The Language of Sisters

  “Yes, I am. Your head is with Marty. I was willing to wait. I thought if I was patient, if I was your best friend, that eventually your head would be 100 percent with me. I wasn’t looking to make you forget Marty, you’ll never forget him, and I accept that, but I wanted us to be together. I can’t do this anymore. It’s driving me, you’re driving me, out of my head. It’s distracting me at work. Being with you actually hurts.”

  “Nick, please, I don’t want to hurt you, I never wanted to hurt you—”

  “I know you don’t, baby, I know. You are a kind and loyal person who is also stubborn and difficult, but our timing is off. We’re off. You need more time to grieve.”

  “I’m trying to get past it. I’m trying to move on.” Trying so hard.

  “I know you are. You can’t rush it. You can’t speed through this on a timetable. On my timetable. And I can’t ask you to. You can’t will it away. We’ve been sleeping together for months. Being with you has been the best time of my life, but you’re always pulling away. You keep space between us. You don’t trust me, you don’t trust us, you’re not sure if you can handle us. You’re not even sure if you want us.”

  “I ... I ... like you so much, Nick.” I couldn’t say the other words. I couldn’t say I love you, Nick.

  My words hurt him again, like a body blow. He didn’t want to hear I like you so much.

  “You can’t commit to me on any level. I get it. I’m not mad, Toni. Okay, I am mad, but not at you. I understand. But I can’t continue to be with you when all you’ll agree to do is sleep with me. I need more.”

  “I am so sorry, Nick. I’m a wreck. I’m a mess.” I am not brave.

  “Honey, don’t cry. Please. When you cry, I want to cry. This whole situation is ... it’s damn tough. That’s what it is. And you need to figure out what you want, who you want, which might very well not be me, and I need to pull back until you do. I can’t take it like it is anymore. I don’t want to hurt you any more than you’ve already been hurt, but I can’t do this, have us like this, with no future, no commitment.”

  “I know.” I wiped my tears. “I know.” I walked over to him, my legs actually shaking, and kissed his cheek, kissed him on the mouth, and that passion flared again, at least for me, but he pulled away. I dropped my head, then tried to hug him, but he pulled away again.

  “Nick ...” My voice faltered, cracked. “Nick ...”

  I wanted to cry on him and beg him not to do this, but I couldn’t do it. I was aching, but this wasn’t fair to him. He was sleeping with a woman with a head full of turbulence and emotional storms.

  I wouldn’t want to be with me, either. Sleeping with someone, nothing more. No future, refusal to even talk about a future. I walked out, but not before I saw that wet sheen over his blue eyes, how he was leaning heavily against his kitchen island, both hands down. He did not walk me home.

  I climbed up to the wheelhouse and lay on my bench and stared at the stars.

  Numb now, alone. Again. My tears slid into the pillows.

  * * *

  It was like falling off a cliff, arms out.

  I actually had a nightmare that I had purposefully stood on a rock, on a cliff, high above a valley, and jumped.

  The next morning, I could not decide what to wear to work. No, scratch that. I didn’t care what I wore. I didn’t care what I looked like. I wasn’t interested. It was like going back to the first six months after Marty died. I didn’t care what I wore then, either. I let myself go. I hardly brushed my hair, did not eat well. The light went out, and I lost interest.

  I finally grabbed a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and black boots. I ran a brush through my hair. I didn’t shower. I’d overslept because of the cliff jumping.

  I broke my mother’s rule: Always put on lipstick and earrings before you leave the house unless the house is on fire.

  My house was not on fire. I left for work.

  My lack of interest in clothing that day continued.

  And continued.

  Then came my lack of interest in washing my hair.

  I lost interest in eating, too.

  Soon, I did not feel well.

  * * *

  When Nick left for work on a Monday, two weeks later, he walked off the dock with a duffel bag. He had a scruffy beard, his hair was longer, and an earring was in his ear. Back undercover. New case. I was by the front door of my tugboat, heading out to work myself.

  “Hi, Toni.”

  “Hi, Nick.”

  And that was it. As if we were strangers, nothing to each other. I watched him climb up the stairs of the marina to the parking lot, not caring if he knew I was staring, like a stalker. I wanted to race after him and hug him, kiss him, tell him to be careful, but I didn’t. What if he didn’t come back? What if one of the drug dealers got him? What if he was shot?

  I started to shake. I went out to my back deck, grabbed a blanket along the way, and stared at the river. Dixie swooped through the sky like a blue friend. I stared across the river at the new home for Big Teeth and Big Tooth Beavers.

  Mr. and Mrs. Quackenbusch climbed up. They quacked at me. I didn’t even have the energy to quack back. I called in sick.

  * * *

  About one o’clock in the morning, about a week later, I heard Nick’s footsteps on the dock. I wasn’t asleep, because insomnia’s claw was stuck in my throat.

  Nick was home. Safe.

  His footsteps did not falter in front of my tugboat.

  I felt empty. Numb. All the light was gone.

  Again.

  I miss Marty, not Nick, I corrected myself. Marty.

  Nick.

  Nick.

  Miserable.

  * * *

  The next day, at sunset, I saw a golden staircase in the distance. It touched down on the river, then tunneled to the sky, the puffy clouds a welcoming door to heaven.

  I turned away.

  * * *

  Ailani bounced up to me at Koa’s birthday party. I was sitting on the sofa, growling back at Koa, who was dressed as a furry green monster with claws.

  Balloons and streamers were all over, and Valerie had made a monster cake. The green monster on top of the cake appeared stoned, the eyes super wide and slightly crossed, the smile crooked. All the Kozlovskys were there, plus neighbors and friends. It was mobbed.

  “Did you know, Aunt Toni, that the human body has six quarts of blood in it and a body can bleed out in a minute, like all your blood could go flowing out?”

  “You’re ten years old, Ailani.” I tried not to laugh. “Do you really want to think about stuff like that?”

  She seemed confused. She put her hands on my knees and leaned in, her black braids swinging. “What else am I supposed to think about?”

  “Books. Sports. Cooking with Grandma. A body bleeding out is not a vision I want you to go to sleep with.”

  More confusion, then aha! Her face lit up. “Okay. I have something else to talk about.”

  “Super.” I put my hands on hers, then growled back at Koa. “Let’s have it.”

  “I heard my mother talking last night on the phone. Did you know that one out of three murders are never solved? That means someone gets away with it. A whole bunch of people. What do you think of that?”

  “I think it’s depressing. Do you want another hot dog?”

  “No. There are a lot of mysterious murders. Some people die because of guns, a whole lot, but some are from knives and some are”—she put her hands around her neck and squeezed and stuck her tongue out to the side—“because they get strangled, but I like DNA evidence. That’ll catch ’em.”

  “I bet you know all about DNA.”

  “I do!” She jumped up and down and grinned. DNA was so exciting! “Did you know that the crime analysts can pick up a hair at a crime scene and identify the person? They can identify the murderer if he’s in the computers. You know, like if his blood is already in there or his fingerprints or his ...” She pointed to her crotch. “That part.??
?

  “Oh, my gosh.” Valeria talked to her about that? I growled at Koa, he nibbled on my arm.

  “I know, I know!” Ailani’s eyes opened wide in wonderment. “There’s stuff all over the human body that the analysts, I like that word, analyst, that they can look at under a microscope and figure out who the bad guy is.”

  “You don’t have nightmares from stuff like this?”

  “No. I have nightmares about Candy Land. You know that game?”

  “I do.”

  “I have nightmares about the gumdrops. They chase me. I have nightmares about hopscotch, too.”

  “Hopscotch?”

  “Yes, the squares turn into square aliens and try to eat me. That’s why I like talking about criminals and crime more. It’s more relaxing for me, and you know I’m sort of a nervous kid.” She picked up a handful of my hair. “I’ll brush your hair for you, Aunt Toni. You haven’t brushed it in a long time, have you?” She scampered out of the room and danced back in a minute later with a brush and lipstick and started brushing my hair.

  “Grandma says never leave the house without your lipstick and earrings on unless your house is on fire and, you silly, you forgot both. Okay, so. Aunt Toni. Also! Did you know that in crime labs they can ...”

  * * *

  Ellie, Valerie, my mother, and I ate stoned monster birthday cake in the backyard together.

  “The monster looks high,” Ellie said.

  “I know,” Valerie said. “I tried. Koa wanted to make the cake with me and so I did. It was the best I could do.”

  “Well, with pot being legal in Oregon, at least we know the monster won’t be arrested,” I said.

  “This cake delicious, Valeria,” my mother announced. “Your papa, he eat two pieces.”

  “Thank you, Mama.”

  “You come and make dessert at restaurant, Valeria. Then you no have to be talking to bad mens. I no like your job, Valeria.”

  “I know, Mama. You tell me at least once a week.”

  “And you, Antonia!” She turned to give me some of her wrath. “You too thin. What wrong with you? Poor Antonia, you not sick, are you?” She put a hand to my forehead. “No fever. Where your earrings?”

  “Working too much, Mama, and I didn’t have time to put on earrings.” I had told Valerie and Ellie about Nick, but not my parents. I was not up to my mother’s disappointed inquisition. I had told her Nick wasn’t at the party because he had to work.

  “I bring you food tomorrow night. You eat. I see your bones. See?” She tapped my collarbone. “I no like to see that. Too skinny. Nick not like a skinny lady, Antonia. They like the curvies. And you”—she turned to Ellie—“Elvira, where is that Gino? That Italian?”

  Ellie seemed calm. She had no paper bag with her. “He came over a few nights ago. I told him I didn’t want to marry him.”

  “What? No!” my mother exclaimed, hand to her bosom. “Alexei, my love!” she shouted to my father across the yard. “Come here. Elvira not marrying that Italian stallion anymore.”

  My father hurried over, sat down with us. “No more Gino?”

  “No, Papa. We broke up.”

  “Ah. That fine news, Elvira. It not right marrying a man with bag on face. That was a sign. Sign from up there”—he pointed to the heavens—“that this not right.”

  “Not right,” my mama said. “Thank you, God, helping my Elvira. But I not curse Gino.”

  “Gee. Thanks, Mama.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “He came over and I told him I couldn’t marry him and I gave him back the ring. I realized I just had to be brave and do what needed to be done. He cried. I felt so bad for hurting him.”

  “It hurt him more if he marry woman who can’t breathe when he walk in front door every night,” my mama said.

  “It hurt him more if he marry woman who doesn’t love him,” my father said.

  “We talked about all of our problems that I already told you about.”

  “What did he do?” Valerie asked.

  “He told me he’d change everything. Told me his mom wouldn’t live with us, ever. Told me we wouldn’t have kids. Told me he supported my business. Told me he’d travel wherever I wanted to go in the world. Told me to go to any movie I wanted whenever I wanted. He said we’d have separate accounts.”

  “And?”

  “I’d had time to think after we had that fight and he slammed out of my house. I felt so much better believing we’d broken up. Believing we were done. I could breathe again, be me again, plan my future and be happy. He wanted to get back together, and I said no.”

  “Must be the right decision, because you don’t have a paper bag with you,” I said.

  “No paper bag. I haven’t needed one since he left. The thing is that Gino will be a super husband. To someone else, not me. We are not right for each other. If he gave in on kids, he would come to resent me. We’d end up divorced anyhow. He wants a stay-at-home wife who doesn’t work and who will have half a dozen kids. There are plenty of women who would love that, but not me.”

  “This right decision,” my father said. “Gino nice man, but he doesn’t make your heart do bumpity bump bump hump.”

  “Your papa right. He no make your heart go bump hump,” my mother said.

  My parents do not know what “hump” means in slang.

  “Now,” my mother said, pointing at my father so we could find him. “Your papa. He does that to me. He make my heart go bumpity bump hump humpy. I think we go home early tonight, what you say, Alexei?”

  My father smiled, nodded. “I think nice idea, Svetlana.”

  What a love machine.

  * * *

  At Svetlana’s the next night my mother made Russian Pizza and named it “Elvira Made Mama Proud.”

  I received many calls, all along the lines of “Why is your mama proud of Ellie? Did she and Gino break up? She’s serving ‘Elvira Made Mama Proud’ pizza with a shot of vodka still, right?”

  Our family’s personal business—all played out on a restaurant’s Specials board.

  * * *

  That night I climbed into my kayak, the single seater, and rowed it to the front of my tugboat. I tied it to the deck and stared up at the stars. In the distance I heard flapping against the water, and I knew it was one of the Sergeant Otts. Dixie was surely tucked in for the night. I didn’t know where Mr. and Mrs. Quackenbusch were.

  I sniffled. I wrapped my arms around my waist.

  Sometimes I am haunted by what my and Marty’s kids would have looked like. Would they have had black hair like me? Brown curls like Marty? A smile that took up their whole face, like Marty’s? Tall and thin like a crane, for the boys? Shorter, with curves, for the girls?

  I wish I had our child. Or six of our children. I ache for the children we did not have. Forever and beyond I will regret that we did not have children. No grandchildren for his kind, loving parents, little Marties for them.

  In the midst of that shearing pain, I thought of Nick. What would our kids look like?

  Blond-haired little Nicks. Or black-haired little Tonis with Nick’s light blue eyes? Then I thought about Nick naked. Shoulders so broad I can’t get my whole hand around them. Hard, packed chest. I liked the size of his hips. I liked his lips. I liked the way he moved when I was over him and when I was under him. I liked the way he held me close. I liked how warm he was.

  I told myself when I started sleeping with him that it was only for sex. That was never true. I always liked Nick, in and out of bed. Nick always made me feel wanted. Needed. He was kind. Funny. So smart, quick, his conversation wide ranging, about everything.

  He always wanted more, from day one. That was a threat to me. Paradoxically it also made me feel safe. This was not a man who was looking for sex and then would dump me. On the other confused and mixed-up hand, I didn’t want to love someone who had his type of job. Too dangerous. I couldn’t go through another loss. It would disintegrate me.

  So I could live in fea
r and stay alone in my kayak, my tugboat, my life.

  Or I could be brave.

  I saw a shooting star light up the sky.

  Daisy walked by, saw me, backed up, and sang “Amazing Grace.”

  It was what I needed to hear. She is a generous and caring lady.

  21

  The trial for Tyler Barton was wrapping up. I had gone several times, as had Ellie, and my parents once. My parents don’t like going to the trials. “Upsetting,” my father said. “Our Valeria up there. So proud, yes, she get rid of bad mens, but hard to watch and hear what the bad mens did. We had enough of that in Soviet Union.”

  The defense didn’t have much of a defense. They implied someone else did the crimes. They implied it was one of Tyler’s relatives, like Leroy or Dalton or Zeke, which meant that Bill Kortrand, the defense attorney, found two dead rats on his front porch the next day. His wife took the kids to her mother’s house in North Dakota by nine that morning.

  It would soon go to the jury. The ending of that trial made me more nervous than what was going on right now, because I knew Barton’s family would pick up their meat cleavers and go to war when Tyler was found guilty.

  “Any new threats?” I asked Valerie during Pillow Talk. None of us were sewing, we were too worried. Instead we were eating our mama’s Russian tea cakes.

  “Bobbi Jae’s and Garrett’s tires were slashed.” Bobbi Jae and Garrett were attorneys assisting Valerie.

  “They like slicing things, don’t they?” I asked, feeling that frozen snake wrapping around my spine again. The problems were escalating.

  “And there was a dead rat on Bobbi Jae’s back doorstep.” Valerie started massaging the top of her widow’s peak.

  “They certainly like killing animals,” Ellie said. She popped another Russian tea cake in her mouth, the powder landing on the tip of her nose.

  “It’s a specialty of theirs.”

  We sat in our silence, inhaling Russian tea cakes. Stress eating.

  “Security for them, too, now?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  We sat again in our silence.

  “I’m trying to be brave,” Valerie said. “Nothing else to do but be brave.”