When We Were Sisters

“I will, but my time with Raoul is precious. I don’t want to miss any of it.”

“Don’t forget, in an emergency you can call the women I’ve highlighted on my list.”

She shook her head. “That will be Mr. Lenhart’s job.”

I realized how far ahead of me she was. “You’re right. If he has an emergency, he can fix it. The list is just in case he doesn’t.”

She smiled, showing pretty, even teeth, but I thought the smile said, he’d better.

As if in emphasis, Elena glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I need to leave in a few minutes.”

Luckily Kris took that moment to walk out to the back deck, then down the steps toward us.

I smiled at him when he reached us, but his was only for show. He’s still angry with me, and I try not to be reminded of my grandmother, whose anger destroyed my childhood. Luckily I’m an adult, and this time I haven’t lost the power of speech.

I made the introduction, and Elena offered her hand. Kris’s smile was warmer when he focused it on her, as if he realized she wasn’t the culprit.

“I hope you’ll enjoy working for us,” he said.

“Miss Robin made a list of all your expectations, Mr. Lenhart.”

“Call me Kris.”

She smiled, but I knew that he would be Mr. Kris no matter what he told her. When I asked Elena to call me Robin, she’d told me that in Colombia, where she had lived for the first part of her life, there was a useful line between domestic help and employers, and she planned to observe it here. In turn I had told Nik and Pet to call her Miss Elena.

“Do you have any questions for me?” he asked, as I had earlier.

“I explained to Miss Robin I have to leave here at six, not a moment later.”

“Pet and Nik should be fine for a little while if I’m not home right on time.”

She was still smiling politely. “I can’t leave them without supervision. If there was a problem, I would blame myself.”

Kris looked taken aback. “Could you just leave them for a few minutes while you fetch your son and bring him here?”

“His day care is half an hour away.”

He recovered. “I’ll do my best.”

She examined him much the way I remember examining algae under my ninth grade microscope. “I’m sure your best is perfect.” She said goodbye and left to pick up her son. Kris watched her go.

“You couldn’t find somebody more flexible?” he asked after she disappeared from sight.

“Kris, if you really can’t get home on time, feel free to hire someone to come in when Elena leaves. But the other woman I interviewed refused to stay beyond five-thirty. I bought you an extra half hour to make it back from work.”

“We’re paying her enough to make some exceptions.”

“She has a life and a son.” I couldn’t help adding, “Sometimes there’s not enough money in the world to convince a parent anything in life is more important than their child.”

“And apparently sometimes there is. You know, like a job you can’t say no to?” He let that rest a moment before he added. “So what about your life?”

He had turned my salvo around and aimed it right at me. “Me? I’ve been busy setting everything up to make our transition as easy as possible. So I’d appreciate a moratorium on criticism. See how Elena does. If you’re not happy, feel free to make arrangements that suit you better.”

“Are you packed and ready?”

“I guess I was saying goodbye to the garden.”

“It’s on its way out, isn’t it?”

I wanted to stand here with Kris’s arms around me and start our goodbyes. I wanted us to forgive each other and move on. Distance in miles doesn’t have to mean emotional distance. I’m not leaving forever. But he was a yard away, arms folded against his chest. The signs were clear he didn’t want to move closer.

“It’s on the way out. I’m glad I’ll be back in time to get it in shape for the spring.”

“I wonder—would you have been as willing to go off with Cecilia if the garden was in full bloom?”

I watched my windflowers dance in the breeze. “Please don’t make this opportunity sound like an extended vacation and shopping trip with my sister, okay? I’m jump-starting my career.”

“You could do that right here.”

“Which part of ‘this is important to me’ eludes you, Kris?”

“How much of ‘you need to spend more time with your kids’ factors into your decision, Robin?”

“You do need to. While they’re still around.”

“Wouldn’t it have been simpler to just plan a family vacation?”

I watched as he realized what he’d said. Without thinking he’d just thrown himself on a bomb that was about to scatter body parts to the four winds.

“We did,” I said. “Just ask your parents how well that turned out.”

* * *

Pet’s room is painted a color our painter calls kimono purple, as luscious as a Concord grape. She has a fluffy white area rug and billowy curtains, and she collects metallic gold accessories. Picture frames, a spray-painted bamboo tray on top of her white dresser, a beige bedspread covered with gold and silver flowers pulled neatly over her trundle bed. She’s ten. I look forward to seeing her talent for design blossom, because the room is beautiful, and all the ideas were hers.

Ida believes Pet’s artistic gift comes from Gus, who is far too modest to say so. Pet likes art classes, but right now her first love is set design. The theater camp she’s attended for several years recognized her talents this past summer and put her to work designing the Emerald City.

When I went to say good-night—we no longer call this tucking in—my daughter was on her knees saying bedtime prayers. Kris’s mother is Catholic, and Kris attended Catholic school as a boy, Notre Dame as an undergraduate and finally Georgetown Law School. We were married in his family’s church and I converted afterward. I wanted us to attend church as a family, and we do. On Easter and Christmas Eve.

At the moment Nik has no interest in religion, but Pet, whose given name, Petra, is a feminine version of Peter, takes religion seriously. She’s already talking about attending a Catholic high school in nearby Fairfax when the time comes.

I waited until she crossed herself and got into bed before I went to perch on the edge beside her. I ask the same question every night. “Homework all done and everything ready for the morning?”

“Who’s going to ask that when you’re not here?”

“Well, Daddy, for one. And I’ll call most nights to ask you myself.”

“That won’t be the same.”

“Change isn’t bad—it’s just different.”

“Different isn’t always good.”

I reminded her of a promise I had already made. “Don’t forget, I’ll come home whenever I can, but the moment the timing works out, I’m going to whisk you to wherever we’re filming so you can watch. That’ll be fun, don’t you think?”

“Nik won’t come? You promise?”

“Nik will come at a different time.”

“Daddy doesn’t want you to leave.”

Children pick up on everything. “Daddy’s going to miss me, too,” I said.

“He doesn’t want to do the things you do for us.”

“I think he’s a little afraid he won’t do them well enough, don’t you?”

She considered. Then she shook her head, her long brown hair fanning over the pillow. “He’s probably right.”

“You have to help him, Pet. Let Daddy know if he forgets something, and don’t expect him to be perfect right off the bat, okay?”

I didn’t want to drag this out. The longer I stayed, the more my own ambivalence would infect the room. I love my children, and spending this much time away suddenly seemed impossible. Still, my childhood was one long series of goodbyes, and I know how to make them.

I stood and bent over. “I know you’re ten, but may I kiss you good-night anyway?”

She sat up and hugged me hard as I kissed her cheek and stroked her hair.

“I love you, and I’ll be home for Thanksgiving if not before. We’ll do all our favorites. If you want, you can make the pumpkin pie all by yourself.”

She sniffed, and I kissed her again. Then I left the room without looking back. I learned that in foster care, too.

Nik’s room was across the hall from Pet’s. About three months ago he push-pinned a sign to his door, a skull and crossbones and the words Stay Out On Pain of Death. Kris wanted to remove the sign, but we aren’t raising a serial killer. We’re raising a normal twelve-year-old boy who values a little privacy in a life filled with family demands and social interactions. I compromised and let him have the skull and crossbones but not the threat.

I knocked. Almost a minute passed, but after my second attempt he mumbled something close to “come in.”

“Just saying good-night,” I said after I opened the door. While Pet keeps her room so neat it looks as if she’s planning a photo shoot for Architectural Digest, Nik’s is always strewn with projects and clothing. My son’s childhood has been spent flitting from one great idea to another. He takes up and abandons hobbies at an awesome rate. He collected coins, built entire villages out of Popsicle sticks, created sculptures from clay, raised gerbils and kept a garter snake named Walt, who happily moved back to my garden after a month in captivity.

The one hobby that seems to have ridden the wave is music. My son’s gray walls are covered with rock-star posters, most signed to Nikola Lenhart from friends of Cecilia’s. He has an electronic keyboard on a stand in the corner and a guitar in the opposite corner. So far, unlike Pet, who is making steady progress on the piano, Nik has shown not an ounce of talent. But Cecilia has pointed out how many music industry jobs only require a love of music and an assortment of other abilities. When Donny was here after the accident, he and Nik chatted about the skills needed to manage an artist or an act. Nik looked a little interested, which, these days, means he was totally captivated.

I saw he was sitting at his desk wearing an old T-shirt and pajama bottoms with tattered cuffs, and I joined him, peeking over his shoulder. “Homework all done?”

“Everything but this stupid essay.”

Nik’s a good student and likes his classes. When he momentarily forgets he doesn’t like me anymore, we actually enjoy discussing what he’s learning.

“The one about talking to people whose political ideas are different from yours?”

“Yeah, how lame is that. Like I care.”

I messed up his hair. “You’d better care.”

He swatted my hand away. “Miss Greene wants me to say I should listen with respect and talk about my feelings.”

“But you don’t want to do that?”

“I’d rather tell an idiot to stop spouting garbage and then go talk to somebody who has a brain.”

“That’ll get you an F on the essay and no friends, because eventually you’ll run out of people who agree with you.”

He shrugged, but I’m not worried. Nik will find a way to complete the assignment that works for him. And what twelve-year-old boy wants to politely agree with anybody? Especially his mother?

I changed the subject. “I’m leaving early tomorrow. You know I’ll miss you, right?”

He shrugged again. “Miss Elena says she’ll make tacos.”

“I bet they’ll be amazing.”

“Maybe she won’t try to sneak in vegetables, like you do.”

“That’s me, sneak extraordinaire.”

“You don’t have to call all the time.”

“I’ll remember that. Maybe I’ll just call once a day.”

“Aunt Cecilia told me she couldn’t do this without you, and she hoped I didn’t mind loaning you to her.”

I was touched Cecilia had managed to get Nik aside and tell him that on the one afternoon she was with us. “Do you? Mind, I mean?”

“Why should I?”

“Such an excellent question.” I straightened, and then before he could escape I launched myself at him for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I love you more than roses in spring and sunsets in summer.”

He pushed me away. “Stop that!”

“Your turn.”

“We haven’t done that since forever.”

“Your turn.”

He groaned. “I love you more than pizza and orange juice, okay? Jeez!”

“That’ll do. Pepperoni pizza?”

“Leave me alone.”

I did, but reluctantly. A firstborn child holds a special place in any mother’s heart. Except apparently my mother’s. And Cecilia’s.

When I got to our room Kris was nowhere in sight, and I hoped he was on his way upstairs to say good-night to our children. I took a shower and washed my hair since there would be no time in the morning.

Sometimes showers are the only time I can think without interruption. Now as I lathered and rinsed it seemed to me that this entire trip had moved forward without me. From the beginning I’d been pushed and pulled between Cecilia and Kris, with very little time to face my own feelings. I had been so busy responding to everyone else that I had pushed down the fear that had built steadily inside me. Finally it was erupting into panic. Logic dictated I should be sure I was doing the right thing before I got on that plane tomorrow, even if backing down at this late date created myriad problems for everyone.

How could I leave my family? How could I expose my marriage to greater stress? Did I really believe I still had the talent to pull this off?

Did I really want to face Cecilia’s past and the role I had played in it?

The water had grown cold when I finally stepped out. No matter how frightened I was, I was on a path now, and I saw no way to turn around. But this was not the way a journey should begin.

As I dressed for bed I forced myself to concentrate on the mundane. My suitcase and camera bag were already downstairs. I had been told to pack light, that our hotels would do our laundry and cleaning, but I had the added burden of my equipment to drag along with me. When photography was my full-time job I developed a tried-and-true system for travel. A knit dress, tights and black flats, two pairs of lightweight pants, three shirts ranging from semidressy to casual and a vest with multiple pockets. Quick-dry underwear I can wash out and hang up at night is a given, and two plain T-shirts I can sleep in or wear if necessary. For this trip I added a fleece cardigan and a heavier waterproof jacket I would carry on the airplane.

My photography bag contains cameras—including a new Canon I bought for this occasion—an assortment of lenses, filters, cables, memory cards, batteries and more. My second carry-on is a backpack with my computer, tablet and personal items, but it’s large enough to hold camera equipment if necessary later on.

Our first stop will be western Pennsylvania, the town where Cecilia was born. We probably won’t be there long, but the temperature will be in the forties at night. At this point the next destination is still under discussion.

I was about to give up on Kris and try to get some sleep when he finally came in and closed the door behind him.

I sat up. “Is Nik still working on his essay?”

“I don’t know. He was in bed.”

“You’ll need to check with him tomorrow. It’s due at the end of the week.”

“I’ll put that on my list.”

His tone didn’t bode well. “He’ll be glad to talk about the essay. We talked a little tonight. He’s trying to figure out what he should say, that’s all. Maybe you can help.”

“I’m going to take a shower.”

He made a wide berth around the bed, as if he was afraid I might leap out and grab him.

“You could wait,” I said.

“I’ll be busy in the morning.”

“I mean wait a little while.” I patted the bed beside me, willing to take a risk because Kris’s arms around me tonight would go a long way to quieting my fears. “Wouldn’t you rather snuggle and maybe say goodbye properly?”

He finally looked at me. “You’re getting up early. You ought to go to sleep.”

“I can sleep on the plane.”

“I’m not in the mood, Robin. Do you know that in order to get home on time to meet Elena I had to blow off a meeting? I’ve been on the telephone all evening catching up with what I missed.”

“Okay.” I turned away from him. I knew better than to say more because at moments like these words are dangerous weapons.

He spoke to my back. “I don’t want to be this angry. For the record.”

“Does that mean you think you’re overreacting or that it’s my fault?”

“I wish I knew.”

I rolled over again and faced him. “I’ll be gone for a while on this first leg. Do you really want to say goodbye this way?”

“Remember me? The guy who doesn’t want to say goodbye at all?”

“For the record, in case you’re still mulling over your choices? You’re overreacting.”

“Maybe so, but how much worse could your timing be?”

“For which of us? The one who’s trying to figure out her life by doing something other than wait on her family hand and foot? Or the one who can’t figure out how to incorporate that same family into his world?”

“Look, I know the accident has a lot to do with this.”

“Not as much as you think. It just sped up the process.”

“Maybe I’ll get used to seeing you walk out the door, Robin. Maybe I’ll even start to look forward to it. Who knows?”

My voice remained steady, but only with great effort. “Could be. Maybe you’ll find having a paid housekeeper is every bit as good as having me. And maybe I’ll find that having no husband isn’t all that different from having you.”

We stared at each other. The weapons had been launched. Maybe both of us were torn and wishing we could take back our words.

Or maybe that was just me.

I turned away again, and moments later I heard the bathroom door close behind him.

10

Kris

Robin’s gone. I had counted on waking up to say goodbye before her airport shuttle arrived. I wanted to wish her well and restore at least a fraction of goodwill, but apparently I lay awake for too much of the night thinking of exactly what I would say and how I would absolve us both. Midnight problem solving takes a toll. I didn’t hear her get up, much less go downstairs. Now she’s gone, and frankly I wouldn’t even be awake right now if Channa Weinberg wasn’t standing in the driveway next door sobbing.

Channa, who lost her mother less than a month ago, a woman I admired and whose friendship I enjoyed. The same woman who took the place of my wife on the night of the accident.

My wife? While Talya left this earth without a goodbye, this morning Robin left our home without learning how much she would be missed, how glad I am that she survived the accident, how sorry I am that I’ve been acting like an asshole ever since.

Now I heard Michael comforting his daughter, although at this distance the words weren’t clear. But as I slid out of bed and started down the hall to wake my children, I wondered what I would say in the same circumstances.

Michael probably understands what Channa needs, and acts accordingly, despite his own grief. Then there’s me. The man who fully intended to be a hands-on father and found that eking out the time was a lot harder than he expected. Of course I had the perfect stand-in. Robin is a wonderful mother who has always been right here so I can be a wonderful wage earner. And now she’s changed the rules and taken off to leave me in charge of both.

The first glimmer of anger reappeared, and I welcomed it. I didn’t have enough time to be angry at myself and Robin this morning. I made the obvious choice. Suddenly I missed my wife less.

Pet was already up, which I should have expected. Fully dressed for school, she opened her door and stared at me standing bleary-eyed in her doorway in my pajamas.

“Doesn’t your bus come soon?” I wasn’t quite sure what time it was because I hadn’t checked the clock. And strike two? The bus schedule was posted downstairs.

Clearly, from Pet’s expression, my IQ had dropped a few points this morning. “I have to eat, don’t I?”

“Exactly what are you wearing?”

My daughter isn’t sophisticated enough to hide guilt. She has fair skin like her mother, and now I watched the color in her cheeks deepen before she looked down. “Everybody wears skirts like this.”

The skirt barely covered my daughter’s tush. Maybe everybody wore them, but I was pretty sure that unless they were auditioning for a reality show called Preteen Hookers, they wore them with something else.

I pointed toward her closet. “Wear something under it or change.”

“Daddy!”

“It’s fall. You’ll freeze, and besides you’ll spend the whole day pulling your skirt down. If they even let you stay in school.”

“But I told you, everybody wears skirts this short.”

“Does your mom let you wear that skirt to school without something under it?” The “something,” whatever it was called, wasn’t in my vocabulary. I would Google this mystery later so our next conversation could be more precise.

She didn’t answer.

“Go.” I pointed again.

“Fine, but I’m going to be late!”

That was already clear. I headed down the hall to pull Nik out of bed. As expected, he was still sleeping. The one thing I remembered about the bus schedule was that Nik’s bus came later, because middle school started later. If I was lucky at least one of my children would board a school bus today and not require a personal chauffeur.

Except that, of course, that would mean Nik would be here alone after I left with Pet. Could I trust my increasingly rebellious son to get to his bus stop on time. Or at all? I really didn’t know.

“What do you want for breakfast?” I asked on my way out of his room.

“What I always have.”

“And that would be?”

“What Mom fixes.”

“Then I’ll fix whatever I feel like fixing unless you give me a better clue.”

“Waffles.”

Robin had pointed out the frozen waffles in our freezer. “You want sausage or bacon?”

“I don’t eat pork. Do you know what pig farms do to the environment?”

“You can tell me all about it some other time.”

Downstairs I found the waffles, read the directions and slid them into the toaster. I took out cereal and milk, bananas and berries, juice. I located the syrup and butter, and had everything on the counter by the time Pet arrived wearing something that stretched to her ankles under the skirt. I hoped she didn’t strip off whatever it was as soon as she was out of sight.

As I got bowls and plates my cell phone buzzed. Pet had already informed me she liked toast and strawberry jam with her cereal, so I had popped out Nik’s waffles to replace them with bread.

“Can you pencil in a breakfast meeting first thing?” Buff said without the usual pleasantries. He named three other attorneys on our floor and a local coffee shop. “Everybody else can be there.”

I did calculations in my head. I had to dress and drive Pet to school. I had to figure out what to do about Nik and whether I could safely leave him here to do what he was supposed to. Then I had to drive into work. Since that would be later than usual, I would be hampered by rush hour.

Trying to do the impossible wouldn’t win me points with Buff, because clearly I would fail. And in any law office, it’s all about results.

I told him the truth, then I finished with, “But I’ll try to get there by the end of the meeting and someone can catch me up.”

“Robin left this morning?”

“It may take a day or two to get into the swing of our new schedule.”

“We’ll do what we can without you today.”

I didn’t miss the slight emphasis on “today.”

I called upstairs to Nik, who didn’t answer.

“He’s always slow,” Pet said through a mouthful of toast. “Sometimes Mommy has to go up and shoo him downstairs.”

“Does your mother leave him here to catch his bus if she has to take you to school?”

“I don’t know. She always makes sure I’m on time for my bus.”

“You’re old enough to take on that responsibility, Pet. You can set your alarm.”

“Like you set yours this morning?” She cocked her head in question.

“Let’s just pretend that once upon a time you missed the bus. Let’s say you fell and skinned your knee, and by the time it was all washed and bandaged and you had changed your clothes, the bus had left without you.”