November 2008
Julia was in her office when she got the call. It was after six and most of her employees were gone for the day; they’d become aware over the last few months that Julia’s total attention to her work had wavered. They took advantage of her lapses with longer lunch hours and shorter work days. I’ve noticed, Julia wanted to tell them, but she didn’t know what to say next, so she stayed quiet. She’d continued to play hooky herself, usually to spend the day alone in her apartment. She no longer expected her actions or thoughts to make complete sense. She glanced over her shoulder every day, wondering if the real Julia would catch up with her, her face dark with disappointment. That Julia had worked so hard for this particular kind of success, and this Julia was wondering if it had been worth it.
When her phone rang, she saw on the caller ID that it was a Chicago number. It wasn’t Sylvie’s cellphone, but it was possible her sister was calling her from the library or even from her home. She’d never done this before; Julia had texted Sylvie when she was on the way to the airport for their second visit, and that had been the extent of their communication when they weren’t together. But Julia picked up the phone with a feeling of lightness, a sensation that she was about to be the only version of herself that she could stand these days—the Julia she was with Sylvie—and hear her sister’s voice.
“Hello?” she said.
“It’s Cecelia,” the voice said, and Julia was confused for a moment, because Cecelia sounded like Sylvie and of course was her sister, but she hadn’t spoken to either of the twins for a long time.
“Oh,” Julia said, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. “Hi. How are—”
Cecelia interrupted her. “I need to tell you something,” she said. “Sylvie was sick. She had a brain tumor.”
“I know.” Julia’s throat tightened around the words.
“How do you know? Did she tell you?”
“Why did you say it like that?” Julia didn’t want to say, In the past tense. She listened while Cecelia told her that Sylvie had died suddenly that morning. William had gone out for twenty minutes, and she’d walked into the kitchen and collapsed. When he returned, he found her on the floor.
“I asked him what her expression was,” Cecelia said. “I needed to know if she looked scared. He said she was lying on her side, and she looked like she’d gone to sleep.”
Julia was aware of holding the phone to her ear. She had to concentrate to keep her grip on the receiver. Her earlier conversation, at this same desk, with William, seemed to sit on top of this one in a way that felt claustrophobic. Sylvie is sick. Sylvie is dead.
“It was too fast,” Cecelia said, as if she’d heard her sister’s thoughts. “We were supposed to have more time. I was going to call you when she got really sick and make you come home. I was going to do the same thing with Mom.” She paused. “I called Mom to tell her, right before I called you.”
“Mom,” Julia said, as if she were naming an approaching storm. Rose would return to Chicago now. Sylvie’s death would dislodge her from Florida; they would all be dislodged from everything they’d known before.
Cecelia sighed. “Emmie says I need to keep asking questions to deal with this at all, and she’s probably right, but I spoke to the doctor at the hospital too, and he said the tumor had pressed against something in her brain—he said the name, I can’t remember what he called it—which meant she would have died in a matter of seconds. She wouldn’t have known what was happening.”
Julia made herself say, “That’s good.”
She thought of the last time she had seen Sylvie, a week ago. They’d held hands while watching a movie. It was the first time they’d touched each other, and the energy that came with that contact, with all the years and selves that lay between them, all the love, had brought tears to Julia’s eyes. It had almost felt like too much, to be holding her sister’s hand while not speaking to her daughter, during an afternoon when she was not where she was supposed to be and yet somehow exactly where she belonged. Had Sylvie known she had only a few days left? Was that why she’d held Julia’s hand and then hugged her when it was time for her to return to the airport? Julia could still feel the hug, the pressure of her sister’s body against her own.
“Thank God Alice is here,” Cecelia said. “I can’t believe the timing, but it’s such a gift to have her with us.”
“Alice?” Julia wondered if she’d misheard. “Alice is in Chicago?”
“She got here this afternoon. Julia, she and Izzy loved each other right away. It was kind of incredible, as if they remembered being babies together.” Cecelia stopped, and then said, “Are you listening to me?”
“I’m listening to you.”
“You have to come home right now and stay with us.”
Julia took a taxi to her apartment and packed a few items of clothing into a small bag. The last thing she added was the wrapped package Sylvie had handed her at the end of their visit. Julia had intended to head straight back to O’Hare after the movie, but Sylvie asked her to come to the library first so she could give her something. “Give it to me next time,” Julia had said. Sylvie seemed to consider this, but she shook her head and said, “I should give it to you now.” Julia buried the package at the bottom of her bag and returned to the airport. The trip to LaGuardia was familiar and had felt like freedom the two times she’d traveled there during the last month. Julia had unshackled herself from her history and identity and flown to her sister’s side. She’d felt, each time, like she was heading toward herself. In the air between New York and Chicago now, Julia knew that all three of her sisters were parts of her. They had grown up together, and for a long time they beat with one heart. Reunited with Sylvie, Julia had felt more alive, more whole.