The Last Hour

  But that was the least of it. This room had been sterile as long as I could remember it. It was, in theory, Julia’s room. But by the time Dad retired and we moved back to his family home in San Francisco, Julia was already in college. She’d never actually lived here, though she’d stayed in the room a few times. Devoid of decoration or personal touches of any kind, it could have been a barely used guest room.

  Sarah had painted the walls and ceiling black. Posters for bands like Disturbed and Morbid Obesity were on the walls. And in the corner, something I’d never seen: a gleaming, highly polished black guitar. It had mother of pearl inlay on the fret board. Three of the four dials on the face were yellowing with age. The fourth had been replaced with what looked like the round wooden hub from an Erector Set.

  Looking closely at the walls, I could just make out dark red lettering against the black. Sarah just stood there watching me as I furrowed my brows and walked to the wall above her bed, scanning the words. It was dim in here, and they were difficult to read, because the only illumination came from a string of Christmas lights hung along the top of one wall.

  It was poetry.

  I blinked, and turned and looked at her.

  “This ... isn’t what I expected.”

  She smirked. “What did you expect? Flowers?”

  I smiled at her. “I don’t know what I expected. But I like it. It’s ... uniquely you.”

  That evoked the biggest smile I’d seen from her since I’d come home.

  “You think?” she said.

  I nodded. “Can I ask you ... when this started?”

  She shrugged. “When I was three?”

  I laughed. “If you say so. Why do I have the feeling that Mother and Dad blame Crank for this?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Crank is old school. And kind of lame.”

  That I didn’t buy. Sarah had been crushing on Crank since she was old enough to notice boys.

  “What’s next? Piercings?”

  Now she really did smirk, a kind of endearing grin, and she pulled up her shirt to show me the ring that Mother had called “self mutilation.” It wasn’t bad. Understated really, just a small stud in her belly button.

  “Nice,” I said. “So, can we talk for a few minutes?”

  “Did Mother send you up here?”

  “Not for this. This is me talking. Your big sister.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered. She looked down at the floor as she said it.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed, and I took a seat next to her.

  “I’m worried about you,” I said.

  She frowned. “Because of all this?” she asked, her eyes scanning the room.

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t know why, but somehow all of this fits. I’m worried about you because of what’s going on with Jessica. I’m worried because the one thing Julia and I tried to do was ... protect you guys. For the times when we didn’t have anyone else. I’m worried that you’re shutting your sister out. And honestly I’m worried about Andrea too. I knew she was spending a lot of time with Grandmother, but ... why won’t she come home?”

  Sarah looked away and swallowed. “I know we were all about protecting each other. You ... you were like our mom, Carrie. But we’re not seven anymore.”

  I put my hand on her shoulder and said, “I know that, Sarah. That’s why it matters so much! Who are you going to be able to talk to if you can’t talk with your twin? Or if she can’t come to you?”

  Sarah shook her head and said, “That’s just the thing. She can’t come to me. Or thinks she can’t.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She leaned close and said, “Carrie, she ... I know she looks all pretty and dresses like Mother ... but she’s deep. She keeps secrets. I’ve got no idea what’s going on with her. None.”

  She looked up at the wall, away from me, and said, “It kinda hurts, you know? Jessica’s got this whole life separate from me. And she never said a word. It happened so fast. When we started school junior year? She hadn’t said anything to me, or to Mother, or anyone. She just went in and very quietly requested to have her entire schedule changed, so we didn’t have any classes together.”

  Confusion clouded through me. This wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting. “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “I don’t either. I mean ... I may be a little obnoxious. I may be a little in your face. But ... I’d never deliberately hurt her.”

  Oh, wow. Sarah’s face was scrunched up, the tiny muscles around her eyes trembling. She was fighting to suppress tears. And not doing a very good job of it. And the thing was, I could see it. It had been a long time since I’d lived here, but I came often for the holidays, and sometimes weeks at a time in the summer. And Jessica had always been perfectly polite. Polished. Prim. But it was as much a front as Sarah’s black eyeliner and combat boots. It was like they were both pushing away, trying to make themselves into something different from each other, but in opposite ways.

  We all noticed it with Sarah. Her behavior was so outlandish for our uptight, difficult family. But that didn’t mean Jessica wasn’t struggling just as much. I wondered if she felt invisible. What must that be like?

  For the first time in a long time, I was genuinely unhappy I didn’t live at home any more. Never mind that it had been ten years. Never mind that I had a life and a career of my own. More than anything else, right then and there, I wanted to be there for my sisters.

  Of course, that wasn’t to be. We were split all over the place now: Julia, wandering the world on her tours and living in Boston in between them; Alexandra engaged, loving New York City; I’d be moving to Bethesda, Maryland just outside of Washington, in a few more days; three out of the six of us were now spread along the east coast. All signs pointed to Andrea not coming home at all before she finished high school.

  That was it, I thought. In summer, unless disaster intervened, I was going to Spain. Maybe Ray could come with me, but if not, I was still going. I needed to see Andrea. I needed to let her know that I was still her big sister, and that I’d always, always be there for her if she needed me.

  The rest of Christmas was quiet. Sarah and Jessica made up for the time being, and came downstairs to open presents. My mother gave them dresses cut on the same pattern, but in a supreme fit of irony, gave a black one to Jessica and a white one to Sarah. I wondered if they would secretly trade. Or Sarah just might take a Sharpie to hers. Which would be a shame, because it was a beautiful dress and looked to have cost upwards of eight hundred dollars.

  We all called Julia, Alexandra, and then Andrea, and passed the phone around and spoke with them one by one. Then, breaking tradition, the five of us left the house and went out for Chinese food for dinner. Maybe it was a chance to carve out some new traditions. I would grant my mother this: she was trying. She was taking her meds, and I hadn’t heard her say anything truly spiteful in a long time. My father was the same as always—distant and a little overwhelmed. And so another Christmas passed, and two days later I boarded a flight for New York.

  Tell the Army I said hi! (Carrie)

  The plane touched the ground with a bump and screech of tires, and I felt the force of the sudden deceleration as the engines reversed. I closed my book as we taxied across the airport. For the first time since I’d left my parents’ townhouse that morning, I felt tension, just a slight twist in my stomach. I was excited to see Ray, but nervous too. He’d sounded so stressed when we spoke on the phone last night. Stressed and exhausted. He’d spent another day being questioned by the Army. It was beyond excessive. How many different ways could he tell the same story?

  I wanted badly by the end of that phone call to hug him so tightly that all of the tension would just drain out. And that’s exactly what I was going to do the moment I met him at the security gate.

  I tensed in my seat, watching out the window as the plane inched toward the gate. Now that we were moving slowly, I pulled my bag out from under the seat and put away my book, then took
out my phone. The flight had been smooth, and I’d relaxed and read a book since the eight a.m. departure from San Francisco. I was tired, but not so much that I wouldn’t be fine making it through the day and evening.

  Finally. The plane shut down, the engines slowing to a stop, and I heard the clicks and thumps as the gate connected. I switched on my phone. At least I’d be off the plane quickly, my frequent flyer miles let me upgrade to business class, so I was on the second row of the plane.

  My phone chirped with an incoming text message, and the screen lit up.

  Damn it. The preview on the screen said, “I’m so sorry.”

  I unlocked the phone and flipped to the messages.

  The Army and FBI just showed up here AGAIN with more questions. I don’t know how long this is going to take.

  The next message read: It’s been two hours. I’ll keep you updated.

  And two more. The first said: Shit. There’s no way I’m going to make it to the airport in time. Take a cab to Glen Cove, and I’ll pay.

  Finally: I’m so sorry.

  I sighed. Poor Ray. They were putting him through the wringer. The thing was, they hadn’t called him in. They hadn’t called him up and said, “We’ll be there tomorrow at 11.” Instead, they just randomly showed up. It was as if they thought he was lying and were trying to catch him on inconsistencies. I couldn’t even imagine the stress he was under.

  Once I got clear of the gate, I called Ray.

  It rang four times, and then he answered.

  “Hey,” he said. “Carrie, I am so sorry. I feel awful.”

  “Stop,” I replied. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for, it was out of your control. I’m going to rent a car, just text me your address?”

  “You sure? Wouldn’t it be cheaper to take a cab?”

  “Yeah, but this way we’ll have wheels for the whole visit. You did say you don’t have a car right now, right?”

  “True. How about we split it?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Ray, I get this ridiculously stupid allowance from my father. Let me use it. Besides, you bought the tickets to the show tonight, and I know that couldn’t have been cheap.”

  “But ... all right, fine.”

  “Send me the text, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. Tell the Army I said hi!” I have no idea what possessed me to say that.

  He chuckled. “Cute. At the rate we’re going, you may get a chance to tell them yourself.”

  So I got my luggage, then made my way to the Hertz counter and flashed my membership card, which usually catches their attention very quickly, and ten minutes later I was programming Ray’s address into the GPS.

  An hour later, I pulled to a stop in front of a large apartment building in Glen Cove. I leaned out and looked up at the building. It was old, the stones painted with a light blue, which was peeling off here and there. It was a nice building, and looked to have been built to last, but it wasn’t in the best repair. The lawn was covered in snow, and someone had not done a very good job of shoveling the sidewalk. I got out of the car, took my bag out of the trunk and carefully made my way up the walk, then studied the directory next to the front door. I found “Sherman” in the directory and hit the button.

  Just a moment later the buzzer went off and I headed inside.

  Ray’s apartment—or his parents’ rather—was on the eighth floor. The inside of the building reinforced my first impression. It was a nice building, but was suffering from lack of repair. Ray had told me his parents’ story—they’d been not quite wealthy, but firmly middle class. High paying jobs with lots of debt, and when the jobs vanished, so did their lives. Sometimes, when I heard stories like that, I felt guilty. I took my parents’ wealth for granted. My father inherited his money, and it allowed us things that few people had, not the least of which was security that our homes wouldn’t vanish out from under us due to a job change or because someone got sick.

  Ray met me at the door and I involuntarily sucked in a breath when I saw him. It had only been three weeks or so, but the reality of him hit me all over again as we looked in each other’s eyes and embraced. Then his mouth was on mine and I forgot the time in between, I forgot the distance, I forgot the Army and everything else other than this very moment. I squeezed him tight, trying to do what I’d planned ... easing the stress I knew he was under. I could feel it in his shoulder muscles, which were tightly bunched, tense, rock hard. He kissed me, and it felt as passionate, as hungry, as it had the very first time.

  “I missed you,” I whispered.

  “I missed you,” he replied. “Come on in. They’re still here.”

  My arms and shoulders tensed and the muscles in my neck tightened, rigid. I walked into the apartment. It was only four o’clock in the afternoon, but for some reason, walking in that apartment felt like walking into midnight.

  The woman was an attractive, professional looking black woman who stood as I entered. She walked toward me, hand out, and said, “I’m Janice Smalls. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Thompson.”

  I took her hand and shook. “Nice to meet you,” I said.

  The man, who was lounging in a seat near her, a notebook in his lap, nodded from his seat.

  “Jared Coombs,” he said. “Federal Bureau of Investigation.” Then he went back to his notes.

  My mother may not have set the best example of sanity in the world, but one thing she gave me was an exquisite sense of manners. I returned his rudeness with icy courtesy.

  “It’s a delight to meet you, Mr. Coombs,” I said.

  He didn’t look up from his notes. My teeth jammed together, and I felt my muscles tense. For the last several weeks, these two had been randomly showing up and grilling Ray. They showed up without a phone call, without a warning. They pried into parts of his life that had nothing to do with the war. They were treating him like a criminal, and I’d had enough.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Coombs. I’ve got a question. For both of you.”

  “Um ... Carrie…” Ray said, as Major Smalls was returning to her seat.

  “Wait a second, Ray. Seriously. Where do you get off? Ray reported the crime here. Why are you treating him like a criminal? Is this your subtle way of punishing him for doing the right thing? What the hell is it you’re trying to accomplish?”

  Coombs gave me a cold look and said, “Number one, it’s none of your business, Miss Thompson. Number two, we haven’t yet established just who the criminal is in this situation.”

  Smalls looked down for a second, then up at me and said, “We have to conduct our investigation, Miss Thompson. Your boyfriend here made very serious accusations.”

  “Then do it with some professionalism and courtesy. It’s no wonder he was reluctant to report it, if this is the response you get for doing the right thing.”

  Ray touched my arm. “Carrie, please….”

  I looked him in the eyes. “Fine. I’ll stay out of it. But I want you to know that someone is on your side. Why don’t you show me where the shower is, and I’ll clean up while they finish.”

  He smiled and ignoring the other two, took my face between his hands and mashed a fierce kiss on my lips. “I love you, babe. Come on.”

  By the time I got out of the shower, I was calm. I was toweling off when I heard a light knock on the door. Quickly, I wrapped the towel around me and knotted it in the front.

  “Carrie?” Ray said.

  I opened the door and pulled him in. He got a wicked grin on his face and put his arms on my waist.

  “You have no idea what you’re doing to me right now,” he murmured and put his lips to my neck.

  I shivered. “Are they gone?”

  “Yeah,” he said, still moving his lips up my neck, near my ear. “But … my parents are here.”

  I winced, then put my hands on his shoulders and pushed him gently away. “Well, that’ll have to wait.”

  He exhaled and said, “Yeah.”

  “Shoo,” I said. “Let me dry off and get dressed. I’ll be out in five
minutes.”

  It was a few minutes longer than that. I was a little nervous about meeting Ray’s parents for the first time and wanted to make a good first impression. It was bad enough I was in the shower when they arrived.

  Finally ready, I walked back down the hall to the living room.

  Ray stood up first and walked to me, then took my hand and faced his parents. I watched him, a little startled. I think it was the first time I’d ever seen him nervous.

  “Mom, Dad, this is Carrie Thompson.”

  Both of his parents stood. It was obvious at one glance where Ray got his height. Ray had told me that his father once played basketball for Duke.

  “Michael Sherman,” he said, taking my hand.

  “Kate,” his mom said. She was a good ten inches shorter than her husband, a tired looking blonde woman.

  “I’m so glad you could come visit,” Michael said with a genuine smile. “Ray’s spoken about you a great deal.”

  Kate looked considerably less happy to see me. But if I had to deal with that, I could. The four of us sat in the living room, having an awkward conversation as Kate asked me questions. I answered everything she asked. Questions about my childhood, where I’d grown up, college, my plans for the future…

  When I mentioned the NIH fellowship, Kate said, “I see. That explains why Ray applied to Georgetown.”

  Michael almost rolled his eyes. “Kate, Georgetown is a far better school than Stony Brook. I wish you would let that go.”

  “It’s very far from home, Michael, and Ray’s just come home from a traumatic experience.”

  Ray’s lips tightened as she spoke, and he leaned forward and said, “Mom, we’ve been through this. My decision’s made.”

  She looked at him sadly. “I just want what’s best for you, honey.”

  “I know,” he replied.

  In an attempt to change the subject, Michael said, “So, will you be staying for dinner?”