The Silent Sister
“About what?” Tom nodded in my direction. “What’s she been telling you?”
Verniece reached toward the refrigerator. “Would you like—” she began, but Tom put his arm out to stop her from opening the door. I was disappointed. I would have loved some of that cool refrigerator air to seep into the RV.
“We don’t need to entertain them,” he said to Verniece. He looked at Danny. “Get to the point, all right? It’s going to rain this afternoon and I want to get some fishing in before the downpour.”
“We’re supposed to get an inch or more,” I said, like this was a pleasant visit between neighbors.
“How did you know there was a second set of footprints at that marina where our sister’s car was found?” Danny asked.
Tom couldn’t seem to look my brother in the eye. He fiddled with a pill bottle that sat on the counter. “Why are you dredging up that old nonsense?” he asked. “It’s like I told her.” He nodded toward me as if he’d forgotten my name. “I read it somewhere.”
“But that information was withheld from the media, Tom,” I said. “You couldn’t have read it.”
“Really?” Verniece looked puzzled. “I remember reading about it, too. At least I think I did. It was so long ago.”
I wondered if Danny could be wrong. Maybe the information had made it to one of the papers after all.
“You couldn’t have,” Danny said to Verniece. “So, come on. Out with it. How did you know?”
“Please think back, both of you,” I said, almost gently, trying to counter my brother’s harsh tone. “Try to remember how you heard about it.”
They fell silent. Tom folded his beefy arms across his chest and looked into space, like he was considering the question. Verniece gave him a stubborn glance as she reached for the refrigerator door again. She opened it and took two bottles of orange soda from inside the door, then handed them to Danny and me.
“Here, Riley,” she said. “You look like you need to cool off.”
My phone rang as I took the bottle from her, and I pulled it from my pocket to check the caller ID. Christine. No surprise there. She’d be annoyed when I didn’t pick up. I set the phone on the counter and twisted the cap off the bottle. I took a long swallow, then pressed the cool bottle against my neck. Did they have any air-conditioning blowing in this trailer at all? How did they stand it?
“You know what I bet it was?” Tom said finally, as though he’d thought the question through and come to a conclusion. “I was with the U.S. Marshals Service back then. I knew people. The state police got involved with that case. FBI, too. I had a few buddies in both places, so maybe I didn’t read it. Maybe I heard it from one of them.”
“And then you probably told me sometime over the years,” Verniece added. She looked relieved to have an answer.
“And what did your buddies make of those two sets of footprints?” Danny asked.
Tom shrugged. “That maybe it was some kind of setup. You know. Like the second person got her out of there somehow.”
“Why would they … your buddies … jump to that conclusion?” Danny asked.
“How the hell would I know?” Tom snapped. He leaned forward to look out the window above the sink. “Clouds coming in,” he said impatiently. He pushed between us to open the door, clearly showing us the way out. “We’re done here,” he added.
Danny hesitated, and I tensed, unsure what he was going to do or say. Finally, he turned toward the door. “For the moment,” he said, and I was relieved he was letting this go, at least for now.
I held my soda bottle in the air as I followed him out of the RV. “Thanks, Verniece,” I said. I hoped my smile conveyed an apology.
* * *
“He knows more than he’s saying,” Danny said once we were in his car. He had a faraway look in his eyes, as if he was trying to solve a puzzle.
“Well, he didn’t want to talk to us, that’s for sure.” I adjusted the air-conditioning vent so the cool air blew on my face. “But what could he possibly know? Don’t you think the police would have gone over any evidence with a fine-tooth comb twenty-three years ago?”
“Who knows?” Danny asked as he started driving down the gravel road. “Could’ve been a bunch of incompetents working on it. All I know is, something doesn’t add up, and I—”
“My phone!” I interrupted him, patting my shorts pocket. “I left it on the counter.”
He pressed the brake and I reached for the door handle. “Don’t back up,” I said. We’d only driven thirty yards or so from the Kyles’ RV. “I’ll just get out here.” I opened the door and got out. “Be right back,” I said.
I started toward the RV at a jog, annoyed with myself. The last thing I felt like doing was seeing Tom and Verniece again right now. I slowed to a walk as I neared the motor home and was circling the rear of it when I heard shouting. I stopped walking. The voice I heard wasn’t Tom’s or Verniece’s and I was suddenly afraid to move. Had someone else been hiding in the trailer? But then I realized it was Verniece’s voice I was hearing, although she sounded nothing like the Verniece I’d come to know and like.
“… might as well have gone straight to the police, you jerk!” she yelled. “He’s friends with Harry Washington! How are we supposed to—”
Tom shouted something unintelligible, and whatever Verniece said after that was muffled and lost … except for the word Riley. I rested my hand against the rear of the RV. Verniece was always so soft-spoken. So sweet and gentle. This was a side to her I hadn’t imagined existed. Beneath my palm, I felt the metal siding vibrate with their voices, but they spoke more quietly now, too softly for me to understand them.
I coughed loudly to give them a moment’s warning, then walked around the side of the RV and called out, “Verniece!” Their voices fell completely silent as I neared the steps to the door. “Verniece? I forgot my phone.”
I heard a scrabbling movement from inside, and in a moment Verniece opened the door, my phone in her hand. “Here you are, love.” She smiled and reached out to hand it to me. Her face was bright red and shiny with perspiration. “Wouldn’t want to forget that, now, would you?”
“No,” I said, unable to return her smile. “Thanks.”
I turned and walked back to Danny’s car, wanting to look over my shoulder to see if they were watching me. Might as well have gone straight to the police, you jerk! I didn’t know what she was talking about. All I knew was that, for now at least, I’d keep what I’d overheard to myself.
CHRISTMAS 1995
33.
Portland, Oregon
Jade
“A special toast!” Celia’s father, Paul, raised his wine glass high in the air above the broad dining room table, which nearly sagged under the weight of an enormous roast turkey and huge bowls of potatoes and vegetables and stuffing. “To Celia’s friend Jade,” he said. “We’re happy she could share Christmas dinner with us for the first time and we hope it won’t be the last.”
“Thank you,” Jade said from her seat next to Celia. She smiled across the table at Celia’s brother, Shane, and his wife, Ellen, a petite, very cute strawberry blonde, as they raised their glasses in the air.
She was in love. Deeply, wildly, passionately in love. She and Celia had spent that one week together in Ocean Beach before Celia had to go back to Portland to teach. Then Celia returned to San Diego for a few days after Thanksgiving, staying with Jade instead of Charlie that time, although they were careful to include Charlie in everything they did. Well, almost everything. He loved that Jade and Celia were together. He told them so a million times.
After that visit, Jade knew she wanted to tell her father about Celia. She needed to share the joy she felt with someone who’d care. Was it a “dire emergency”? Yes, she told herself. From an emotional perspective, it was. Maybe her father didn’t bother checking his post office box any longer, although she checked hers every month, hoping for a peek into the world of her family. But since the day three years ago when she??
?d received the money for her car along with his one-line note—you are loved and missed—there’d been no communication at all between them.
She wrote a carefully worded message:
Dear Fred,
Just to let you know, I’ve met someone I care deeply about. Be happy for me. I’d love to know how everyone is doing.
Ann
She mailed it, imagining the note languishing in her father’s dusty old post office box, never to be read. Maybe she should have risked adding her return address in case his box had been closed, but it was too late.
Only a week later, though, she had a reply.
Ann,
Be cautious. A friend can easily become a foe.
Yours,
Fred
P.S. We are fine.
It wasn’t the response she’d been hoping for—far from it—and the cool tone of the note hurt so much that she broke down in tears in one of her classes and had to leave. What did “we are fine” mean? She wanted details! Riley was seven and Danny twelve, and she longed to know them. How did Riley like school? Did she love music, the way Lisa had? Did she play an instrument? Did her hair smell the way it used to, like sunshine and baby powder? How was Danny doing? Did he miss his big sister? And had her mother recovered from Lisa’s “suicide”? She wanted to know, but it was clear her father would not be the one to give her the answers.
Now she found herself surrounded by someone else’s family. She’d met Celia’s parents, Paul and Ginger Lind, for the first time the night before on Christmas Eve, when everyone gathered to open presents. She’d been nervous, meeting them, but they acted as though they’d known her—and loved her—all her life.
There was another nonfamily member at the Lind Christmas dinner. Travis was a longtime friend of Celia’s. His long curly blond hair reminded Jade of Grady, though Travis wore his in a ponytail. She thought he was a cousin at first, he fit so easily into the family, and she could tell he’d shared many holidays with them. Like everyone else at the table except Charlie, who had flown to Portland with Jade, Travis was a teacher. He taught at the community college with Celia. Paul and Ginger taught high school, Shane and Ellen taught elementary school in Seattle. They all asked Jade about her own plans to teach, and she felt their approval when she told them she wanted to teach music on the middle or high school level. They asked her nothing about her past, and for the first time, she felt as though her past was unimportant. It had nothing to do with who she was now.
“What’s the story of your necklace, Jade?” Ginger asked halfway through the meal. “It’s so intriguing.”
Jade touched the pendant at her throat. This was the first time she’d worn it since leaving home. A sign of how safe she felt with Celia’s family. “It was a gift from a friend,” she said. “I like it because it’s jade, like my name.”
“White jade?” Ellen asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”
Jade nodded. “The Chinese call it mutton fat jade,” she said.
“Mutton fat!” Ginger laughed. She had a girlish laugh that Jade was quickly coming to love.
“What does the Chinese symbol mean?” Shane asked.
“This side means ‘hope,’” she said, touching the pendant, “and this side”—she flipped it over to expose the second symbol—“means happiness.”
That launched a discussion of heirloom jewelry, with Ellen describing her great-grandmother’s cameos and Ginger, her grandmother’s emerald earrings. Jade listened, touching her pendant over and over again during the rest of the meal, thinking about how easily she’d lied about the meaning of the symbols and wishing she could tell someone the truth.
* * *
Everyone helped clean up after the meal, even the men. Jade’s father had never been one for cooking or cleaning, so it surprised her when Paul put an apron over his sweater and jeans. “The sooner we get cleaned up, the sooner we can jam,” he explained.
Celia had told her that her family was known for its jam sessions, but until they’d finished the dishes and moved to the living room, Jade hadn’t really understood. Suddenly, all the instruments came out. Charlie and Shane played guitars. Paul and Travis played banjos and Celia the mandolin. Although Ellen and Ginger didn’t play instruments, Ginger sang along and Ellen banged a tambourine. Jade had brought her violin at Celia’s insistence—Celia didn’t have to twist her arm too hard. She wanted Jade to play the “Dance of the Goblins” she’d wowed her and Charlie with the night they first met, but Jade knew she would never again play for anyone the way she had that night. That had been too great a risk. And anyway, playing with Celia and her family, her violin turned into a fiddle. They played mostly bluegrass with some country and old rock thrown in, and the evening passed at lightning speed.
After a couple of hours, the older generation and Ellen went to bed, and that was when the music changed to something more serious and intense. The four of them—Celia, Shane, Travis, and Jade—sounded incredible together. They all knew it, too. Jade had chills as they played, the chemistry between them magical. Ironically, she was the weakest musician of the four of them. Classical violin and fiddling were different animals. Travis also knew how to play the fiddle, though, and he gave her tips, and she started to fall in love all over again with the instrument in her hands.
She thought about her father while they played, wondering what he’d make of her playing bluegrass … and how he’d feel about her bonding so closely to another family. She remembered his note—a friend can easily become a foe—and it angered her.
She watched Celia as they sang and played. She wasn’t worried about Celia ever becoming a foe, but she knew she could never tell her who she really was. Celia was a happy person in a happy family. Telling her would be like throwing a handful of dirt into a glass of clean water. She couldn’t do it.
* * *
On Sunday, she went to Celia’s church with her. Jade had given up on church long ago, but she knew it meant a lot to Celia, who said her church was an “open and affirming” congregation. That meant gays and lesbians were welcome, Celia explained, but Jade was still stunned when Celia held her hand during the service.
“So,” Celia said as they drove away from the church, “what did you think?”
“Totally different from the Catholic church I grew up in, that’s for sure,” Jade said.
Celia glanced at her. “Do you believe in God, Jade?”
It wasn’t something Jade thought about often. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, liking that with Celia, she didn’t have to lie about her opinions. “I believe something set everything in motion. That’s as close as I come to God, I think. I don’t like religion, to be honest. Religion seems to have twisted the idea of God into a way to control people.”
Celia smiled at the road in front of them. “Yeah, I know,” she said. “For me, it’s all about the people in the church. Taking care of each other, you know what I mean?” She glanced at Jade again. “I love my church. If any single one of those people you saw there today had a problem or a crisis, everyone else would reach out to help.”
That wasn’t the church Jade remembered from her childhood. When her family had a crisis—the crisis she’d brought on them—no one reached out to lend a hand. Instead, they pushed them away.
That night, after Celia fell asleep, Jade went out on the balcony bundled up in a quilt and looked out over the city. The air was cool and misty and she could see the lights of Portland below. Everything looked so beautiful. She felt choked up. Celia was the best person she’d ever known. The kindest, warmest, smartest—and sexiest—person ever. And she was in love with Jade.
But Celia didn’t know her. She didn’t know Jade was a liar and a fake. Would she still love her if she knew? Jade would never be able to put that question to the test.
34.
Riley
As soon as Christine arrived the following morning, I left the house for a run. I’d timed it that way. Every minute away from Christine was a good minute. But as soon as I de
scended the porch steps, the Kyles’ old Ford pulled up to the curb in front of my house.
Oh, no, I thought. I’d wanted an hour’s peace. Was that too much to ask?
The passenger side window of the car rolled down and I could see it was Verniece rather than Tom in the driver’s seat.
“Riley, dear!” Verniece called, all sweetness and light. “Can we talk for a minute?”
I stood with my hands on my hips. I looked behind me at the house, knowing Jeannie would show up any minute and wouldn’t be happy to find Verniece there. Crossing the lawn, I pulled the car door open and got in. After hearing bits and pieces of Verniece’s argument with Tom the previous day, the older woman no longer gave me that warm cuddly feeling.
“We can’t talk here,” I said. “There’s too much going on.”
“Oh, that’s fine.” Her voice shook the way it had that first morning, when she told me how my so-called adoption had inspired them to adopt their son. She put the car in gear and gave it a little gas. “How about we find a shady spot to sit by the water? It’s too hot to stay in the car.”
“Fine,” I said. “What’s going on?”
She ignored my question, seemingly focused on her driving, and I didn’t press. I would find out soon enough.
She parked in the lot near Union Point Park and we sat on a bench in the shade of a couple of trees. I looked toward the river. In the distance a couple of kayakers paddled slowly away from shore.
“This is really hard for me,” Verniece said. “Extremely hard. I feel like I’m under Tom’s control, sometimes.” She shrugged. “Embarrassing to admit that, but that’s the way it is.”
Spit it out, I thought. The fact that I could no longer trust her made me angry. Since my arrival in New Bern, Verniece had been the one person I thought I could count on to have my best interests at heart. I’d been wrong. No one in this town had my best interests at heart.
She waited for me to respond to what she’d said, and when I didn’t, she nervously plowed ahead.