I nod without looking at him. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off the building. I wish I hadn’t worn heels. Sometimes, they make me feel confident, but today they make me feel pretentious. We walk in silence, or as much silence as my heels will allow.
At the front desk I give my name: Johanna Smith. I see Sam quirk his eyebrow. I don’t look at him. God, I hate that name. I only told Sam we were coming to see my sister, not where she was. We are led down a long hallway that smells of antiseptic. I glance over at the baby, wondering if the smell will bother her. She is asleep. Such a good sleeper. I smile.
We are taken to the very last room. I stop in the doorway, and Sam places a hand on my shoulder. I suddenly feel very sick. He nudges me. He’s so damn pushy.
I walk through. She is sitting in a wheelchair facing the window. Bright sunlight streams onto her face. She seems impervious to it, staring straight ahead, not really seeing anything. I walk to her slowly and crouch down in front of her.
“Court,” I take her hands. They are limp and cold. “Court, it’s me.” She stares past me. I look around the room — a bed, a television, two chairs. There are no personal touches; no flowers or pictures on the walls just like the rooms we passed on our way here. I look back at Courtney.
“I’m sorry I haven’t come before now,” I say. “I brought Estella to see you.”
Sam, who has already taken her from her car seat, hands her to me. She holds her neck stiff as I take her, her large eyes looking around with innocent curiosity. I place her in Courtney’s lap and hold her there. My sister doesn’t move, doesn’t blink and doesn’t register the tiny presence pressed against her body. Estella fusses after a few seconds, so I take her and hold her.
My sister’s hair is greasy and limp. It is too short to tie back and hangs in her face. I reach up and push it behind her ears. I hate this. I hate this place, and I hate that my sister is here. I hate myself for not coming to see her sooner. She doesn’t belong here. I make my decision right then and there.
“Sam,” I say, standing up, “I want to bring her home … to my home. I can have someone come in to help.”
“Okay,” he says. “Are you clearing this with me or...” He shakes his head, and I want to slap him for the tenth time today.
“I’m just telling you, idiot.”
He grins.
“Courtney, I’m going to bring you home. Just give me a few days, okay … to get everything ready.”
I touch her face lightly. Beautiful, vibrant Courtney, I can see her in this person’s features, the high forehead and aquiline nose. But her eyes are lifeless. I reach around the back of her head and press my lips against her forehead. I can feel the scar beneath my fingertips, thick and hard. I swallow a sob and straighten up. Estella clings to my shirt, her little fists grabbing the material tightly. I march out without looking back, my heels clipping with new purpose.
Sam waits with Estella while I speak with the director of the facility. When we leave, I have a handful of pamphlets for in-home care.
We are back in the car when he speaks for the first time since leaving Courtney’s room.
“So … Johanna?”
“Shut up, Sam.”
“It’s a valid question, your majesty. If you don’t tell me why you hate it, I’m going to call you Johanna from now on.”
I sigh. How much to tell him? Caleb was the only one who knew. What the heck, right? I didn’t even know why it was a big secret anymore. My father was dead, his empire fallen, and my mother was a drunk. Whyyyyyy not tell the manny?
“I was adopted. No one knows. It’s been a big secret.” I shake my head, quirking my mouth to the side like it’s nothing. Sam lets out a low whistle.
“So, anyway, I was born in Kiev. My birth mother worked in a brothel — yada-yada.”
“Yada. Yada,” Sam repeats. “Seems like a little more than yada-yada.”
I give him a stern look before continuing. “My birth mother was reluctant to give me up. She was young. Sixteen. When she was little, her mother used to read to her from an American book called, Tales of Johanna. She agreed to give me up, but only if my parents would name me Johanna. They wanted a baby so badly that they did.”
“So that’s kind of great,” Sam says. “It’s like she gave you something of herself.”
I snort. “Yeah, well … my parents only told me I was adopted when I was eight. You can imagine my shock. They sat me down in the formal dining room — just tiny little me and them — in this imposing room. I was so afraid I was in trouble; I was shaking the entire time. As soon as I found out about the origins of my name, I didn’t want it anymore.”
Sam reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “Man, I thought my parents sucked.”
I grimaced. “So, that’s why I go by my middle name. The end.”
“Is Courtney their birth daughter?”
I nodded.
“What happened to her?”
“When my father died, she got sick.”