Left Behind(6)

“Tomorrow.”

Pushing panic aside, I do my best not to show fear. “Okay.”

Ms. Evans smiles at me. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost think she likes me today.

“I’ll pick you up at noon and you two can have lunch. Get to know each other a bit.”

As if I had any other choice, I force a smile and nod.

***

I tear through all of my taped boxes and Ashley’s entire closet, trying to decide what to wear. There’s just no outfit that screams, I’m a kid you never met, but you should let me live with you anyway. I finally settle for jeans and a pink shirt. The shirt is a bit frou-frou for my taste, but Ashley swears it makes me look sweet and innocent. I’ll take any help I can get.

The whole ride to the restaurant we’re meeting my Aunt at, Ms. Evans tries to make small talk, but I’m too nervous to participate much. I stare out the window, watching the trailer parks fade into the distance as Houston gets closer and closer.

“Mrs. Nichols is very nice, I think you’ll like her.” Evil Evans says as we pull into a parking lot.

“Mrs. Nichols? Is that what I should call her? I guess she’s married?” I’d gone over so many things in my head…thought I was thoroughly prepared for today, but already there’s two things I haven’t even thought of. What do I call her? And what if she’s married and already has kids? Maybe they won’t want another mouth to feed.

“Relax.” Ms. Evans reaches down and covers my hand with hers. I’m not sure why, but I let her.

“I think you can call her Claire, or Mrs. Nichols if that makes you more comfortable. And, no, she isn’t married. She’s a widow.”

“How did her husband die?” I have no idea why I ask the question, but I really want to know the answer for some reason.

“I didn’t ask, Nikki.”

“I guess I shouldn’t either?” It’s more of a question than a statement.

“I think you’ll be fine. You ask what you need to ask. This needs to work for both of you. Not just Mrs. Nichols.” She pats the hand she’s still holding.

I take a deep breath and blow out an exaggerated exhale.

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

***

Claire Nichols is nothing like I expected. She’s tall, unlike the petite size my mother and I are. Or were. The petite size my mother was. Her hair is pulled back from her face in a simple ponytail, yet it leaves her looking sophisticated and stylish. She’s wearing a sweater set and skirt, very modern and pretty.

Ms. Evans makes the awkward introductions and leaves us after only a few minutes to deal with another emergency. The second one that’s come up during the two hours I’ve been with her.

“How are you holding up, Nikki?” It seems to be a popular question that grownups like to ask. Very generic, open ended.

“I’m fine.”

“Really?” Claire waits till she catches my gaze. Her eyes take my breath away. They’re the same as Mom’s, pale blue with a dark ring of greenish blue around the outside.

“You have Mom’s eyes.” The words tumble from my lips and I hear them wobble as they reach the air.

Claire smiles hesitantly. “Our mom used to say if it wasn’t for our eyes, she’d never believe we were sisters.”

“You weren’t a lot alike, I guess.”

She shakes her head. “You have her eyes too.”

“I know.”

“Did you know your mom had a sister, Nikki?”

Unsure what the right answer is, I lie. “Yes.” Claire taking me home with her is step one in my plan to find my own sister. I need to make her think my mom would have really wanted me to be with her. My guess is that’s actually the furthest thing from the truth, since Mom didn’t tell me she had a sister until after she died.

“I’m surprised,” Claire says, and I can see the shock on her face. She isn’t lying.

“My mother said she was sorry she stopped speaking to you a long time ago. She regretted it, Aunt Claire.” I force the Aunt in, hoping it might help. Shoot…she looks skeptical.

“She did? I mean, no disrespect to your mom. She was my sister, after all, but in all the years I spent with her, I never saw her show any regret. I thought it was something that her…” She stops abruptly, looking as if she’s said something wrong. Is she afraid to mention Mom’s illness, or does she think I don’t know Mom was mentally ill? I lived with her for seventeen years. How could she think I didn’t know?

“I know all about my mom’s illness. She needed me to know so I could help her. Plus, it wasn’t exactly an easy thing to hide, if you know what I mean.”

A combination of relief and dread wash over her pale pretty face. It’s something I’m used to. Nobody wants to talk to a kid about mental illness. People would feel more comfortable telling a child her mother has cancer than that she has a psychiatric disease. Mental illness is taboo in society. I don’t get it. I never have. But I’ve learned to deal with it. Everyone was so comfortable talking about Mom’s diabetes— a condition she was born with and one she needed to take insulin for her entire life. But when the conversation turned to the illness in Mom’s head, everyone got afraid.

“It’s a difficult subject to talk about, isn’t it?” Claire’s thoughts seem far away. “She was my sister and I still have a tough time with it. I guess it’s because, as kids, our mom never talked about it. All the focus was on your mother’s diabetes and her medications for that. Everything else was treated as a secret until we were teenagers. And by then, the things my parents didn’t speak of, the things I didn’t understand, had driven a real wedge between your mom and me.”

Intimate conversations like this with a stranger make me nervous. I try to hide it, but Claire sees right through it, “We don’t need to talk about this now. It’s too much too fast. I’m sorry.”

I always get a cold feeling in my body when I feel like someone knows what I’m thinking. I rub my hands together to try and make it disappear.

“I live in California, Nikki. Do you know that? It’s where your mother and I were born and raised.”

We’ve moved a dozen times, but never outside of Texas. I just assumed Mom was from here. I didn’t know she was raised in California but I’m not sure I should admit it. “Do you have children?” I ask instead.

Claire’s face turns sad. “No, I don’t. It wasn’t meant to be for me. I lost my husband before we ever had any.”

“How much older than Mom are you?” I ask, immediately hoping that I didn’t just stick my foot in my mouth. Why do I assume she’s the older sister?

“Three years. I was three when your mom was born. Just turned twenty-five when you were born.”

I always knew Mom was young when I was born, but it’s weird to think she was only a few years older than I am now when she gave birth to me…and to my sister. I can’t even imagine having one baby, let alone two, now, and with all of her medical problems.

Mom’s age is really the only detail I’ve ever known about my birth. And that her diabetes got much worse after the pregnancy— another pregnancy would probably have ended her life. I remember a doctor telling her that when I was seven or eight. I don’t know why, but the conversation stuck with me all these years.

After that, Mom had to have an insulin pump placed in her body. It sat on the outside of her waist in a little pouch; insulin was sent through a plastic tube into her body to help her pancreas work. Mom treated so many things in our life like a paranoid secret, that I’ve always hung on tightly to the facts.

Claire eases the conversation into less intrusive topics— school, travel, hobbies. We even find we have a few things in common: we both like to read, neither of us can swim and math isn’t our strongpoint.

Ms. Evans checks in with us a few times, but doesn’t stick around to talk. Eventually, there’s a lull in our conversation. After a long, deafening moment of silence, Claire locks eyes with me and softly asks, “What do you want to happen here, Nikki?”

The point-blank question catches me off guard, freezing me. I can’t just blurt out, “I want to find my sister.” Claire hasn’t mentioned her, and Mom warned in her letter that Claire wouldn’t help me find her and probably wouldn’t even admit I was a twin.

“I don’t know what I want, Aunt Claire.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I want my mom back, but I know that isn’t something anyone can give me. I don’t want to go to a foster home. That’s what I know I don’t want.”

“I’d like to help you, Nikki. You’re my niece. I want what’s best for you but I don’t know if I’m it. I don’t want to be selfish. Maybe we can go day by day and see what each day brings? Do you think you could leave your friends and your life in Texas and start over in California? It’s a lot to think about, isn’t it?”

There’s nothing I need to think about. My mind is already made up. But if she thinks it’s a big decision, I’ll pretend I have to think about it. Although nothing could stop me from going.