to death, felt that she had been in a constant battle for the mind of the other and had lost. Looking at her from that point of view, I could only feel sorry for her. Though I still wasn't ready to talk to her, I knew that perhaps there was at least a possibility for reconciliation, someday, sometime. Until then, I was happy to talk to Sousa twice a month, and Stephen was glad that my cookbook was growing by leaps and bounds. The little house Stephen and I rented was on the northeast corner of Thayer and Barnes Streets, and though it wasn't a large house, two bedrooms, one bath, we loved it. Since it was on a corner it had a huge yard, and was circled with trees. There were three lemons in the front, one on the side and two orange trees in the back. Our landlord was more than willing to allow us to paint or do anything else to improve the property and in fact, encouraged us when we signed the lease. But the first challenge, was, which room to start with? The second was, what the heck do we do? Stephen opted out of the decision, saying any opinion he had would only make things worse; to which I called him a chicken and he just laughed. Miranda Jean, however, had very distinct opinions on where, what, how and even why in regard to any decorating decisions to be made. Stephen and I took the larger, front bedroom which faced northwest. It was in fair shape, with a pale, blue floral, striped wallpaper and hardwood floors. As wedding presents, Jonah had given us an entire, maple bedroom suite and Aggie had given us a lovely, blue, chenille bedspread. So there was absolutely nothing we needed to do in that room. The living room was small, but cozy with a large picture window and wall to wall, gold carpeting. It was desperately in need of a serious coat of paint, but any time would do. The dining room was just off the kitchen, had hardwood floors and what remained of a pale, yellow color on the walls. The second bedroom had a southeastern exposure. When the sun rose in the morning, all you could really tell about the paint, was that there was some. As to color, it was anybody's guess. The kitchen was tiled in white and freshly painted in bright green with yellow accents. I figured the best thing to do might be to just spin the bottle or flip a coin to decide which room to begin with, but Miranda Jean had different ideas. She insisted that the second bedroom should be the first to be re-done. "It doesn't make any sense," I said. "That's the last room anybody is going to see and the last room we're going to use. Why that room? I think we should start with the living room. We could do the walls in a deep, rich cream color and then find some drapes to match the carpeting. I saw some really pretty lamps at that little shop downtown, next to Santorelli's Restaurant. I have some money left from our wedding gifts that I can use." Miranda Jean literally stomped her foot, not that it really had any impact. You don't get much of a show when you're stomping a ghostly foot, after all. "No! You need to do the bedroom. You could paint it a nice pretty, rose color, or maybe a sunny, yellow and then do the window sill and the woodwork in white. That would be really nice, don't you think?" "Miranda Jean, what are you so worked up about? What is the point of doing a room that nobody's going to see? If I do the living room and then the dining room, we can have a party and everything will look great. It makes more sense to do those rooms." "Sarah Jane, you can do all the rooms. I just think you should start with the bedroom. Besides you've never painted anything before, so maybe you should start out with a room that nobody's going to see, kind of like practicing. Then do the others, you see?" She had the most pleading look on her face; as if she were waiting in line to see Santa at the department store. She had a point. I had never painted anything before and it did make sense to get all of the big mistakes out of the way on a room that wouldn't be right out there in front of everyone. "Maybe you're right. Besides, it's not a big room, so we won't need a lot of paint." So off I went to the hardware store, returning with two gallons of 'Misty Morning', a pale buttercup-yellow, and one gallon of 'Extra-Bright White' enamel. Though Stephen had opted out of the decision making process, he hadn't been allowed to opt out of the work. Between the two of us, starting right after dinner we were completely finished by 10:45, when we dropped exhaustedly into bed and quickly fell off to sleep. I made it a habit to rise every morning with Stephen to make coffee and breakfast, but the morning after we painted I woke with a severe headache and nausea that I couldn't control. Stephen wanted to stay home with me, but I pushed him out the door telling him that I was sure I'd be feeling fine soon. But the nausea kept on coming. It appeared in waves, rising with threats of losing anything that might be lingering in my stomach and then ebbing to a welcome reprieve of uneasy calm. Thankfully I was spared becoming intimate with both the commode and the bathroom floor. I was one of those people who could count on one hand the number of times I had actually tossed my cookies. Regardless of how I felt, I would do almost anything to avoid it, and that morning was no different. However, feeling crummy or not, I was still working for Aggie three days a week and was due in at eleven, so the nausea waves would just have to return to whatever diseased ocean they came from and leave me be. The diner traffic was light that Thursday and LeAnn took the bulk of it. Though I told her I could handle my share of the customers, she looked me up and down and dove in like a whirling dervish, pouring coffee and flinging french fries. I was relegated to taking care of the counter customers, which were few and they rarely lingered. By the time we locked the door at seven-fifteen, I could have kissed her for sticking me behind the counter. Though I didn't feel as though I'd worked very hard, I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open and the waves of nausea, which had stopped for awhile, seemed to be returning. I wondered aloud if maybe I had picked up some kind of flu bug, and asked Aggie if she knew of anybody else who was sick and she just looked at me, smiled and shook her head. "Sarah, honey, it's not flu that's got you tired and ready to put a cot in the bathroom. Think about it for a minute. I'm sure you'll come up with an answer. You're a bright girl, or should I say, woman?" LeAnn looked up from the table she was wiping down. "You got that right, Aggie!" I had no idea what they were talking about. What did getting the flu have to do with being smart or being a woman, or anything like that? "I'm glad you're both having a good time with this, but I'm really feeling pretty awful and if you don't mind Aggie, do you think I could beg off on the dishes tonight? I'm just done in. I promise to make it up to you on Saturday." "Sure, don't worry about the dishes, I'll take care of it. But don't leave just yet, okay?" She came over to where I was standing and literally pushed me into a chair, then sat down beside me. "Honey, I don't want to intrude, but seeing as how you don't have any family here, well I kinda feel as if I'm your family and you need a woman right now. Alright?" I just looked at her. "Okay." "Good," she said. "Sarah, when are you due to have your next, uh...monthly visitor...you know...your...?" Suddenly the fog I had been covered in all day lifted, as if I had been trying to make out the image in a stained glass window, but without the sun, it was impossible. Now, the sun was burning right through it and I understood everything. How could I have been so dense? "Oh my God! Do you really think I could be pregnant? Aggie, oh my God!" I could feel the corners of my mouth pulling my lips into a smile that I couldn't control. "You tell me honey. Could you? Seems like you've got some pretty telling symptoms going on. So, how about my question, when is your monthly visitor due?" Quickly I did some calculations in my head and I felt my smile grow even larger. "It isn't due at all. It WAS due about three and a half weeks ago. But with all the moving into the house and unpacking and everything, I just wasn't paying attention, I guess. Ohmigosh, I might be pregnant. I mean, I could be pregnant, I'm ohmigosh, I've got to tell Stephen!" I jumped up and nearly knocked over the chair in my excitement. Aggie caught the chair and settled me all in one smooth movement. "Easy girl, easy. Be careful, you're going to knock yourself silly before you even have a chance to find out if it's true. Just sit here and try to settle down a bit. Stephen will be here soon and you need to be a bit calmer when you tell him. Men take these things a bit differently than we women do." She was right. I had discovered that Stephen was very protective of me and unless I wanted to be treated like a fragile china cup for the next nine months I had better be very matter-of-fact when I told him our potential good news. Then another thought struck me, kind of like ice water thrown down my back. I had no idea how Miranda Jean would take this kind of news. Although she tried to hide it, I knew she was a little bit jealous of Stephen. How would she feel about all the time and attention I would need to give a baby? I just didn't know and to be honest, for the first time in my entire life, I wanted to keep something secret from my twin sister. I didn't know how I felt about that, I really didn't. It was unnerving. **************** Keeping a secret from Miranda Jean was like trying to ask the sun not to rise, but hoping no one would notice. It was impossible. Aside from the morning sickness which lasted all day, and the fact that as much as Stephen tried to keep it to himself, he couldn't seem to stop himself from blurting out potential baby names every so often, for what appeared to be no reason at all. In any other situation I probably would have found it amusing. He would be involved in something as innocuous as reading the newspaper and all of a sudden he'd shout out, "Franklin, how about Franklin?" Or during dinner I would be telling him an amusing story about a customer at the diner, and I would pause to take a breath, and then, wham! "Sarah, I was thinking, do you like the name Marianne? I really like the name Marianne." Well, Miranda Jean had never been a slouch in the thinking department and it wasn't long before she put it all together and came up with the answer. Though when she came to me for confirmation, she claimed that she'd already known, and for longer than I had. "How could you know before I did? That's impossible, you're just fooling around." "I'm not fooling at all, Sarah Jane. Why do you think I wanted you to paint the other bedroom? Now it's all ready for your baby, isn't it?" I didn't mean to, but suddenly I was staring at her as if she'd suddenly grown a second head. "But how could you know?" She shrugged, "I'm not sure, really. It just kind of came to me. I just knew. But I was right, wasn't I? You're going to have a baby, a real baby. "When will it come Sarah Jane, will it be soon?" She sounded happy, even excited. I felt embarrassed and ashamed about trying to keep the baby a secret. Of course she would be happy. How could I have felt any differently? "Not until December. The baby will come in December, around Christmas time." "Christmas? But that's forever away, it isn't even summertime yet. How can you stand to wait so long?" Same old Miranda Jean, impatient as always. For me, though, the days seemed to be flying by. "It seems like hardly any time at all. There's so much for us to do to get ready. There's nursery furniture to buy and I want to try to make some curtains. We have to decide on a name, and well there's just so many things to do. I saw some wallpaper with nursery rhyme characters on it that would look so cute, maybe we could put it just on the window wall. Really, December will be here before we know it. And speaking of Christmas, I'll have to get all the gifts bought and wrapped before the baby comes too." "Calm down, Sarah Jane. You're turning a raindrop into a tornado. You and Stephen can get all that stuff done in plenty of time. You're just being a worry-wart, as usual. It's just a baby, after all. How much trouble could one little baby be?" But of course, she was looking at things from a child's point of view. For her, buying a crib, some toys, baby bottles and a dozen diapers was probably all the preparation that was needed. In fact, once she got used to the idea of a baby, aside from insisting that she should have her say when it came time to pick a name, she wasn't all that interested in it. After all, the only impact the pregnancy had on her, was that it seemed to occupy a good portion of my thoughts. That got old in a hurry for Miranda Jean. As the nesting instinct took hold and began to create certain feelings in me as a new mother, she could see that my focus on the baby was turning me further and further away from her. And though Miranda Jean was as present as always, I noticed she had become quieter, in a way she seemed somehow lost. Everything became clear, in fact came to a startling halt one hot July day. I had set up the sewing machine on the kitchen table, because it was the coolest room in the house. With the windows and back door open, if you also opened the front door, you could get a nice cross-breeze. Since the temperature had reached ninety by ten that morning, it was important to keep cool, especially when you were five and a half months pregnant. I had found some yellow organdy, and was attempting to make some cafe curtains for the baby's room. All of a sudden the fabric seemed to freeze and stopped feeding through the machine. I turned it off, checked to see if the bobbin was jammed and when it wasn't, I turned it on and tried it again, again it froze. This time I turned it off and stood up and when I did, I saw Miranda Jean scrunched down under one of the chairs, holding onto the fabric, so it couldn't feed through the machine. "Miranda Jean, what are you doing? You're going to rip the material or break my sewing machine. That's not funny. What do you think you're doing?" "What do you think I'm trying to do? I'm trying to get you to pay attention to me, that's what! All you ever do anymore is stuff for the baby. The baby, the baby, the baby! That's all you ever talk about or even think about anymore. You don't hardly pay attention to me at all. And when you do, all you want to talk about is names for the baby, or baby clothes, or the baby's room. What about me, Sarah Jane, don't you care about me anymore? What about me?" Her shoulders slumped and her lips were drawn down in a pout. She really looked as if any minute she might throw herself down on the floor and start kicking and screaming. Her words, though petulant and accusing, were absolutely true. How could I explain to her what pregnancy had done to not only my body, but my mind? I couldn't even explain it to myself. I hadn't expected to feel such powerful emotions. It wasn't just a maternal pull that tugged at me, I felt as if I were wrapped in cotton batting, not really a part of the outside world. Every thought, every action, even the way that I moved was reflective of the child I carried in my body. On some deep level my mind and my body had become one in sheltering and protecting that little life. So every thought, every action, in some way revolved around either waiting for the baby, preparing for the baby, or having the baby. It wasn't something I did intentionally, it just happened, it just was. But where did that leave Miranda Jean? She was accustomed to getting one hundred percent of my attention. Of course she'd had to adjust those expectations a bit when I married Stephen, and she had, but this was something that needed much more than a small adjustment. "I know I've been pre-occupied with the baby and I haven't given you much of my time lately, have I? I'm really sorry, Miranda Jean, really I am. It's hard to explain, the baby just kind of takes over every part of me, but it doesn't mean I love you any less." Her expression didn't change and the tone of her voice became harsher. "It doesn't feel that way, not at all. I don't know why I hang around here anyway. You'd probably be glad if I just disappeared, wouldn't you? Then you wouldn't have to even think about me." I took a step toward her, but she backed away from me. "Miranda Jean, you know that's not true. I love you very much and you know I don't want you to ever go away, not ever." I held my arms out to her and said, "Come here, please...come here." She turned her face to me with a look I had never seen before. It was just plain, naked anger, and it frightened me. Then she walked over to the counter and with a sweep of her hand, she sent an empty bowl and a glass filled with lemonade, crashing to the floor and then disappeared. My streaming tears mixed with the lemonade and soapy water on the kitchen floor. That was how Stephen found me when he got home, on my hands and knees cleaning up the rest of the sticky mess and broken glass left by Miranda Jean's fit of anger. He knelt down beside me and took me into his arms. I tried to tell him what happened, but I could barely get out more than a few words between the sobs, ragged breaths and hiccups. The only thing I was able to communicate to him was that she was gone, and I wasn't sure if she was coming back or not. All I remember after that was Stephen lifting me into his arms, carrying me into our bedroom and laying me on the bed. Then he took his shoes off and climbed in with me. The next thing I knew, the morning light was breaking through the curtains and my alarm was going off. |
| Somewhere in the distance I could hear the first few bars of Carole King's "You're So Vain" playing, over and over again. 'What on earth?' Suddenly it dawned on me...my phone, it was my cell phone. Instantly I was yanked back to the present. I closed Miranda Jean's trunk and climbed down from the attic. I had left the phone on the kitchen table, but by the time I got to it, I had missed the call. I checked the voice-mail and just as I thought, it was Stephen, calling to make sure I was alright and letting me know that he and the girls were settled in at the lake. Well, I needed a break anyway. I poured another cup of coffee, availed myself of the tin of cookies and let my mind wander once more back to the past. The actual details of my wedding were mostly a blur in my memory and always had been. I do remember walking down the aisle with my father and I remember kissing Stephen, but mostly I remember my mother. She cried non-stop. I don't mean she stood there quietly weeping, politely dabbing at her eyes. She sobbed, openly and loudly, with hiccups, gulps and coughs, while Sousa held her, trying to keep her under control. I was in no way the main attraction at my own wedding, no, that honor went to my mother. The only way she could have made it worse, was if she had worn a long, black dress with a black bonnet, veiled to her chest. I'm certain that's the reason I don't remember all the details from that day. My brain has always been too busy trying to block out all of that 'joy'. The thing I do remember during that time, or think I remember, is an incident between my mother and Miranda Jean on the last day of their visit. Aggie was at the diner, Sousa and my father were upstairs packing, and my mother and I were having coffee in the kitchen. She'd cornered me there insisting that we must have a talk before she went back home. This was the last thing I wanted to do, but there was no getting out of it. So there I was, captive in Aggie's kitchen with my mother and no one to act as a buffer between us. Of course Miranda Jean was there, but I didn't see how she could help. "Sarah Jane, I don't think you understand the magnitude of what you've done," she looked at me with eyes that said so much more than her words. These were the eyes that always backed up Dr. Rudolph. I had decided to put myself in a new 'frame' and I wasn't going to play anymore. "Well, Mom, I suppose you could be right, but I love Stephen and he loves me. So I'm going to work hard at making our marriage succeed." I looked at her face and it was easy to see that she was surprised at my response. She had expected me to argue with her. "I see," she hesitated. "It's not just about love, you know. You're not a well person Sarah Jane. What about Miranda Jean? What if he finds out about her, what then? What will you do then?" She stood up and took her coffee cup to the sink. I think she knew better than to face me after saying something like that. Miranda Jean was standing right next to me and she started to laugh. Then she skipped over to mother and in her best 'told you so' voice, said "He already knows!" in her loudest voice. I was just about to say the same thing, when my mother turned to me and said, "It doesn't matter." I was dumbfounded. I stared at Miranda Jean and she stared at me. Had mother heard her or was she just continuing her thought? "What do you mean, what doesn't matter?" "Are you deaf, Sarah Jane? I said it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if he knows, because eventually he'll stop humoring you and everything will fall apart." But I pressed on. "How do you know that he knows?" "What is wrong with you girl? You just told me he knows two seconds ago...didn't you?" Our eyes went round as saucers. Mother heard Miranda Jean, she heard her as clear as a siren. I hadn't told her that Stephen knew, but she knew...she had heard. Had she always been able to hear her? Had she kept this secret all these years? Why hadn't she told me? I didn't know what to do or what to say. I felt like I had been dropped into a world in which I no longer knew the rules of existence or the language spoken. I was standing on a narrow bridge barely strung between the world I knew and a foreign land, desperately in need of escape. I panicked. "Yes, of course I did. Of course. I need to lie down, Mother. I'm getting a headache. I don't think I'll be able to go to the station with you. Will you tell Stephen for me? Tell him I just needed to lie down." I put my arms around her and kissed her good-bye. "Have a safe trip. Tell Dad and Sousa good-bye for me." Then as quickly as I could I climbed the stairs and headed to my room. But once I shut the door, the magnitude of what happened exploded inside of me and I couldn't leave it alone. I shot down the stairs taking two at a time and arrived in the kitchen at almost the same minute I left. "Sarah Jane, slow down, where's the fire?" She took hold of me by the shoulders and gave me a shake. "What is wrong with you? You're as white as a sheet!" I pulled her hands from my shoulders, stepped back and then sat down and took a deep breath. "I didn't tell you that Stephen already knew about Miranda Jean, Mom." "Of course you did." She rose and went to the sink, turning her back to me. I stood and went to her, forcing her to look at me. "It wasn't me. I didn't tell you. But you heard it, didn't you? You heard someone say, 'he already knows'. You heard it, I know you did." "What is the point of this, Sarah Jane? Your husband knows that you think you can see your sister who's been dead for eleven years. Do you really think that's something to shout about?" "You're missing the point Mom, and you're missing it on purpose. Miranda Jean told you that Stephen already knew and you heard her. I was there, I saw you. You heard her, Mom. Did you know it was her? Have you always been able to hear her...from the beginning? If you did, then why didn't you believe me that I could see her? Why didn't you believe me? Why?" "Listen to yourself, Sarah Jane. You're becoming overwrought, overexcited. You really need to calm down. I'm going to get your father and Sousa. Now you just sit here and try to relax. Do you have a doctor here? Where is his phone number? Does Stephen know it? Do you have any medication you can take, any sedatives?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Miranda Jean had followed me up the stairs and back down again and now she took cover behind me, preparing for the worst. "I am not overwrought or over-anything. Whether or not you admit it, you heard her. What I need from you is an honest answer. Can you at least give me that...please?" I could feel myself trembling. It was coming from someplace deep inside of me. It was coming from a pain that had been born that day in June so many years ago. "I don't have an answer, because nothing happened, I didn't hear your sister today or any other day. You're confused, Sarah Jane. That's what it is. That's the only thing it could be, you know. Rational people cannot see or hear people who have passed on, they just can't. That's a fact. That's the way things are and there's no changing it. Only people who are sick think they can see or hear the dead or spirits or well, you know. So you see, nothing happened, nothing could have happened, so nothing did and that's the end of it. Do you understand?" It was hopeless. The pain in her eyes was real, but it was obvious that she believed what she believed and even if she had heard Miranda Jean, she would refuse to allow herself to admit it. Only crazy people could hear the dead, only sick people, only people like me. I think it would be fair to say that she may have heard bits and pieces of her little girl gone for years, but most likely attributed it to daydreams and other easily explained phenomenon; rather than Miranda Jean's real ghostly voice. Anything else would be too much for her mind to handle. So if I were to actually try to live in that new 'frame', I had no choice but to let it go. "Yes, Mom I understand. I guess it was just my mistake. I'm sorry, I won't mention it again." The muscles in her face relaxed a bit and she tried to smile, though it was a weak attempt. "I think that would be best." "Okay, well, it's been an awfully long weekend. So, I think I'll head upstairs and lie down after all. If you'll excuse me..." She put her arms around me and made a brief try at a hug, managing something more like a shoulder to shoulder stand-off with a brief peck on the cheek. "Take care, Sarah Jane. I really do think you should find a doctor out hear that you could see on a regular basis. Maybe I could get Dr. Rudolph to recommend someone for you." I quickly pulled back. "That's not necessary. Really, I'm fine." I turned and re-traced my steps back up to my room and quietly shut the door. I had assumed Miranda Jean would be right behind me, but upon reflection it made perfect sense that she would go to the train station and keep an eye on Mom. She needn't have bothered. When she returned from the train station she looked worse than I felt. She resembled those pictures of the little children left orphaned in third world countries by war or disease. Hopeless, defeated, as if her face had never felt the stirrings of a smile and her eyes had never seen the sun. When she and Stephen walked into the kitchen, him with the look of a newlywed happy to be once again with his bride, and Miranda Jean, with the face of and angel who most surely had been pushed out of Heaven, all I could do was cry. Dear Stephen not really understanding, but so full of love, gathered me into his arms and just rode out the storm of tears until I was spent. All the while, Miranda Jean, still so small, in her green and yellow sun-suit, cried her ghostly tears, her arms wrapped around the two of us. At the train station she had been determined to force Mother to own up to her existence. She had whistled in her right ear and then her left. She sang lullabies that Mother had sung to us as loudly as she could, but with no result other than the complaint of a ringing in her ears. She tried calling out to her, over and over again, first in one ear and then the other, but Mother either couldn't or wouldn't hear her. So Miranda Jean had finally given up and come back, beaten down and soul weary. And why not? She was feeling now how I'd been feeling ever since the first time I had seen her standing by the oak tree, and no one but me could see her. Once more as identical twins often do, although not physical this time, we were now sharing an identical pain. It was a pain I had carried since my sister had died. I had hoped she would never have had to experience it, but just like Sousa said about hope, 'if pebbles were pennies...' |
| When I opened my eyes I was lying on a bench in the train station and much to my surprise, Stephen was hovering over me instead of my mother. I just naturally assumed my mother would have taken charge of me and excluded Stephen. But here he was holding my hand and gently dabbing my forehead with his now-dampened handkerchief. I tried to sit up but he would have none of it. "Just lie still for a minute until you cool down a bit. I think the heat was too much for you Sarah. We should have waited inside." Miranda Jean was standing right next to him and she had her hand on my shoulder. "It's about time you opened up your eyes Sarah Jane! I've only been waiting for about forever, y'know! But you sure didn't have to faint, did you?" I couldn't believe she was back and I had no idea what she meant about waiting for me, truth be told I really didn't care what she meant. I was just elated that she was back. Though I certainly couldn't let my folks know she was there. So I decided to go with Stephen's theory and blame the whole incident on the heat. "You're right, Stephen. It's awfully warm out there, isn't it? I'm so sorry everybody. Mom and Dad, Sousa, this is Stephens Kilpatrick, my fiance'. Stephen, this is..." My father actually grinned. "We already took care of that, Sarah Jane. We kind of figured it out when we were carrying you inside. Are you feeling strong enough to get up now?" I sat up and kind of turned my head from side to side, kind of like a test run. "Everything seems to be in working order. I guess we better get your luggage over to Aggie's and get you all settled in, okay?" It seemed to me that in any case, the best possible course of action would be normalcy. Although how that was going to happen now that Miranda Jean was back was just a bit beyond my understanding. Contrary to my rising panic, it wasn't difficult at all to maintain the illusion of the absence of Miranda Jean. For some reason, and I have my theories, I found it easier now to hide her existence than I did when I was still living at home. For one thing when I was back home, the atmosphere, for lack of a better word, was always tense. My relationship with both of my parents was strained and edgy. Some of the time I was on psychotropic medications and some of the time I wasn't, so the definitive line between reality and fantasy was not a constant for me. It wasn't so much a feeling of walking about on eggshells as walking on the green sapling branch of a tree held over a thundering waterfall. The branch wasn't strong enough to keep me from falling, but it was also too weak to hold me up so I could climb back to the bank. Without malice or intent my parents, in the end, encouraged this state-of-mind. Popping me to and fro like a ping-pong ball between home and Dr. Rudolph and his hospital of holy head-shrinkers. Is it any wonder why I was unable to consistently cover up my twin's many visits? In Arizona I had finally gotten a chance to completely 'wake-up' and find out who I really was, in a sense meet myself. I learned who Sarah Jane Foster really was, and I was beginning to like her. I was calmer and I liked to think things through before I acted. I found out that I was funny and a good listener and I found out that I wasn't afraid anymore. If Miranda Jean had never come back, I would have grieved for her and I doubt I ever would have healed completely. But I also know I wouldn't be scared to be alone, I would be alright. So now that she was back, I could easily take her existence as a normal part of my life. Or maybe I should re-phrase that and say she was a normal part of me, as if she were a part of my body or my soul. Granted, most people don't go around talking to parts of their body or soul, most normal people that is, but what is normal? At any rate, I found it much easier to pretend that she wasn't there when there were other people in the room. It wasn't until late that evening that she and I had a chance to be alone. There had been the obligatory family dinner with my family, Jonah, Stephen and Aggie, and as those things go, it went pretty well. My folks have that kind of cold, midwestern "We don't know you and don't care to" kind of reserve, but it didn't take long for Aggie and Jonah to draw them out and make them feel welcome. Though Sousa and Aggie had become instant friends as soon as we arrived. Sousa asked Aggie if she had any honey she might put in her coffee. Putting honey in coffee was one of Aggie's secret vices that she believed nobody else in the world shared, and when she heard that, she began laughing and hugged Sousa so hard, I though her eyes might pop right out of her head. After explaining the reason for the hug and dousing their coffee with generous helpings of that devil, honey, they also found out about some other shared habits and spent a good portion of the evening sharing cigarettes on the back porch. Finally there we were, the two of us sitting there on my bed, door closed just like when we were small and we refused to sleep in our own beds. We'd be all bathed, storied and tucked in nice and tight each in our separate, downy space, and two minutes wouldn't have passed before I had jumped into her bed or she into mine. I don't think we ever slept alone, not even once right up until the day Miranda Jean died. For a fleeting second the memory brought the trace of a tear to my eyes, but I swallowed hard and shook it off. "Where have you been? It's been months and months. I've been trying to find you since before I left home." Although the questions sounded stern, they issued forth from a smiling mouth and joyful eyes. I was so elated that she was back in my life, her hands in mine. She continued to hold my hands but the smile on her face showed concern. Her eyes and the corners of her mouth turned downward and then I saw a shiny, wet tear slowly slide down her cheek and drip onto her sun-suit. I let go her hands and wiped the wetness from her cheek. As I did, she reached up and put her arms around my neck and squeezed me tightly for a moment. "Sarah Jane, it's like before, it's like before only worse, way worse." I didn't understand what she was saying. I only knew she was upset and a feeling of sadness as deep as the sea was coming off her in waves. It washed over me like an over-sized black, sticky spider web. "Tell me what you're talking about, Miranda Jean, I don't understand. What's happening to you?" When she looked up at me she tried to smile, it was so clear that she was trying to overcome whatever it was that she feared. "It's not me, it's you. I've been here all along. Every time you called me. I answered and every time you looked for me, I was there. I was there back home and I was there on the bus; I was even there that night in the tree-house. I've been here in Arizona from the beginning. But you just won't see me, Sarah Jane. You just won't look at me. What did I do? Are you mad at me? I don't mind about Stephen, honest I don't. I think he's nice, I do, really." I could feel my heart start to pound really, really fast and I felt hot all over and it had nothing to do with the weather. She'd been there the whole time, she hadn't gone anywhere. It was me. I was the problem. I hadn't seen her. It was me. What had I done? Could it happen again? Would I make her vanish again? What if she went away forever? It was me. It was me. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." I put my arms around her and we rocked back and forth just a bit, until we both felt better, or at least until I did. I couldn't be sure about Miranda Jean anymore. I couldn't be sure about anything anymore. I held my breath and took a stab at hope and the future. "But you're here now and I can see you now and that's good. Let's just hope you're here to stay. But I do have one question, why were you on the train?" "Well, you couldn't see me here by myself, so I went to the station with you and while you were waiting I decided to get on the train. I thought maybe Mom or Dad or maybe Sousa might kind of feel me there. But nothing happened, well kind of nothing. I kept blowing in Sousa's face really hard, and after a few minutes she started kind of looking up and down and all around her, kind of funny-like. I think she might have known I was there." Her spirits, so to say, were rising and there was a smile on her face again. "You could be right; Sousa always believed me. She's the only one who ever did. Did Mom do anything or see anything?" "You know the answer to that, Sarah Jane." I nodded. "Yes, I guess I do. I was just hoping." "Like Sousa used to say, 'No point hoping for pebbles to turn into pennies', no point hoping for Mom to see me, is there? Except..." "Except what?" "Well, I was just fooling around and I said, 'BOO!' real loud right in front of her face, and she didn't jump or anything, but it seemed like her eyes got really big for a second. No, probably just my imagination, don't you think so?" "I think so, maybe you're the one who should go and see Dr. Rudolph." "That's not funny, Sarah Jane." "I'm sorry, I was just making a joke, I wasn't serious. You know I didn't mean it." I took hold of her hand and held it tightly. She looked so stricken for a moment. "I know," she said. "It's just that I don't want to be where you can't find me again. Okay?" "Okay." And we climbed under the covers and slept soundly until the alarm buzzed at five-thirty bringing a new day with its own set of challenges. I hardly think I could have gotten through the next couple of days without Miranda Jean by my side. It was obvious that she had to remain a secret, but she provided literally, the cool touch of reason amid the madness that leads up to a wedding. One might ask how a child of seven could provide a sense of sanity to any situation and it would be a valid question. But it wasn't so much her words or her actions, but more simply, just her presence that steadied me and gave me the peace I needed to get through those taxing wedding jitters and more. I had of course, told Stephen that she had returned at the first opportunity we had to be alone, and once again he had surprised me with his easy support and love. In point of fact, he made me envious of the childhood he must have spent to have grown into the extraordinary man he had become, and I felt lucky that someday my children would have Jonah for a grandfather. It was Friday, the day before the wedding and I had taken time off from the diner to take care of last minute things and spend some time with my family. But by the time I was up, dressed and downstairs with Miranda Jean in tow, I found all three of them sharing the paper on the back porch with what was obviously their second or third cups of coffee, post-breakfast. When I offered to take them sight-seeing I was told by my father that they were quite fine right where they were and I was to just go about my business and pretend they weren't even there. I got the message and went into the kitchen to pour myself a cup and check my list of things-to-do. It was then that Stephen showed up on the front porch, and before he could even knock, I was on my feet and ushering him inside. Miranda Jean, obviously feeling a bit ignored, turned once again into the trickster she'd always been, and making herself nearly transparent, walked right through Stephen. He of course didn't feel a thing, but my eyes went wide and I started giggling. "What's so funny? Have I put my shirt on inside out or something?" He began to check his clothes and even went so far as to peer into the oval mirror that hung in the front hallway. Seeing nothing odd, he smiled and said, "C'mon Sarah, I don't get it, give me a hint at least." I put my arms around him and kissed him, and when I did I could feel Miranda Jean putting her small, seven-year-old arms around our legs, hugging both of us. "It's not you, honey, really." He tilted his head and looked at me. "If it's not me and I doubt you're suddenly laughing at yourself, is there something you want to tell me? Maybe something to do with why you fainted yesterday?" Miranda Jean took hold of my hand and pulled on it. I looked down at her surprised eyes and a smile that was quickly spreading across her face. "Maybe we should sit down, or maybe you don't need to, since you already seem to know what I have to tell you. She's come back Stephen. Miranda Jean came back yesterday, at the station. I saw her when they got off the train and I was so shocked, between the surprise and the heat I guess it was too much and I just lost it." He put his arms around me and held me close for a moment without saying a word. Then he leaned back, brushed my hair out of my eyes and said, "I'm so glad for you Sarah. I know how you've been missing her. I know how much she means to you." Even though he had been understanding when I first told him about Miranda Jean. I couldn't believe my ears. I thought to myself, 'Did he really say what I think he said?' It was impossible. It felt as though the world had turned upside-down and inside-out. As if, were I to go outside I would find dogs walking people and houses made of graham crackers. "You're serious, aren't you?" "Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be? I trust you Sarah, you know that." I looked down at Miranda Jean and back at Stephen and smiled. "It just takes some getting used to, I guess. Having people believe me, I mean. It's kind of unnerving, you know?" He laughed. "I guess so." He paused for a moment as if he was turning something over and over in his mind and it turned out he was. "Sarah, is she here now? Can you talk to her? Can I talk to her?" For the second time in the span of about one minute he had stunned me again. Did the sun still rise in the east and set in the west? I didn't think I would ever be able to breathe normally again. Talk to her, he wanted to talk to her? What next, would I be able to walk through the wall? "Uhhm, sure, yes, she's here and I guess you can talk to her. Just go ahead and talk and I'll tell you what she says." "Where is she, Sarah?" I needed to sit down and I needed some caffeine. I poured a fresh cup and sat down hard in the nearest kitchen chair. Miranda Jean stayed close, never moving more than a foot or so from me, she suddenly seemed quiet, almost shy, a trait I had never associated with my sister. "She's right here next to me, Stephen." "Oh," he said and looked intently to the right of me, while Miranda Jean stood at my left. "Well, uh, Miranda Jean I know you don't know me or anything about me, but..." "Stephen she's over here," and I indicated my left side, trying to suppress my smile. Miranda Jean on the other hand wasn't even making the slightest effort to control her laughter, which by the way, is very infectious and hard to ignore. "Oh, sorry. Anyway, I just want you to know that I love your sister and I'll always take good care of her." Miranda Jean looked up at me, stuck her tongue out and gave me her 'yucky' face. The one we used when we saw Mom and Dad kissing. "Is he gonna keep talking about all that icky love stuff? 'Cause if he is, I'm getting out of here. Besides, doesn't he know that I like him? If I didn't like him, he would have known by now, y'know?" I couldn't help but giggle a bit. "Well, what did she say? Did she say anything?" He had such a serious look on his face I almost felt sorry for him. "Well, she said she likes you and she's glad we're getting married." His eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "Really? Is that what she said? Are those her exact words?" What could I say? "Yeah, that's it, pretty much exactly." I didn't think I could explain the inner workings of the mind of a seven-year old girl, who was just this side of being a tomboy. The last thing she wanted to talk about were the thoughts and feelings of a groom the day before his wedding. She would much rather pull Sousa's chair back just before she sat down, or remove all the silverware after the table had been set, or any number of other childish pranks her busy mind could create. I think the thing that bothered her most was her fear that Stephen would take me away from her. She didn't need to worry. I knew that as self-confident as I may have felt in growing up and away from my parents, I would never be completely whole without Miranda Jean, or at least a part of her, in my life. This was a fact of my life that could not be changed, diluted, moved or disputed, it just was what it was, a fact. Later that night, after all the tissue-paper flowers had been made to decorate Stephen's car, all the sugared almonds had been wrapped in white netting and tied with satin ribbons, all the gardenia and camellia bouquets and boutonnieres had been picked up from the florist and carefully fit into Aggie's refrigerator, I was finally able to lay head to pillow with hopes of a deep and dreamless sleep. Unfortunately Miranda Jean had other ideas and my sleep was not included among them. She had been bored senseless by the pre-wedding chores of the evening, not having been able to participate or even to have been part of the conversation. She had tried to make an impact with assorted jokes and tricks, but other than continuously hiding the scissors and replacing Aggie's sugar bowl with salt, she just didn't have much of an impact. So now that I was ready to wind down and sleep, she was just getting ready to roll. "Quit closing your eyes Sarah Jane!" C'mon we haven't hardly talked all day. Do you have a deck of cards? Wanna play Crazy Eights? How 'bout Checkers?" She was sitting at the foot of my bed, literally bouncing up and down. I raised myself up on one elbow and looked down at her. "Miranda Jean, I'm exhausted and I'm getting married in the morning. Please, come on up here and snuggle up and let me get some sleep. I'm too tired to play right now." "But I'm not tired at all and I don't want to go to sleep. You didn't hardly talk to me all day, Sarah Jane, c'mon, get up. How come you're so tired, anyway?" And again she was bouncing up and down, over and over. I pulled myself up into a sitting position and threw my pillow at her. Since she was in solid form it knocked her backward and she rolled sideways, before she sat up and threw it back at me. "I've been up since five-thirty this morning and it's nearly half past midnight now, that's why I'm tired. You have too, why aren't you tired?" "That's a really silly question," she said, and she smiled that devilish grin I knew so well. "I kinda thought you would have noticed by now that since I'm well, since I'm, you know, not like you, I don't get sleepy. I don't get hungry or eat either." She was absolutely right, but I really had never thought about it. "But what about all those times, especially in the hospital when you and I laid in bed and held hands 'til we fell asleep? Correction, I guess it was 'til I fell asleep, wasn't it? Did you stay there all night with me or did you go somewhere else?" A look swept over her face that I didn't recognize. It was at once grown-up and chid-like at the same time and it occurred to me that though she had never physically aged, she had been present for the last eleven years and must surely have matured in other ways. Her eyes looked to hold secrets deep and untold. "It's hard to explain. It's not important." "But it is important, I can see that. Were you with me all night or were you somewhere else?" She opened her mouth and then closed it again. Then tried once more, "when you first begin to fall asleep I start to feel lighter, like I'm floating. And then, well...then, just nothing." "What do you mean nothing?" "Just what I said, nothing. I'm gone, I'm not real anymore, not until you're awake again. Then suddenly I'm there, as if I've always been and always will be, even when you don't see me. If you call me I'm there, and when you sleep I'm not. It's always been that way. It's not a big deal, really it's not." I reached out and pulled her to me and held her tight in my arms. "I wish I could change things. I wish I could go back and keep you from jumping into the river that day or maybe jump in with you, so we would both be moved onto wherever spirits move onto. But I can't, I can't even keep you from vanishing for six to eight hours every night. I'm so sorry Miranda Jean, I'm so very sorry." "There's nothing to be sorry about, really. It's just a fact of life, or well...never mind. And I'm sorry for trying to keep you up. It wasn't fair of me. I don't get tired and you've been up for a long, long time and after all, Sarah Jane, you are getting married in the morning. So you go to sleep and I'll be right here when you wake up." "I can't, not now, not when I know what happens to you when I sleep. I'll be alright, I've gone without sleep before." Sarah Jane Foster, I mean it, if you don't go to sleep, I won't be here in the morning." Her arms were folded across her chest and she was trying hard to look like Sousa. It was so comical, I couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, I'll make you a deal. How about if I turn the radio on and we'll sing along for awhile, then if I do fall asleep, it won't be because I didn't try to stay awake, alright?" She crawled under the blankets while I adjusted the radio until the static was gone. Then we both got comfortable, singing along with the top forty until my voice faded and sleep took me. The morning sun had barely lifted itself over the horizon, peeking through my bedroom curtains, glazing the room with a faint blush when I awoke with a start. I felt like I was supposed to be somewhere or I was late for something or most certainly had forgotten something important. I was sure that the mad pounding of my heart would wake the entire neighborhood. But once I was able to clear the cobwebs from my head and open my eyes more than just a slit, my heart resumed its normal rhythm and I remembered that it was just my wedding day. 'Just my wedding day? Was I crazy?' I threw back the rose-edged quilt and literally leaped out of bed, unfortunately tripping over one white satin pump and landing knees and elbows on the hardwood floor. Pushing myself back into a sitting position I examined the injured parties and determined that nothing was broken or sprained aside from my ego, I gingerly stood up and said a brief prayer of thanks and a plea for grace on this day of days. |
| I didn't date much in high school. I was never sure if this was because the boys thought I was nuts or because their parents did. At any rate, I was ready fifteen minutes before Stephen arrived and I spent that time wearing a rut into Aggie's front hall carpet, as I paced back and forth. When the bell rang, right on the dot at eight o'clock my nerves were so jangled, I nearly jumped high enough to bump my head on the chandelier. On the other hand, he was so calm and easy-going, that in no time at all I was laughing at his impression of his least favorite professors. We had dinner at a small Italian restaurant downtown and by the end of the evening it felt as if we'd known each other for years. During dessert he told me that he was an only child. His mother had died when he was six years old. His father, also a lawyer, had raised him here in Phoenix. And other than wanting to be a lawyer since he was ten years old, he loved mystery novels, hiking and working on his 1962 Ford Falcon. So I told him that I was an identical twin and that my sister, Miranda Jean drowned when were seven years old. But I stopped there. I liked him and he was easy to be with, but I didn't think a first date was the time to drop a bomb like that. I mean, how would it sound to someone you just met? 'Hi, my sister drowned when we were seven, but I can see her and talk to her, so she's not really dead to me.' Great! Doesn't really lead to an offer of a second date, does it? I didn't think so, so I held my peace. Stephen continued coming into the diner to study and we began going out on a pretty regular basis. After a few months I met his father, and Stephen got to know Aggie pretty well, sharing the sunset on her porch most evenings before we went out to dinner. Before I knew it my conversation began to be sprinkled with more 'we's' than 'I's' and all of my spare time was spent either at Aggie's or with Stephen. After a time, I knew I had to come clean and tell him about Miranda Jean. We were becoming too important to each other, too close to hold something back. My birthday was coming up on Sunday and Aggie had planned a supper of her special chicken fried steak and what she called hobbled potatoes, and had invited Stephen and LeAnn. Dinner had been great, especially listening to Aggie and LeAnn arguing about who really came up with the recipe for hobbled potatoes. The back and forth banter had Stephen and I laughing so hard, the tears were streaming down my face and Stephen was nearly choking on his strawberry shortcake. Finally, Aggie agreed they'd probably never know for sure and they began to clear the table. I got up to help, but they just shooed the both of us away, so out to the porch we went. The sun was just setting and as we sat down on the swing I decided that now was as good a time as any to tell him. "Stephen, remember when I told you that my twin sister drowned when we were small?" I didn't wait for his reply, I just forged ahead. "Well, there's more to it than that. She died, but she didn't. Not to me. The day of her funeral, she appeared to me. I could see her, her ghost I mean. I still can, sometimes." The expression on his face stopped me cold. He was staring at me with a look I couldn't identify. His face had lost most of it's color and in the darkening light he looked very pale. I reached out and touched his shoulder. "Stephen?" He didn't move, didn't say anything. He just stared, but it was almost as if he were staring through me instead of at me. I was so sure it had been the right thing to do to tell him about Miranda Jean. I couldn't believe I had been so wrong. I reached out and took his hands in mine. "Stephen, listen to me. Stephen what is it, what's wrong? Please let me explain." For just a moment he put his head down and when he raised it I could see that there were tears in his eyes. He kept hold of my hands, leaned forward and kissed me softly. Then he spoke very quietly. "Sarah, you don't have to explain anything. You just took me by surprise, that's all. I can tell by your expression that I've frightened you. I'm sorry." "I don't understand. What is it?" "The thing is, I've never told this to anyone...not my father, not a friend, no one. When my mother died, I think I told you...I was six years old. I'm not sure how long after, maybe a few weeks, maybe a month, she came to me. I saw her and she spoke to me. No, she didn't just speak to me, we talked and she told me to be good and that she would watch over me and that I should look after my dad. And I promised her that I would. I saw her four times. In four different places and it was so real. I wasn't asleep and I wasn't dreaming. I never told anyone. I didn't think anyone would believe me. But I only saw her four times and she never came back. I haven't thought about it in years. Now, listening to you it's like it's just happened all over again. She was real, wasn't she?" "Oh Stephen, that must have been so hard for you. Though you were the smart one, you didn't tell anyone." I smiled. "And to answer your question, my answer to you would be yes. I believe you did see and talk to your mother. Then again, most people think I'm nuts. Oh, Stephen, I was so afraid of what you might think of me." "I love you Sarah, and there's nothing that you could ever do or say that would make me love you any less. The fact that you can see your sister is just a part of who you are, it's not the sum of what you are. Do you see that?" "Most of the time I do, but sometimes I get wound up in how other people see me, my parents for example. They only see me as an illness to be feared and held at arms length. From the beginning they never once believed me. They never listened to me. So you can see why I'm not always so sure of myself and why my relationship with them is a bit strained." He squeezed my hands even tighter. "You don't ever have to worry about that with me. I will always believe whatever you tell me. I trust you Sarah. Now, tell me more about your sister. Do you still see her?" I shook my head, "Not lately. I haven't seen her since before I left home. She's been gone for long periods before when I was in the hospital, but never like this. Aggie says I should just be patient, but it's hard. Having had her with me all this time is as if she never died at all. So I've never had to deal with grief. Now, every day without her feels more and more like death and I'm so scared that I won't see her again. I probably sound like a fool, don't I?" "Not at all. You sound like someone who doesn't want to lose someone they love very much. I'd be surprised if you felt differently. But I think Aggie;s right. Just try and be patient, she's been with you this long...she's bound to come back. Everything will be alright, Sarah, I don't know how, but it will." Then he leaned forward, put his hands on my shoulders to draw me closer, and gently but firmly, kissed me. "Stephen," I whispered, "Aggie or LeAnn could come walking in here any minute. I think we should wait until I walk you to your car for good-night kisses, don't you?" "I don't think we have to worry about Aggie or LeAnn. They're busy watching T.V. and won't be coming out here at all." "And how would you know that?" I asked. "Because that's what I asked Aggie to do." I stopped and stared, "You what?" "Never mind, it's not important. What is important is that I love you Sarah." Then he reached inside his pocket, pulled out a small, velvet jeweler's box and opened it. Inside, cushioned in a pillow of velvet the color of the night sky was an engagement ring. The diamond was emerald-cut and was circled by tiny baguettes into an antique yellow-gold setting. "Will you marry me?" My heart dropped into my stomach or my blood rushed into my head. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but I thought I might faint or explode or simply pop and disappear. Then I looked at Stephen's face and into his eyes and they reflected what I felt in my heart and everything inside me stilled and I was at peace. I was home. My eyes filled with tears as I reached out and touched his face with my hand and gave him my answer. "Yes, as many times that I can say it, yes," I said. He let out a huge sigh as if he could finally breathe again. Then he took the ring from its resting place and put it on my finger. It was a perfect fit. I couldn't stop looking at, it was so extraordinary, so beautiful. "It's wonderful Stephen, it's just right. Wherever did you find it?" "Well," he stammered and ran his hand through his hair. "I hope you don't mind. My father gave it to me. It's my mother's. He said it gave them so much happiness and he wished the same for us. If you want something else, I can get you a different one." "No, no this is the one I want. This is the perfect ring, the right ring. Your father is a very wise and generous man." I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him. It was then that Aggie and LeAnn came practically pouring onto the porch. "Hey you two, let's save that for the honeymoon!" Aggie had her hands on her hips and was wearing her 'I mean business' face that she reserved for rowdy customers, though she could only hold it for about three seconds before the great big 'I love you' smile broke through and she had the two of us wrapped in a bear hug without any hope of escape. LeAnn was just as bad, but more more verbal, already making to-do lists for me of everything I would need for a wedding, from invitations to jello salad recipes to fruit punches - spiked or not? At that point, Stephen figured out that his best move would be to leave before he got drafted for some weird task like wrapping candied almonds in tulle with satin ribbon, which he still didn't understand. So he quietly grabbed my hand and led me through the house and out the front door to his car. I couldn't blame him, I was getting a little nervous myself with LeAnn's plans for our wedding. "We're just going to have a wedding, not a circus, right Sarah?" He looked like a little, lost boy. "Absolutely," I said as I tilted my head up to kiss him. "We'll give LeAnn a couple of days to have her fun and then we'll plan a lovely, quiet, small wedding, just the way we want. Okay?" "Okay," he answered. "I feel better already. What makes women do that, do you think?" "Hey now!" I shook my finger at him. "It's not all women. You have to remember, LeAnn's been married a few times. She loves weddings and considers herself to be an expert. And you have to admit it, she is a bit flamboyant." He started to laugh. "A bit? Okay, you win. As for our wedding, the only thing I insist on is this, you, me and a preacher. How does that sound?" I smiled. "It sounds good to me. Now you better get going before they both come out here and drag me inside to talk about casserole recipes." "Then I'm getting out of here. But not before I get a good-night kiss." He put his arms around me and kissed me as if we had never kissed before, but at the same time as if we had been together our whole life. He got into the car and started the engine. He put it into gear and just before he put his foot on the accelerator, I touched his arm and he stopped and looked up at me. "By the way," I said, "did I mention that I love you?" "Yes," he said, "I believe you may have said something about that. But I love hearing it again." Then he smiled and slowly drove off down the road. I went back into the house, my head filled only with thoughts of Stephen, while the plans and preparations of Aggie and LeAnn were just a far-off buzzing. ****** It wasn't long before the discussion of whether or not to invite my parents to the wedding came up. For Aggie and Stephen there should never have been a discussion. For me it was not so simple. To say that my relationship with them was strained would be akin to saying that some people other than the French had heard of the Eiffel Tower. In the end it was Stephen's father who convinced me to invite them to the wedding. The four of us, Stephen, I, Aggie and Jonah Kilpatrick, Stephen's father were all sitting on Aggie's porch after lunch one Sunday. We'd been talking about the wedding, the food for the reception to be exact, and suddenly Stephen's father cleared his throat, took a long drink of his iced tea and said, "Sarah, I think there's something you need to think about." He stood up and walked over to where I was sitting and put his hand on my shoulder. When he spoke his voice was soft and almost mesmerizing. "A family is a lonely place to be if there's only one. It's true you and Stephen have each other and Stephen has me and now you do too, want me or not. But blood is blood, dear and can never be replaced. And it binds us deep inside, the blood and the love. It's all wound up together at our core. Right now you may have trouble feeling it, but someday when you need it, you'll want it to be there. If you lock it up now and throw away the key, you won't ever be able to find it again. Don't toss it away so easily Sarah. Call your folks. If not for you, then do it for the children you and Stephen may have someday." I felt tears well up in my eyes and the pain I had carried for so long ease just a bit. Maybe I could try and look at things from my parent's point of view. After all, why would they believe me? To them I was crazy. They couldn't see Miranda Jean. Maybe they were doing what they thought was right. Maybe it wasn't me they wanted to get rid of, but the situation. I wasn't sure anymore. "Alright," I said. "I'll think about it." Jonah smiled. "That's all I ask." I wore Jonah's words like a cape for the next few days. Sometime they stayed close to me as if the cape never stirred and his words covered me. Other times the cape flapped about like the flag at the Post Office when a bad storm was brewing and the thought of talking to my mom and dad rode quickly in and out of my consciousness. By the end of the week I'd made my decision. I would call them, and quickly before I lost my nerve. Although I could have used the moral support, I didn't want an audience, so I shooed Stephen and Aggie to the back porch, so I could make the call alone. The phone rang seven times and I was reaching out to hang up when I heard a voice on the other line. I put the phone to my ear and said, "Hello?" Breathlessly, as if she'd been running up and down the stairs, I heard Sousa's voice, soft as syrup. "Sarah Jane, is that you girl...is that you?" With no warning at all, I felt hot tears lay tracks down my face. I couldn't answer her, the tears just kept falling and my throat seemed to close up. She tried again, but with more authority. "Baby girl, I did not pick up this telephone to play games. Now you speak to me right now, or I promise you I'll find you wherever you are, and you ain't too big to be sorry I did." It was Sousa and I was five years old again with my hand in the cookie jar. I slowly slid to the floor and began to cry. The tears kept flowing, but at least now I could talk. I wiped my nose and mouth with the back of my hand and tried to pull myself together, but I knew Sousa and what's more, she knew me inside and out and there wouldn't be any hiding. Then again, she'd always believed me, every step of the way. Well, I hadn't called to say hello and hang up, so I forged ahead. "It's me Sousa, how are you?" "How am I, how am I? We don't hear from you in seven months and all you have to say is 'how am I?' I could be dead and buried, child and you wouldn't know any better, now would you, for all the interest you're showing, now would you?" "Sousa, I'm sorry, really, I'm..." "Don't, Sarah Jane, I'm just teasing you, honey. Oh, my sweet baby girl, how are you? We've been so worried about you. Now you go on and tell me everything before I have to go tell your Mama you're on the phone, 'cause you just know she's gonna have herself a real conniption. You had a birthday, honey. Did you have a good time? Do you have some friends, honey, some good people around you?" "I do, Sousa, yes I really do. Sousa, I'm getting married His name is Stephen Kilpatrick and he's a lawyer, well he just passed the bar exam, so he's a brand new lawyer. Anyway, the wedding is next month on the twenty-seventh and I want you and Mom and Dad to come and be here for the wedding. It won't be expensive and you can all stay here at Aggie's house, that's where I live. I live in my boss's house, uhm it's a great big, old house and it has lots and lots of room and she'd love to have you all here." I thought I could here my mother in the background, and before I could even ask, it was her voice that was speaking. "Sarah Jane, married? You can't be serious, Sarah Jane, marriage is a big step and you haven't been well, dear. Don't you think you should take some time, maybe come back home and see Dr. Rudolph first...before you make any big decisions?" There it was. Just like always. No matter how hard you tried to pretend it wasn't there, it was impossible. It was like a bad pet stain on the carpet. You could do your best to clean away the disgusting color and odor on the carpet, and for awhile it would appear to be gone. But sooner or later, with everyone walking on that carpet, the part of the stain that had seeped all the way down to the pad will work its way back up to the surface, like a ghost stain. And there it will be all over again. It will just never really go away. That was how my mother would always see me, damaged, defective, broken. It may not have been her fault that her perception of me became skewed, but as time wore on she never chose to adjust her window on me. Those were the facts as she knew them. "Mom, please just try and be happy for me, okay? I'm going to send you an invitation and all the details and some travel information that Stephen got from Amtrak and a couple of the airlines. So you've got about six weeks to get everything planned." "This isn't a good idea dear. Let me get your father on the phone. Maybe if you talked to him..." "No, Mom, really I feel perfectly fine. I'm alright and I'm looking forward to seeing you and Dad and Sousa. Just call me and let me know when you'll be arriving. I'll include phone numbers with the information and everything, okay? Look, I have to go now, so I'll talk to you later, alright?" "Sarah Jane, really honey, I think we should..." "I really have to get to work, Mom. Bye." I hung up the phone before she could get another word in, afraid that I might rise up and tell her what I really thought of her sainted Dr. Rudolph. I leaned against the wall next to the phone and realized that my whole body was shaking. No matter how much I tried to be my own person, to pretend that it didn't matter how or what my mother thought of me, it did. I could hold down a job, have friends, get married and live a long and fruitful life, but one conversation with my mother and suddenly every something meant nothing and my own body became a traitor. I walked over to the large parsons-style kitchen table and sat down. I felt as heavy as if I'd been carrying river rocks in my shoes. Would it always be this way? I dropped my head onto my arms and silently wept. It seemed as though I was somehow a part of every tear shed from the beginning of time. ****** The wedding was in three days and it seemed to Aggie and me that LeAnn was the one who was most likely to spontaneously combust from sheer excitement. From all signs and appearance, anyone would think that she was the bride, instead of me. I on the other hand was keeping a cool head about the wedding, it was the wedding guests that had me in a twist. My folks had finally agreed to attend the wedding, with some gentle pushing from Sousa, and they were arriving that afternoon by train. I'd helped Aggie get the house ready for company and we had spent the last two days cooking, not only for the wedding, but for the family. If there was one thing you could depend on Aggie for, it was food. But that morning, I was so nervous I'd fluffed, re-fluffed and fluffed again, the pillows in the guest room and the den and re-arranged the fresh flowers that I'd managed to place in almost every room. Aggie just watched me and smiled. "You look like a road-runner spinning his wheels and getting nowhere Sarah. Come and sit down in the kitchen with me and we'll have a cup of coffee. Besides you're starting to make me nervous and I'm never nervous." I gave up and followed her into the kitchen, took a seat and immediately began drumming my fingers on the table. Aggie brought two cups of coffee over, set them down and covered my hand with her own. "Enough already!" She sat down and took a long swallow of coffee, then slowly shook her head at me. "Alright, Sarah, we need to get a handle on this. I think maybe the first thing you need to do is breathe. Have you tried that today? Do you think you could just take a nice deep breath?" I looked into her eyes and saw the love she held for me there. Almost instantly I could feel the muscles in the back of my neck begin to loosen and my shoulders dropped a little, and finally I took a long needed breath. "This is insane! Why am I doing this?" "You're the only one who really knows. Personally, I think you just need to relax and look at things from a different perspective. They're just people, Sarah. They aren't monsters under the bed or villains up on a movie screen or even doctors who will take you away somewhere you don't want to go. You're an adult now and you make your own choices about your life. You do that, no one else does, just you. So put them in a frame of your own choosing and see them in the light that you can deal with, it's up to you." "A frame of my choice? You mean if I want to I can put the past aside and start over with them now, here, today? Is that it?" I felt the possibilities of such a choice were so rich I could nearly taste the freedom of beginning again. Aggie nodded. "Yes, I suppose that could be one to look at it. But understand that although this may be your choice, that doesn't necessarily mean they will be starting over too. Their behavior won't change. The change will only come from you and your way of thinking. Do you see?" I felt a tiny piece of hope begin to rise from a place deep inside of me. "I think I do. It's like a sink when there's limestone and rust in the water. If you start out with a clean sink, but you use it everyday and never clean it, eventually the limestone and rust will cover the entire bowl of the sink. Now, you can't change the one side, the fact that there's limestone and rust in the water. But if you change your side, by cleaning the sink every day, the sink will never have limestone and rust deposits all over it. So real change on one side can make a difference, can't it, although people aren't nasty rust deposits are they?" "Well, not all of them, I guess." Just then I heard Stephen knocking at the screen door and realized that it was nearly twelve forty-five. The train was due to arrive at one-fifteen and it took about fifteen minutes to get to the station. I grabbed my purse and off we went, Stephen to meet his future in-laws and me to begin to re-write my life's story and put myself into a whole new picture frame. We could have waited inside the station where the ceiling fans at least moved the air around a bit, but I wanted to be outside when the train stopped. I wanted my folks to see me as soon as they stepped onto the platform. It was all part and parcel of wanting them to view me as a responsible adult, instead of an unstable child. I just knew the thoughts that would fly through their heads like swallows to Capistrano, should they have to come into the staion searching for me. Amtrak honored their advertising and the train pulled in at exactly one-fifteen. The temperature that day had already reached nearly one-hundred degrees and the heat produced by the train must have added at least fifteen more. It felt as if you could not only boil and egg on the sidewalk, but fry the bacon and percolate some coffee, too. Most of the passengers had already left the train and wandered into the station before I finally saw my father helping my mother step down onto the platform. And right behind them came Sousa, in a bright pink shirtwaist with matching shoes and a floppy, straw hat. I began waving broadly as Stephen and I quickly walked toward them. Just as I reached out to embrace my mother, I glanced at Sousa and right there standing next to her, smiling brightly in her yellow and green plaid sun-suit, was Miranda Jean. I took one step back and fainted dead away. |
| I was supposed to start work at six o'clock the next morning and I barely had enough money left to eat much less pay for a place to stay, so I just kind of walked around town for awhile and waited for it to get dark. Aggie had shown me around the whole diner, a sort of crash course in the inner workings of her place and there was a storage room that had a good-sized bench in it. I was hoping the door might be unlocked. After all, this was a small, homey kind of town and lots of people didn't lock their doors. Maybe, I'd get lucky. As soon as it got dark and the lights from the diner went out, I saw Aggie drive off in her truck. I went around to the back door to see if it was open. It wasn't, but the lock was cheap and easy to jimmy. The street light outside provided just enough light so I could make my way around the cluttered room. I cleared off the bench and within minutes, fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. I woke as the sun split into prisms through a small, broken window onto my face. For a minute I didn't know where I was, but the knot in my neck from sleeping on my bag reminded me soon enough. I went into the bathroom, washed my face and hands, re-combed my pony-tail and changed into a clean shirt. Then I grabbed my bag and went out the same way I came in, making sure to re-lock the door. I walked to the edge of the shopping district, then back around as if I was just coming in from somewhere on the edge of town. And it was that day, I decided, on my first day of work at Mom's House, I would take charge of my life and begin all over again. I was just two blocks from the diner when her truck rolled past me and pulled into the side street next to the diner. She got out, pulled two grocery bags from the passenger side and stood there at the front door and waited for me. I quickly picked up my step and in no time, took the bags from her so she could unlock the front door. "You're off to a good start, Sarah," she said. "I can't abide lateness for any reason at all. Keep it in mind. If ever you plan on being late, I'll expect a call from the hospital or the morgue, no offense, you understand," and with that she gave me a toothy smile. "None taken, Ma'am. I'm usually early or on time," I replied. "What would you like me to do first?" "Let's get those groceries put up, then start the coffee and get the griddle warmed up and ready. We'll have customers storming the doors in about thirty-five minutes. So get to it girl." "Yes, Ma'am." I'd had a few summers working at Shell's Family Restaurant back home, so it was pretty easy to learn my way around Mom's. Of course I had to learn the menu and the regular customer's likes and dislikes, but waitressing is waitressing regardless of where you're working. Aggie had her little quirks and ways of doing things and though she seemed gruff and hard, it was easy to see she had a soft spot for people and everyone knew it. There was only one other waitress and she'd been there since the diner had opened. Her name was LeAnn. She was about five feet tall, round and curvaceous and had the face of an angel. The very best way to describe her would be to say that she was like an active volcano. LeAnn was always at the eye of the storm. Which was also the usual reason why she could never get to the diner any earlier than nine-thirty on any given day. But, being who she was, Aggie learned to put up with LeAnn's schedule. Besides, the customers loved the drama. Before the clock hit seven, a half dozen people were already waiting to be let in, followed by a steady, unbroken stream that didn't let up until about ten and then began to pick up again about eleven-thirty for lunch. We got a short reprieve between two and four and then the dinner crowd poured in, and by the time we locked the door at seven, the three of us were dead on our feet. It had been a long time since I'd worked twelve hours straight, and seventeen years old or not, both my feet and back were truly aching. Even so, I was feeling pretty good. The pockets of my apron were filled with tips and I had earned every cent. Dishes done, tables wiped down, floor swept, coffee urns ready to go in the morning and Aggie's pies - three each, apple, peach, cherry and pecan, were freshly baked and ready for tomorrow. We all walked out together and Aggie locked the door. LeAnn climbed into her late model cherry red Corvette, tied a matching red scarf around her blonde hair and screeched down the street leaving us as tiny little dots in her rear-view mirror. As Aggie opened the door to her truck she looked up at me and said, "Can I give you a ride, Sarah?" Knowing that there wasn't anyplace for her to drive me, I just smiled and said, "No thanks, Aggie, it's so nice tonight, I think I'll just walk. See you in the morning." "Alright then. See you at six. Don't be late." "No problem." I walked away from the diner as I watched her get into her truck and drive away. I kept walking until I couldn't see her any longer. Then I doubled back around and entered the diner from the rear door the same as I'd done the night before. This would be okay for a little while, but I knew that washing up in a sink was going to get old in a hurry. I figured I'd cross that bridge when I came to it. I barely put my head onto my backpack before I fell asleep. I dreamed that I was running from someone. I ran and ran and ran until I finally ended up at the river on our farm and then I woke up shaking, in a cold sweat. My heart was pounding so hard, it felt as if all of the blood in my body was about to boil up and explode as if I were a bomb. When I finally calmed down I thought about the dream and realized that the person I was running from was Miranda Jean. It was the fourth morning that I met Aggie at the front door of the diner when I found out that she had known since the second day that I had been sleeping in her storeroom. "Sarah, after you start the coffee, come back here in the storeroom. I need some help getting these cans of cherry pie filling down." Since I had arrived Aggie had replaced her broken step-ladder with me, since I towered over her five-foot three frame by a good four or five inches. I reached up and handed down six cans of cherry pie filling, when she said, "Okay, that's enough. Leave the rest up there for now." I wiped my dusty hands on my apron and turned around to go back out into the diner, when she reached out and gently caught my elbow with her hand to stop me. "Sarah, we need to talk a minute." I turned to face her wondering what was coming next. Had I screwed up? Had a customer complained about me? Oh, God, where would I go from here? A million thoughts just tumbled around me and suddenly I felt my heartbeat in my ears, rushing like a thousand locust. I forced myself to breathe and then I finally opened my mouth. All I could manage to mumble was, "Okay?" She laughed. She looked right at me and she laughed. Then she put her hand on my shoulder and said. "Everything's okay girl. I'm not gonna shoot you or anything. For goodness sake, take a breath, will you? I just want to talk to you, is all. You're doing a fine job, I'm not firing you and everything is alright. Okay?" I let out a breath that must have sounded like the air being slowly released from a balloon. I could feel my face getting red and hot. I was embarrassed and blushing and was wishing that the floor would just open up and swallow me. "Now then, the way I see it, we have a little problem." She said. "I know you've been sleeping here in the storeroom, and really I don't mind. But the fact is the Board of Health surely would, if they caught on, you see? So I'd like to make you an offer. My son, Will has been married and moved off for thirteen years now and there ain't nobody in his room. It's just lying empty gathering dust. So, how about you and me figure out a fair rent and you move in with me? We can ride in to work together and you can finally get a bath, not saying you need one now. You been doing real well with the sink here, but the Board of Health and all, y'know? So, we get along, pretty good...whaddya think Sarah?" I couldn't believe my ears, I really couldn't. "Are you sure Aggie, you wouldn't mind?" "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it Sarah. Yes or no?" I could feel my face widening into a huge smile. "Yes, definitely yes. Thank you." I put out my hand to shake hers and she took it, but instead of shaking it, she pulled me to her and roughly hugged me than turned me loose with a gruff, "Alrighty then, back to work." That night I drove with Aggie to her place, an old Victorian house at the edge of town. It was yellow with white gingerbread trim and had a great, huge screened porch on the back, that ran the entire length of the house. It faced west and showed off the most beautiful sunsets I'd ever seen. It was easy to see why Aggie spent most of her evenings out there. It didn't take long for the two of us to let the air in and shake the dust out of Will's old room. By the end of the week, Aggie had spun some sort of magic and come up with multi-colored patchwork quilts and lace-tatted curtains, transforming a boy's hideaway into a girl's haven. All the room needed to finish it were the framed photos I'd brought from home, nicely settled on the dresser. If I couldn't talk to Miranda Jean in person, and it had been seven weeks since I had, at least it would be her face I would see before I fell asleep and the first I laid eyes on when I awoke. It also didn't take long before Aggie asked me about Miranda Jean. She'd seen the photographs, they were hard to miss positioned like trophies on the dresser. One evening after dinner, just as the sun was going down she looked over at me and very quietly said, "Would you like to tell me about your sister?" That was all it took, just one little question and it all came pouring out. Our childhood, the special bond we had, and the day she drowned. I don't know why I told her. It all came rushing out as if I were a soda bottle that had been shaken and then uncapped. I talked about the day I broke my leg and I told her about Sousa and how Miranda Jean must have called to her. And then I told her about Dr. Rudolph and Dalton Psychiatric Hospital. I told her about my parents and how they stopped believing anything that I said or did a long, long time ago. I even told her about all the stupid things I did in high school, the skipped classes, the drinking, everything. Then I told her how I ended up in Phoenix. It was strange. I'd only known Aggie a short time but I felt as if I had known her as long as I'd known myself. And even if I told her these things and she told me I was crazy and threw me out, I don't think I would have regretted telling her. Because on some level I knew that she would believe me, but more than that, I needed to say the words. I needed to tell the whole story to someone...anyone. I needed to be heard. It was pitch dark when I finished talking and Aggie had not said a word, had not made a sound. In the darkness I saw her silhouette rise and come toward me. She crouched at my chair, directly in front of me and took my hands in hers. "Oh, Sarah, my dear," she whispered, "you have been so strong to carry this with you for so long all alone. I'm so very sorry." I could just barely make her face out in the dark and I looked at her eyes, searching for what I heard in her voice. "You believe me? You believe I can see her? You don't think I'm crazy?" She held my face in her hand and looked into my eyes. "Yes, I believe she is with you and I believe you can see her. You're not crazy Sarah, you've never been crazy. Spirits don't always move on in the way that we think they do. Sometimes it isn't up to us to understand or make sense of it." I felt as if I could fly. My whole body felt so light, so free. There was nothing weighing me down. I had spoken the truth and nothing bad had happened. The sky hadn't fallen, the earth hadn't opened and I hadn't been locked in a small room with a four by nine inch barred window in the door. The only thing that could make me feel any better was if Miranda Jean would come back to me. Maybe now she would. Aggie stood up and gathered up the iced tea glasses to take in and turned to me. "How long has it been since she's appeared to you Sarah?" "Too long," I said, "about seven weeks or so, not since about a month before I left home. I've called her and called her but she just doesn't answer. Or maybe she does and I just can't see her. That happened a lot when I was in the hospital and on some of the medications they gave me." "Don't give up on her," she said, smiling. "If she's meant to get through to you, she will. I'm sure of it. Just have faith." After the conversation on the porch, my relationship with Aggie changed. She literally 'took me in', into her heart and under her wing. I think for her I might have been the daughter she never had and I know for certain that she was the mother I always wanted, and for a time, at least before Miranda Jean died, really did have. We had forged a bond that night, a trust in one another, and from then on we held nothing back. In no time at all I knew everything about her son Will and his family and she knew everything about me and mine. Our life together in the yellow house on Miller Road moved into a gentle rhythm, easy and predictable. The months flew by and I began to feel settled and finally safe, but for one thing. Miranda Jean was still gone and no matter what I did or how loud or long or lovingly I called for her, she never came to me. And there was truly a large part of my heart that constantly ached, and I knew it would never, could never, ever heal. Things at the diner were always predictable, same customers, same orders, same blue plate specials. Day after day after day. Until one Tuesday morning around seven-thirty, when a young man with terribly unkempt, red hair and an armload of textbooks came in and ordered toast, bacon and coffee. He ate the toast, let the bacon get cold and then munched on it while he studied. I must have refilled his coffee nine or ten times. He studied straight through the lunch hour and didn't leave until almost one o'clock. He repeated this behavior every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday for the next four weeks and then during the fourth week he also came in on Friday. As usual, I walked over to him with a cup of coffee, but this time I didn't bring the toast or bacon which I'd been doing since the second week. I set down his coffee cup and waited for him to look up from his book. It took him a little while to notice me standing there but when he did, I saw that he had the greenest eyes I had ever seen. I looked back at him and said, "We're all out of toast. And bacon. We're all out of bacon too. We never have toast or bacon on Friday's." He just stared at me. Then his mouth dropped open and he smiled. "I see," he said. "I guess I'll have to go somewhere else then. Do you know of any other places that might have toast and bacon? Or could you recommend something else?" "Well now," I smiled back at him. "Let me think. I don't know of any other diners in the area. You might want to try some link sausage and maybe a danish. Just for a change of pace, you know. Of course if you're really set on toast and bacon I might be able to find you some. If you're really set on it. If the price is right." "If the price is right? Okay, would you be interested in a trade? Say my name for yours?" "I think that might be arranged. Boy you really are a pushover for toast and bacon, aren't you?" His smile lit up his whole face and it was clear he was trying hard not to laugh. "You've got me there. I'll do almost anything for a good plate of toast and bacon. Allow me to introduce myself. Hi, I'm Stephen Kilpatrick, nice to meet you...and you are?" I couldn't help but laugh. I put out my hand and shook his. "I'm Sarah, Sarah Foster, good to meet you, Stephen. Now, please tell me, what is it with you and the toast and bacon?" He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "It's nothing really, I'm just a creature of habit, that's all. It's easy to eat when I'm studying, nothing to spill or drip, just crumbs so no big deal." "Makes perfect sense," I said. "So what are you studying so intensely all these weeks?" He spread all of his books out on the table. "I just finished law school and I take the bar exam next month. I know it sounds ridiculous but I can't study in the library, it's too quiet. When I'm in here, with the coffee and just the background noise I actually get quite a lot of studying done. So this is where I've been coming. Although there is one distraction that I've had to deal with in here." "Really, what's that?" "Actually," he said, "the distraction is you." "Oh, I'm sorry, " I replied. "Have I been too noisy? I shouldn't have bothered you today. I'm so sorry. I'll just get your..." "No Sarah, that's not what I meant. I meant being around you is distracting, and I was wondering if you might like to go to dinner with me tonight?" He ran his hand through his rumpled hair which only served to make it even more rumpled. "Dinner? Uhm, okay, I guess, sure," I answered. "I get off at seven, but I'll want to freshen up a bit. I could be ready about eight o'clock, would that be alright?" There was that smile again. It was like lighting a fire in his bright, green eyes. "Eight would be just fine. Just write your address on a napkin and I'll pick you up. Well, I guess I'd better hit the books again. Oh, and about that toast and bacon?" "Yessir, coming right up." It didn't take long for Aggie to catch on to the fact that Stephen had asked me out. Especially since she'd been buzzing back and forth between the dining room and the kitchen supposedly checking on customers. Aggie never checked on customers. That was a job for me and LuAnn. She stayed in the kitchen and took care of the cooking. The only reason she was in the dining room was because LeAnn had tipped her off that something was up with the 'cute redhead' and Sarah. That had surely raised her antennae, so her buzzing around was for my own protection. Lucky for me, by the end of the day Aggie and LeAnn had decided that Stephen was alright and my date was a 'go'. Apparently they discussed it with most of the regulars and quite a few of them knew him or his father and they all gave him their stamp of approval. It seemed no matter where you went small town living remained the same. |
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