Of course.
If anything, Iris seemed more skittish now than when she first arrived. At times she seemed almost afraid of Vi. And Vi found it exhausting to constantly be having one-way conversations. Sometimes, like now, she wanted to shake Iris, beg her to talk.
Iris was wearing the disgusting blaze-orange hat. She never took it off. She probably slept in it, for all Vi knew. She was still dressed in Vi’s clothes: overalls and a long-sleeved blue shirt, which she had on inside out. Having this girl, this weird silent twin, walking around in her clothes, following close behind her like a shadow, was unsettling.
“Do you want to go find Eric? See if he’ll let us take out the bunny?”
Yes, Iris nodded. Yes, yes, yes.
She always said yes to the rabbit.
They went up to Eric’s room. His twin bed was shoved against the back wall, covered in a worn quilt. Next to his bed was a small table with a stack of comic books, a flashlight, a windup Mickey Mouse alarm clock, and the same photo of their parents Vi had on her own bedside table. There was a small bookshelf full of nature guides and animal books. On top of it stood the model of Darwin’s boat, the HMS Beagle, that Gran had ordered all the way from England for Eric’s Christmas present last year. The rest of his room was full of critters. Cages lined the floor in rows, were stacked on shelves: wire cages and glass aquariums holding mice and rats rescued from the basement lab; a turtle with a cracked shell that Eric and Gran had repaired with wires, pins, and glue; a squirrel who was missing his left eye; guinea pigs (from back when Gran had a few of them in her lab); and now the baby rabbit. He had a whole plastic Habitrail system with tubes leading from one plastic enclosure to another: a city of mice, all female so that they couldn’t breed. He’d bought the Habitrail setup with his own money at the pet store and was often adding to it. The male mice were in their own metal cages. There was a rat running around in a plastic ball on the floor. The guinea pigs chirped and whistled. A white mouse ran on a squeaky wheel.
Vi watched Eric take the mesh top off the rabbit’s aquarium as he whispered softly to the bunny, “It’s okay, Ginger. You’re okay. We’re just going to hold you for a while. We won’t hurt you.”
He picked her up, stroked her, and she closed her eyes.
He held the bunny out to Iris, who took her ever so gently.
Iris loved the rabbit and never passed up the opportunity to hold her, cuddle her, stroke her soft fur. The only time Vi had seen the girl look really, truly happy was when she held the rabbit. And she always seemed sad when it was time to put Ginger back in her cage.
Iris held her now, stroked her, rocked her. After ten minutes or so, Ginger started getting fidgety and nervous. Iris was holding her tight, too tight, clutching her so hard that Ginger’s eyes got all bulgy, and Eric had to use his soft rabbit voice to talk to Iris.
“I love being held, but I’m very small and need to go back to my cage to rest now. You can come see me later. Will you let me rest? Will you bring me some fresh clover from the yard?”
Yes, yes, yes, Iris nodded as she handed the bunny over to Eric.
Eric knew how to soothe the skittish.
“Thank you,” he whispered to Iris in his tiny rabbit voice, and Iris opened her mouth like she was about to speak—to say You’re welcome, maybe—but then she seemed to remember that she didn’t talk anymore, and snapped her jaw closed as Eric set the rabbit back in her cage.
And just like that, the God of Ideas sent a lightning bolt down right into Vi’s head, like something from a comic book: Zap! Zap! Zap!
She jumped up off Eric’s bed. “Come with me,” she said.
Iris hesitated for a second, looking from Ginger in her cage to Vi to Eric.
“Let’s go,” Eric said. “We can come back and visit Ginger later.”
Iris nodded and stood up, and she and Eric followed Vi down the hall to her room.
Vi closed the door. “Sit,” she said to Iris, nodding at the bed. Iris seemed to stiffen, looking at the closed door. Vi took a breath, added in a voice as soft as Eric’s, “I mean, if you want to.”
Eric sat on the bed and patted the spot beside him.
Iris nodded and perched cautiously at the edge of the bed, eyes on Vi. Slowly she shifted her gaze and looked around the room. She studied the bookshelf, its volumes carefully grouped by size and color, the tidy desk, the dresser with nothing on top. Vi liked to keep things neat and organized. She hated any form of mess or clutter. Her walls were painted white and nothing hung on them, no cute posters or framed paintings; the shadows made their own art, and that was enough for her. Her painted wood floor was totally clear, not one thing on it but the furniture: a twin bed, dresser, desk, nightstand. It made Vi feel calm, this room.
Vi opened her closet door and pulled boxes from the shelf, rummaging through her old toys and books—plastic ponies with tangled manes, stuffed animals, a Holly Hobbie rag doll with a patchwork dress and yarn hair in two braids, a cap gun that smelled of gunpowder—things she was too old to want to play with anymore, things she didn’t even remember—until she found what she was looking for.
She turned and looked into Iris’s eyes, which were a muddy brown, just like her own.
We could really be sisters, she thought. This girl and me.
“This is for you,” she said, holding out her gift.
Eric’s eyes widened, and he smiled and nodded, yes, yes, yes. Vi had gotten this right. She knew she had gotten this right.
It was a rabbit. A soft, plush rabbit, once white and fluffy, now more of a dingy gray, fur matted in places, the plastic eyes scratched.
Vi felt ashamed suddenly—it seemed a stupid thing, to give someone a toy this dirty. She wanted to hit rewind, take it back, but it was too late.
“It’s a puppet,” she explained. “See?” She put her hand inside the bunny, made its little paws wiggle, turned its head to look in Iris’s direction. The scratched plastic eyes stared at Iris, who smiled. Vi took the puppet off her hand and held it out. “She’s yours if you want her.”
Please, please, please.
Iris reached out, slowly took the puppet, stroked its soft head, ran her ragged, chewed nails over its ears. Then she slipped her hand inside.
Vi smiled. “Hello there, Rabbit,” she said. And the little head turned to look at her.
“Hullo,” it said back in a voice so soft Vi thought she might have imagined it.
But she hadn’t imagined it. Iris had spoken! She’d actually spoken!
Not Iris, she told herself. The bunny. The toy Vi had given her, hoping it just might crack open a door.
She looked over at Eric, whose jaw had actually fallen open, his eyes huge like those of a surprised cartoon character.
“What’s your name?” Vi asked, looking at the rabbit, not daring to look at Iris, worried she might break the spell.
It was so quiet she was sure they were all holding their breath.
“Don’t know,” the rabbit whispered, the words like a soft, regretful moan.
Vi kept her eyes on the rabbit. “Where do you come from?”
The rabbit swayed slightly.
“Don’t remember,” came the voice, soft as the rustle of paper.
Vi nodded. Her throat was dry. She was still staring at the worn rabbit puppet, but she was so close to Iris she could smell her, smell the Prell shampoo and Dial soap.
“What do you remember?” she asked.
Silence. Vi watched the rabbit. Its little fuzzy head slumped forward as if it had gone to sleep.
“It was dark,” Iris said at last. “And there was a voice.”
“A voice?”
The rabbit held still and Iris herself nodded. “The doctor’s voice. Dr. Hildreth.”
“Gran,” Eric said.
“Gran,” Iris repeated. She was still holding the rabbit, but she turned to look at Vi. “That’s all I remember. Her voice talking to me, asking if I could open my eyes.”
Vi nodded. “So you don’t know what your real name is?”