The Sometime Sister Page 3

  “Come on, baby. Let’s get you to bed. We’ll figure something out while you rest a little.” Mike guided her to the bedroom.

  While he was settling her in, Lesroy whispered to me. “Grace, I think Aunt Marilyn is right. I read through Stella’s letters. She never said anything specific, like I’m afraid Ben’s going to kill me or anything, but she didn’t sound like Stella. In her last letter she said something about a big change in her life. Something’s not right.”

  “So, Grace,” Mike said as he walked back into the room. “I’ll book a flight to Ecuador as soon as possible.”

  I wanted nothing more than to believe Mike was the one to find Stella and end the nightmare. But sending him to Montañita wouldn’t be the most effective way to uncover what had happened to my sister.

  “I appreciate the offer, but this is something I have to do. No one knows her better than I do,” I said. And, although it was true, that wasn’t the only reason I had to go. The need to see my sister, to talk to her, to hold her was so strong my arms ached. Whether Stella was in trouble or just being her usual charmingly inconsiderate self, I was the one who could discover the truth.

  “Then I’ll go with you,” Mike suggested. He sat where my mother had been and patted my knee. “Your Aunt Rita can come stay with your mom.”

  “She needs you, Mike. I love Rita, but there’s no way she could keep Mom from going off the deep end.”

  “Grace is right,” Lesroy chimed in. “My mom is a basket case. She’d have Aunt Marilyn climbing the walls. Mike’s right, too.” He took a deep breath. “My passport’s hardly been used, and work is slow this time of year, so I’ll go with you.”

  “That’s sweet,” I said, “but you recall what happened the last time you got on a plane, don’t you?”

  My cousin was as terrified of flying as Stella was of storms, maybe even more so. A few years ago, he and his latest boyfriend set off for a vacation in Costa Rica. Lesroy refused to admit to his companion how much flying frightened him. Instead, he swiped a bottle of his mother’s anxiety medication and downed several before take-off.

  Once the plane was airborne, he polished off an unknown quantity of alcohol. He never told me what happened between the departure from Atlanta and the layover in Houston—I’m not sure he could remember—but my cousin did not make his connection. He returned to Atlanta alone on the bus and never heard from the boyfriend again.

  “I thought we agreed never to discuss that incident.” He glared at me. “Besides, I’m better now.”

  I hated myself for bringing up the traumatic event, yet I couldn’t risk an airborne crisis slowing me down.

  “I’m sure you are, and it means a lot you’d get on a plane for me. But you know how Ben is about you.” My ex-fiancé detested Lesroy, and I suspected the feeling was mutual. “If it’s just me, I think he’ll open up more.”

  By the time I left to go see Alisha, we had formed a plan. Mike would handle the travel arrangements and talk to an old Army buddy of his who lived in Ecuador. Lesroy would make the ultimate sacrifice and keep Scarlett O’Hara.

  And I would go find my sister.

  Chapter 5

  I was in Alisha’s trendy Atlanta neighborhood by a little after eleven. The houses were at least thirty years old. Most had undergone extensive and expensive renovations. The Simmons’ house was no exception.

  The pale green brick structure sat on a corner lot. Its front steps were a darker shade, as if they’d been rebuilt. The façade looked lovely from a distance, but up close you could see repaired cracks and bolstered saggy spots. Serious potholes marked the steep driveway, suggesting Alisha and her husband had run out of steam or money before they’d finished the upgrades. I parked at the curb and trudged past sculptured shrubbery, followed the stone path, and rang the bell.

  “Grace, come in,” Alisha, in yoga gear, greeted me. She was thinner than I remembered and very tan, with a ponytail so tight it tugged the corners of her eyes upward.

  I stepped into an elaborate foyer in front of a wide, curving staircase. Like an Artic explorer plunging through the icy tundra, I was blinded by light reflecting off the snow. The whiteness of it all threatened to smother me: thick, off-white carpet; smooth, creamy-white walls; ivory-white sofa.

  “Wow.” The sound of my voice echoed down the hallway.

  “Isn’t it amazing?” Alisha squealed. “We just had everything redone.” She glanced at my feet. “Would you mind taking off your shoes?”

  I slipped out of my flats, wishing I’d had that pedicure I so desperately needed, but Alisha didn’t seem to notice. She ushered me through the formal living area to a cavernous family room, more beige than white—or did everything appear dimmer in the aftermath of an attack of snow-blindness? She pointed to the center of a three-piece sectional.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea or Coke? There’s Diet and Zero Sugar.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” I sat next to a fluffy pillow that exploded into a fat white cat who hissed as it shot off the sofa.

  “Sassy, you naughty kitty! You’re not supposed to get on the furniture.” She brushed off the seat beside me and took a pink leather book from the ottoman. “Everything’s digital now, but I still like to keep albums. I guess I’m an old-fashioned girl.”

  More like a modern narcissist, I thought, but smiled and nodded.

  “This is from the last time I saw Stella.”

  She scooted closer and balanced the album between our knees. My sister stared out at me, clad in a tiny orange bikini, hair flying wild around her perfect face.

  “She’s as beautiful as ever, isn’t she?” Alisha spoke in a whisper, touching Stella’s face with her fingertips. “This was on Ben’s boat. Greg wanted to go to Montañita with me, but he couldn’t get away and insisted I go without him. He knows how much I loved, I mean love, Stella. He is absolutely the most considerate husband.”

  She had captioned each picture with the date, location, and occasion. She documented the day on the boat with pictures of Stella sunbathing, Ben drinking beer behind the helm, and Alisha and Stella lounging on the top deck. The next few pages were set on the beach, but the theme was the same. There were no photographs of Ben and Stella together until I got to the middle of the album. It was a party at their home. He had his arm around her waist, his face turned to hers. She was leaning away, facing the camera. Her gold locket glowed against her tawny skin. Her smile was unnaturally stiff, as if forced.

  There were more shots of Stella and Alisha at the same party. One included a dark-haired man with intense eyes and a thick, muscular build. Standing between the two women, he was about a foot taller than my sister and looked at least ten years older. He had draped his arm over her shoulder and tipped his head toward hers. Her smile seemed genuine and relaxed.

  “That’s Adelmo Balsuto. See, I wrote his name here.” She pointed to the caption: Adelmo with us at the party in my honor. “He’s one of Ben’s business associates. Very handsome and super-rich, but he gave me the creeps. Always lurking. Ben totally sucked up to him. But Stella, well, you can never tell if she really likes someone or if she’s just being Stella.”

  “You’re right. I couldn’t tell she wanted the man I planned to marry.” I knew how bitter that sounded, but I couldn’t help it. How many times had I excused my sister’s behavior because it was Stella just being Stella? All the times she’d been late or failed to show because something better came along or the projects she started and never finished or the people she finished with.

  Alisha’s face turned a vivid shade of pink, providing a splash of color in the otherwise colorless room.

  “I doubt if you care and I don’t blame you, but she seemed pretty miserable. She and Ben hardl
y spoke to each other, and he was jumpy and weird.” She picked a long strand of cat hair off the pillow beside her. Then she lowered her voice and asked, “You don’t think Ben would hurt her, do you?”

  “What makes you say that? Did you see something?”

  I thought of the times I’d had a peek behind the curtain at what Ben looked like when he lost his temper. My stomach roiled. If I hadn’t ignored those little warning signs that the man I loved might have a dark, ugly side, I would have never agreed to marry him. And if I hadn’t wanted him, would Stella have found him as appealing? Somehow, I didn’t think so.

  “No, no. I never even saw him touch her unless they were posing for pictures. It was little things like the way she jumped when he came up behind her or laughed too loud at his jokes. Sometimes it’s hard to tell what goes on between a couple when no one else is around.”

  She paused and ran her fingers through her perfect ponytail. It struck me her marriage might not be so perfect.

  “It’s hard for me to put my finger on it. She just wasn’t her old self. You remember how popular she was.”

  She looked at me as if she expected a response. “Yes, I remember.”

  “Well, now she doesn’t have any real friends. I felt sorry for her and offered to stay longer. But she said she was fine, and I should go home to Greg. I’m certain there was something she wasn’t telling me. I tried to get in touch with her for weeks after I got home, but she never returned my calls.”

  She looked at her watch and leaped to her feet. “Oh, my God! It’s almost one! I’m sorry, Grace, but I can’t be late for this appointment. Svetlana is the absolute best. Almost painless. Why don’t you take the album? When you bring it back, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  She hurried me through the Arctic tundra and held the door open for me as I slipped back into my shoes. “I shouldn’t have said anything about Ben. He would never hurt Stella. Right?”

  “I don’t know what Ben might do. But I guess I’m going to find out.”

  Chapter 6

  That night I dreamed of Stella. We were in the house we shared with Gran after my parents divorced. My sister and I were playing in the small backyard. She was hanging upside down from a tree branch. The day was so brilliant, I had to shield my eyes. Dark clouds appeared out of nowhere, and rain pelted down. Thunder rumbled in the background. I tried to call out to her, to insist she come down. The words stuck in my throat. I wanted to run to her, but a slash of blinding light cut across the sky, rendering me immobile. My sister smiled up at me from her topsy-turvy angle just before another flash of lightning split the air. The branch electrified with the fiery blast, and Stella was gone.

  When I bolted up in bed, a cold wet nose pressed against my cheek. I was eye to eye with the Doberman.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Scarlett. I didn’t mean to wake you.” I rubbed her smooth snout. She put her paws on the bed and scooted herself up with her hind legs. She stepped over me, lay down, and placed her foreleg over my hip, her muzzle on my shoulder. I’ve never been much of a spooner. But this was the first time Scarlett had approached me in such an intimate way. I accepted her gesture as the gift it was and fell asleep to her gentle snoring.

  . . . . .

  When I woke, my cell was buzzing. I rolled onto the space where Scarlett had been and answered it. It was my client and friend Carla Frazier, owner of a boutique lingerie shop that catered to women who, like Carla herself, were more than well endowed. Like Lesroy, she had refused to give up on me. She used her status to lure me to lunches and dinners that had nothing to do with business.

  “Hey, Carla. What’s up?”

  “Most likely my cholesterol.” She laughed. “But it sounds like you weren’t up. I can call later.”

  I assured her I was wide awake, and we spent the next ten minutes discussing details for her Christmas ad campaign. Since work had always been a positive distraction for me, I promised to revise the spots and send them to her before the weekend.

  All I wanted to do was crawl back into bed, but that would only give me time to think about Stella. So, I pulled on yesterday’s jeans and sweatshirt and stumbled to the kitchen. Scarlett stood by the door.

  “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting, Your Majesty.” I stepped aside to let her pass into the small fenced-in backyard.

  Then I made coffee and took a few sips before a sharp bark alerted me the dog wanted in. Together we wandered to the den. She climbed into her bed, circled three times before plopping down with her back to me. I sat on the sofa with my laptop, trying to come up with an ad that would convince buyers we had created a light, lacy concoction of frills with the protection of full body armor.

  Turned out it was no easy task. “Not your grandma’s bra” was nostalgic but evoked images of bosoms that had lost their war with gravity. “Throw away your bullet-proof vests, ladies,” while reassuring, seemed antagonistic. I settled on “Sensual support.”

  I stood to stretch, and Scarlett rose to give me her where the hell’s my breakfast face. When I checked the time, I couldn’t blame her.

  “I bet you’re starving, sweet girl.”

  After filling her dish, I washed my hands and poured cereal. A few bites in, I lost interest. How could I sit safe in my kitchen eating cereal when Stella might be—no, I would not go there.

  If Scarlett worried about her missing mistress, it hadn’t affected her appetite. She wolfed down her food and was licking the bowl when I removed her leash from its hook. She sat at attention. Quivering as I attached it, she scrambled toward the front door.

  Sunlight spewed over us, hinting today would be one of those mild December days that make you happy to live in the South. We headed down the street, Scarlett lunging while I scurried to keep up. After a few blocks, she slowed to a brisk trot, stopping to sniff at the spot where some phantom night creature had lingered. The trot became a saunter as she examined random sticks and scraggly patches of half-frozen monkey grass.

  Now that my survival didn’t depend on trying to stay on my feet, I was able to think. But not about Stella. No, I would make myself concentrate on subjects unrelated to my sister. I revisited the copy for Carla’s spot, then thought of the last time I’d seen my friend.

  I stopped by to check out her new holiday collection. Her hot pink Lexus with its custom license plate BB4ALL was parked in front of the store. The vivid colors of her vehicle correlated with her special line of brassieres for cancer survivors. Her specialty plates represented her philosophy of beautiful breasts for all.

  A wintery window display featured a white-tinsel Christmas tree decorated with bras and panties tied into bows. I winced at the bitter contrast of the festive cheer and memories of the starkness of our past few Christmases without Stella.

  Carla greeted me with an embrace, then stepped back and stared at me. “So, how are you doing? Remember, I’m a human bullshit detector.”

  I plastered on my brightest smile. “Much better, more like myself,” I lied, unsure what my pre-betrayal self had been.

  “Honey, you’re never going to be your old self again. The good news is you can be someone better, but only if you want to.”

  Her remark had irritated me. I wanted to be a better person, to let go of my rage. Who the hell wouldn’t?

  Today, heading back home with a much calmer Doberman, Carla’s words took on new meaning. She was right when she said I’d never be my pre-betrayal self. But it wasn’t Stella’s behavior that made her assessment accurate. It was because without her, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be. I had been a loving older sister devoted to my charming, albeit egotistical, sibling. I had spent so much time excusing and adoring Stella.

  Now, the possibility I might lose her forever terrified
me. Who would I be without her? Not Stella’s older sister. Not one of two daughters. Just me.

  I couldn’t be sure if it was the dropping temperature or the thought of what that sister-less life might be, but I began shivering so violently I had to hold Scarlett’s leash with both hands.

  Chapter 7

  Once home, I slipped into a bra from Carla’s not-so-well-endowed collection. She insisted on giving it to me as a thank you for a great quarter. I had to admit it enhanced my attributes, but at over one hundred dollars a pop, I’d have to stick with Target’s line.

  Dressed in clean jeans and a sweatshirt, I turned to check myself out in the mirror. As expected, my too-thin, hollow-eyed-face stared back at me, but I wasn’t alone. Eleven-year-old Stella stood beside me, wearing one of my push-up bras and frowning.

  “Grace, when do you think my boobs will come in?” she asked as if they were a reluctant crop of tomatoes.

  I weighed my answer, not mentioning my concern that as petite as she was, I suspected she might not receive a bountiful pair. Instead, I assured her she would start developing any day. But I underestimated the generosity of the breast fairy. Like everything else in Stella’s life, she was abundantly gifted. She accepted the largess with her usual composure and set about using her new assets to her best ability. At fourteen, she mastered the art of exposing just the right amount of cleavage to captivate her prey without seeming slutty.

  I blinked, and she disappeared. But she wasn’t done with me as I discovered when I leaned in to apply my mascara and saw not my face, but Stella’s.

  My sister and I never bore a strong physical resemblance to one another. Her brilliant blue eyes were in sharp contrast to my gray ones, and her blonde hair gave her a glamorous demeanor I would never have. But there had always been a sisterly sameness in our expressions, especially when we were immersed in sadness or lost in thought. Today the similarity was so striking it was as if I could touch the woman in the mirror and, in doing so, I might bring my sister home.