The next evening I take the train to Huntington. As I step down from the platform, I see Daphne waving at me from her bright yellow Mini-Cooper. I walk toward her and can see something in her face that looks unnatural and exaggerated. Like a beginning actress pretending to be happy.
When I get to the car, I say, “Hey, Daph!” recognizing the false cheer in my own voice. I realize that it’s mighty difficult to act normal when someone else is behaving oddly.
We make small talk on the drive back to her house, discussing her kids at school. She also tells me, in terms that go way beyond effusive, how much she adored Amy Dickerson’s novel. She says she selected it for her book club even though they usually stick with chick lit.
“The girls are going to love it,” she says. “It’s just so thought-provoking.”
I glance at Daphne, thinking that it is quite possibly the first time Daphne has ever referred to her thoughts as being provoked . My sister is not at all dumb, but she is far from introspective.
When we get to her house, Daphne clicks open the garage door. I see Tony’s black minivan parked inside and mentally rule out marital problems. At least anything imminent. Then again, this strange brand of chipperness would not really make sense in the context of divorce. Something else is going on.
“Home again, home again, jiggity jig!” Daphne says with a nervous laugh. It is what my father says every single time he pulls into our garage. Daphne picked the habit up. Maybe I would, too, if I had a garage to pull into.
I follow Daphne into the kitchen, say hello to her two yapping Yorkies, Anna and Gary, and survey a hearty spread of crab puffs made from English muffins and a lot of butter. Daphne is not a fancy cook, she just does the basics exceptionally well. Tony is sitting at the counter watching a baseball game, but when he sees us, he stands, walks over to me and kisses me on the cheek. “It’s wonderful to see you, Claudia!” he says, sounding as stilted as my sister.
“It’s wonderful to see you, too, Tony,” I say.
Daphne turns down the volume on the TV and says sweetly, “Could you please turn the music back on, honey?”
He obliges, as I say, “Wow, Daph. Crab puffs. What’s the special occasion?”
She gives me an innocent expression. “No special occasion. We just wanted to have you over. That’s all. Right, Tone?”
“Uh-huh,” Tony says. “That’s right.”
I can feel myself grinning. “Uh-huh.”
“What?” Daphne says innocently.
I laugh. “Something is going on here.”
Daphne and Tony exchange an unmistakable glance.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Daphne says. “We have white and red.”
“Uh-huh. And let me guess what you have in the fridge. Chocolate mousse for dessert?”
Her eyes grow wide. “How did you know?”
“Because I know that you know that chocolate mousse is my favorite So, Daphne, just tell me what’s going on here. I mean, do you need to borrow money?”
I instantly regret my joke. My sister has never asked to borrow money from me, but things are frequently tight for her and Tony and maybe they do need some money for fertility treatments. Just in case, I add, “It’s not like I have anything to spend my salary on now that I’m alone!”
Tony laughs. “Well, yeah, actually I could use some cash. Do you have an extra five grand lying around? I’d love a new set of golf clubs. Or a motorcycle,” he says, making the revving hand motion of a biker.
“You’re not getting a motorcycle! They’re too dangerous,” Daphne says, lapsing into her normal self for one second. Then she says to me, “Don’t be silly. We don’t need any money. But thank you. Thank you for offering. You are such a generous, caring sister.”
I laugh and say in a hillbilly accent, “Okay. Listen, missus, I want my sister back. What did you do with my sister?”
Daphne gives me her best Stepford Wife expression and says, “I have no idea what you mean by that.” Then she turns, wipes her hands on her apron, and busies herself with a Screwpull wine opener, Ben’s Christmas gift to Tony years ago when we first began our Secret Santa name draw. I can’t believe it stuck around longer than he did. I sit at the counter next to Tony and help myself to a crab puff. It is sheer perfection.
“Okay,” I say. “Have it your way. I’m just happy to be getting the star treatment. These crab puffs are divine .”
Daphne slowly pours three glasses of red wine, and when she finally turns back around, tears are streaming down her face.
Before I can ask her what’s wrong, she says, “We don’t want your money, Claudia But we do want something from you.”
I swallow my bite of crab puff and feel a knot in my stomach. For some crazy reason, I think that Daphne needs a kidney. Of course I will give her one of mine.
“Are you sick?” I ask, feeling weak with fear. The thought of one of my sisters dying young is simply too horrible to bear.
“No,” Daphne says, her voice cracking. “I’m fine But my eggs”