Page 28

Claudia’s apartment is modest and minimally decorated. It’s very much the stereotypical apartment of a single police officer. I feel an urge to suggest that Claudia should look for a companion, but I quell it. Our relationship is still very young. I should save the advice for later.

“You can sit on the couch if you’d like,” she says. “I’ll bring the letter to you.”

My eyes widen. “Letter?”

“Yes. Mom wrote it before she died. She told me to bury it with her, but I didn’t. I’m glad I didn’t. You’ll see why in a moment.”

She leaves for her bedroom, and I lower myself slowly to the couch. My heart is pounding again. I don’t need to ask who this letter is for, and I’m not surprised when Claudia returns and hands me an envelope addressed to me.

My hands tremble as I open the envelope and pull out the sheets of paper folded inside. Claudia sits on an easy chair, close to me but with a respectful space between us. I glance at her and see an empathetic smile. She knows this will be an emotional moment for me.

I take a deep breath and read the final thoughts of my long-lost sister.

Mary,

This letter will never reach you, if you’re even still alive, but I hope you won’t mind if I talk to you as though it will. I never got to properly grow old, but I’ve always been ornery, and the one thing that hasn’t changed in me is my stubbornness. So, even though I’ll never see you again, I’ll act as though you’re sitting across from me, and I’m telling you the story of my life.

Well, it’s happening. My adventure is finally coming to an end. I’m a little irritated that I won’t make fifty. It’s a nice round number and a lot prettier than forty-nine, but oh well. I won’t tell if you won’t.

I love you. I think I’ll start with that. If you are alive, you probably think I don’t, and I don’t blame you, but you’re wrong. I do love you. You were the only sister I ever had, and you were a good one. You weren’t perfect, but neither was I. Considering our parents, it’s a miracle either of us made it to high school, so I think you did a pretty good job of protecting me.

Sorry, I’m a little scatter-brained. Claudia says it’s because of the medicine, but it’s not. It’s just that I have a lot to unpack and not much time, and my mind is throwing all of these thoughts and memories at me, so I’m having trouble figuring out what order to put them in. I was never as organized as you were, a fact you were very fond of reminding me.

Don’t take it too seriously if I poke some fun at you. I mean it with good intentions. It’s just that I can picture you here, and I can’t resist being an annoying younger sister one last time.

Anyway, I do love you. I wish I’d never left you. I wish I’d at least kept in contact with you. It would have been really fun to talk to you about all of my adventures, even if it was only through letters and maybe an occasional phone call.

But I didn’t. I really regret that. I kept putting it off because I was afraid of how you’d react, but that was so stupid of me. Even if we had a bit of a fight to get through, we would have reconciled. I know we would have, and it’s my fault that we didn’t.

I’ll leave it at that. It’s a crappy apology, I know, but if I fixate on the regret, I won’t write anything else, and I want to leave you with at least one good memory of me.

I hope that you think fondly of me wherever you are. I don't expect you to paint all our time together as rosy, but I hope that you remember the good better than I did. I'm afraid it's only now at the end of my life that I can look back and see how much good there was. There's a comfort in bitterness. It justifies one's anger and gives one something to fixate on other than fear. But it's a poisonous comfort. It leaches away the warmth and color in the world until all that is left is a cold and lifeless shell of who we once were. I held onto too much bitterness. I can only hope that you've escaped that trap.

Okay. That’s the intro. Choppy, like I warned you it would be, but it got the points across. Now comes the story. It’s a good one. I’ll say that much for it. I’m pretty proud of how entertaining it is, if nothing else.

I’ll start at the beginning. So I left Boston, which you know.

Oh God, I hope you don’t think I died. Damn it, I never thought about that. Here I am, selfish as always, more concerned with whether you think well of me than whether you might have spent the past twenty-eight years afraid that I fell to some horrible end.

Well, shit. I'll have to hope that you figured out eventually that I didn't die. I mean, you're smart, so I hope you'll figure it out.

Crap, that threw me off. Well, just in case, let me apologize for that too. I didn’t mean for you to think that I died. I really didn’t think things through, or I would have at least left a message behind to let you know that I was still alive. Boy, I really was short-sighted, wasn’t I?

Oy. Okay, let me try again. I need to get at least the first part of this story down on paper before I go to bed.

So, I left Boston and just went to California. I figured that was as far west as I could get hitchhiking, and I guess I kind of believed the hype of California being the land of sun and fun. I wanted to forget about everything serious and just mess around for a little while.

I’m sorry to say that I found California overrated. It’s got a lot going for it, but it’s not really that much different from anywhere else. If I had to say one thing for it, I suppose I would say that there’s more there to distract people from their lives. Maybe there’s something to be said for that.

That’s one important lesson I’ve learned. People and places are pretty much the same everywhere. Obviously that’s not completely true, or I wouldn’t believe so strongly that Geneva is the prettiest city on Earth, but for the purposes of this conversation, it’s true. Everyone’s fighting to be happy and fulfilled, and the way they go about it is, at the end of the day, pretty basic. Everyone needs a purpose, everyone needs a place, and everyone needs their people.

Hey, look at that. I alliterated. I even used the word alliterated right. I hope you’re proud of me for that.

Sorry, I told you I’d be scatter-brained. Where was I?

Oh yeah. So I hitchhiked to California. I will spare you the gory details, but I did so by leveraging my youth and my assets. My idea, not the poor saps I seduced. I substituted sex for power for a long time. I thought that since I could make men want me it made me strong or better than other people or something. I don’t know. Maybe I just needed the validation that there was something about me that mattered.

Anyway, I got to California and ended up in Monterey. I don’t know if you’re familiar. It’s a little rich people town south of San Francisco. It’s really pretty. The coast is beautiful, the forests are like storybooks, and even the houses are pretty without being too in-your-face. I remember arriving and thinking that I could spend my life there.

I think even then, I had a feeling that my wandering would end one day. There’s something exciting about being a leaf on the wind, but it’s hard to realize that one has no roots and one’s only end is to eventually grow brittle and dry until one crumbles to dust. I know that such a fate awaits everyone, but it’s so much more difficult to face when one faces it alone. I’m so glad I have a family to face this end with.

But more on that later. I must tell you what happened to me in California.

I ended up living with an artist for a while. An older guy. Elias Blackwood. Isn’t that an awesome name? It sounds like a character from a romance novel. He was like a character from a romance novel too: older, handsome, passionate, brooding. I confess I fancied myself quite a woman for attracting his attention.

Anyway, that was fun for a while, but Elias was falling in love with me, and I wasn't falling in love with him. There was a younger man, too, Victor. He was Elias's apprentice. He really loved me. I felt bad because he was a sensitive artist type, and I’m not really into that. I guess Elias was too, but he had this brooding darkness about him that made him sooo hot.

But I had to leave. I couldn’t give him what he wanted, and the most I could give Victor was a chance to paint me naked. I would have given him more if he asked me then, but he didn’t. I think he knew that he was setting himself up for heartbreak.

Anyway, I wandered for a few months after that, and I actually took a break from sex during that time. I tried to be a good person, I really did. But I still hated myself. I still couldn’t feel good unless I had someone under my thumb.

That’s what it really came down to. When men wanted me, they were desperate for me. I could be a generous lover or a frosty ice queen or a tease or a slut or whatever I wanted. It wasn’t even about love. It was just…

I felt hollow. That’s what it was. I felt like I was just a fragile shell of a woman with nothing inside. For a little while, those dalliances of mine filled that hole, but then they didn’t, and that’s when I moved on.

So, I had my little soul-searching phase and didn't find my soul. I ended up in New Orleans because I figured it would be a different environment, and I always liked jazz. I met a piano player—Marcel Lacroix, another awesome name—and we started an affair. He was married at the time, but his wife was a real bitch. Sorry, I know that's a shitty thing to say since I was screwing him behind her back, but she was. Real snooty and arrogant and holier-than-thou on top of it.

That only lasted a few months, too, but this time it was Marcel who broke it off. Let me tell you, that was a big hit to my ego. She did the classic ploy of exposing him in front of friends and family and telling him to choose. I thought for sure he’d choose me, but he didn’t. He chose her.

So that sucked, but it only sucked because I was still selfish and needed the validation of being better than other people. I needed to feel like I was the sexiest prize a man could ever get, and when I wasn’t, it kind of hurt.

God, it feels so silly looking back. I thought I was so worldly and mature, but I was really just a dumb little girl who jumped out of the boat only to realize that she didn’t know how to swim. That was one thing you always knew better than me. You knew that you wouldn’t survive the rip current, so you focused on strengthening your boat. That makes me think that you are alive because you knew you had to create a fortress that could weather storms. You never minded being in a cage because you never saw it as a cage. To you, it was a shelter.

Anyway, I wandered for a while longer after that. Kinda fell into alcohol for a while, but not too deep thankfully. Did a few drugs, but nothing too crazy. It didn’t really do much for me, even in the short-term.

Then I decided to go back to Boston. You’re probably gasping in shock to read that, but it’s true. I wanted to go back and ask you for help. I had given up and was ready to surrender to mundanity. I made it as far as Falmouth and met another older man, a winemaker. Not as old as Elias, but still almost twenty years older than me. His name was Parker Bellamy—and yes, that’s another amazing name—and he had a home in Martha’s Vineyard. He was rich too, really rich. Marcel was kind of rich too, but Parker was old money rich.

He bought me a house in Martha’s Vineyard, and we would see each other at least once a week. He was married too, but his wife was having an affair with his business partner. He was using me as his revenge side piece at first, but it became something more. For both of us.

You can judge me if you want. I’m not pretending to be in the right about all of this, but I don’t regret what happened. I did love him. Not the way I loved Carl—I’ll get to him—but I loved Parker. He was the first man I really loved.

I think I just liked being taken care of. Looking back, I’m pretty sure that’s what it was. Before Parker, I was the temptress, the seductress. I liked that men wanted me. That’s what it was with Parker at first, but then he bought me the house, and then a car, and then he paid for my health insurance. Then one night, I was sick as a dog. I told him that he didn’t need to come over, but he did. He bundled me up, made me soup and tea, and sat with me watching comedies until I fell asleep. Then he carried me to bed. No one had ever done anything like that for me before.

So, I told him I loved him and asked him to leave his wife. Again, you can judge me if you want. I wasn’t a good person yet. It was selfish and wrong to ask him to leave his family, but I did it. I just wanted that feeling of being worth someone’s love for the rest of my life.

And he did. He left his wife. He bought us a house in Geneva, faked his own death, and set us up with new identities in Switzerland. He was Heinrich Schweizer, and I was his wife, Laura.

That lasted for exactly two weeks. I woke up one morning, and he was dead. He’d had a stroke during the night and passed away.

I remember very distinctly that I felt guilty more than I felt sad. I realized a lot of things all at once when I found him that way. I realized that I didn’t love him, I just loved the way he made me feel. I had stolen him from his family and made him come over here to take care of me because I was selfish. I was upset that he was dead because he wouldn’t be there to make me feel special anymore. That hurt the worst, because it meant that I had lied to myself and now I had to come face to face with the fact that I was shitty. That hurt because it meant that even when I realized I was selfish, it was for selfish reasons.

So I decided that I was going to just… stop. I had a house, I had money that Parker had left me, and I was far away with a different name. As far as anyone knew, I was just a grieving young widow. I buried Parker and amused myself by exploring Geneva. No more men, no more wandering, no more stupidity. I just wanted to exist without being a part of anyone’s life.

Then I met Carl.

It’s difficult for me to describe what falling in love with him was like. It was weird. It was like the moment I saw him, I just knew. He was waiting for a cup of coffee, and I was standing in line to order. He looked up at me, and he blushed and got this goofy smile on his face, and I knew right then that I wanted to see that smile every day for the rest of my life.

So I introduced myself to him and asked him out. I learned that he worked at the marina cleaning boats. He made just about enough money to keep a roof over his head, but absolutely nothing more than that. Keep in mind that before now, all of my relationships had essentially been sugar daddies, so when I invited him to move in with me and started paying his bills, it was a bit of a shock.

I just wanted him to be happy. He wanted to be in advertising. That was his dream. Writing ads and little jingles for ads. I loved that. It was so simple and honest and pure. He didn’t want to be great or glorious. He literally told me that his dream life was writing ad campaigns and going on walks. Maybe taking train rides places and going on walks there. Isn’t that adorable? He was so sweet and funny and cute and just… just perfect.

I’ve tried to think about why him. He was so unlike everyone I was attracted to before. I used to think that was part of it, but I don’t think so anymore. I don’t think there is a reason. Not a deep one, anyway. I just saw his smile and decided, Yep, I want that one.

And I loved making him happy. At first, yeah, I just gave him mind-blowing sex. It was what I knew how to do. The more I got to know him, though, I started doing more things. I would plan little trips for us make him cute dinners, or plan date nights with movies and snacks. He would get so happy. He would smile at me and tell me how much he loved me and how grateful he was for me, and it would feel good, but mostly it would feel good because he was happy. I had made him happy, and I loved making him happy.

He was the first person I had ever met who I cared about more than myself. That’s not a perfect way of describing it because caring for him was caring for myself in a weird way. I don’t know. You’re the psychologist, not me. You can probably write a term paper on what the exact technical term for that feeling is.

It occurred to me one day that I didn’t want anything. I had everything I needed. It was almost none of what I thought I wanted, but it was better than my wildest hopes and dreams. So, I asked him to marry me. And we lived happily ever after.

I have a lot more to write about. I haven’t even gotten to the birth of our daughter, the other shockingly wonderful occurrence of my life. But the painkillers are kicking in, and I’m going to fall asleep soon, so I’ll have to save that for another letter.

Before I go, I want to say this one last time. I love you, Mary. I hope very much that you found a life that can make you as happy as the life I’ve found. If you did, then I’ll leave this world with no regrets at all. You were a good sister. I hope you were good to yourself.

Until tomorrow,

Annie.

I carefully fold the letter and place it back in the envelope. I set it on the table and stare at her name. I am dealing with far too many emotions to process right now, but the chief of them is love. I love my sister. I’m so glad that she was happy. All of my nightmares, all of my guilt, all of my anger… it’s all gone. I’m just happy for her.

"She died that night," Claudia says. Her voice is thick with emotion, too. "That was a little over three years ago."

It was a little over three years ago that I left my teaching position and started looking for her again. I am not a superstitious person, but I don’t believe that’s a coincidence. I think that Annie reached out to me and led me here so that I could talk with her one last time. I reach for the envelope and gently caress my name written in her handwriting. “I love you, Annie,” I say softly.

I stand and smile at Claudia. “Thank you for showing me this. I would like to visit you if I can.”

“Of course. As often as you like. I have an aunt now, and I intend to keep her.”

My smile widens. “Good. I intend to keep my niece as well. But for the moment, I’m afraid I have to leave you. There’s something I need to take care of, something I’ve been putting off for far too long. Now that I have finally found my sister, it’s time I took care of it.”

She smiles at me. “I’m glad. Don’t wait. That’s one thing my mother always told me. Don’t wait to find your happiness.”

“Sound advice,” I tell her.

She stands. “Come on. I’ll take you to the airport.”

I text Elena on the way that I’ll be back with Sean tomorrow. She sends me a question, and when I answer, she replies gleefully and promises a party when we return. I tell her I’m looking forward to it.

It feels good to be looking forward and not back. I have many questions about Annie, and I will enjoy all of the tales Claudia has to tell me.

But I am no longer haunted by that past. I am no longer held back. And I intend to make the most of the future that awaits me. I will take the advice of a very wise woman. I won’t wait.