“Yes, that’s correct. And yet—”
“And yet,” I interjected, “everything is fine, love. I just wanted to spend some time with you.”
Michel stared up at the light fixture hanging above us and took a deep breath. “And yet . . . you didn’t want Dad or Maggie to hear what you have to tell me. There’s something wrong with your logic.”
“My advice for the duration of the evening is not to dig too deep for logic, because I can assure you there’s none to be found here. But don’t let that bother you. I came because I have a secret to tell you. You weren’t totally off the mark; I’m not really leaving for a story, even if I did manage to bill the whole thing to the magazine—which, I admit, wasn’t the most honest thing to do, but it’s for a good cause. And I’ll still write the dumb story, or at least I’ll try.”
“None of that makes any sense. Where exactly is it that you’re not going for your magazine?”
“Baltimore.”
Michel rubbed his chin. “Intriguing. Cecilius Calvert, second Baron Baltimore, was the first governor of the Maryland colony. Did you know there is a coastal city in southwestern Ireland of the same name? Why not simply go to that Baltimore? It’s far closer.”
“I didn’t know any of that. Remind me—how do you know so much?”
“I read often. Books, mostly.”
“Well, I’ll never understand how you manage to remember so much.”
“How could I forget something, if I’ve read it?”
“Most people do. But, hey—you’re not most people.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Of course it is, just like I tell you every time.”
Michel served me a nice chicken wing from the casserole dish, opting for a thigh himself, then looked me in the eye and waited for more.
“I’m leaving . . . on a search to find Mum,” I told him.
“That’s wonderful, although I’m afraid your search could be fruitless, as I’m rather convinced she’s not in Baltimore. In fact, no one really knows where dead people go. Certainly not into the sky; it could never support the weight. For my part, I favor the theory of an alternate dimension. Are you familiar with the alternate dimension theory?”
I laid my hand on Michel’s forearm to cut the tangent short, staring right at him so he would listen to my every word.
“It was just a manner of speaking. I’m leaving on a search to find Mum’s past.”
“Why, did she lose it?”
“No, but she lied about it. She never told us much about her youth.”
“That’s probably precisely the way she wanted it. I don’t believe it’s a very good idea to go against her wishes.”
“I miss her as much as you do. But I’m a woman, so I need to know who my mother really was . . . to finally be able to grow up, or at least to be able to understand who I really am.”
“You’re my twin sister,” he said, as though the answer was clear as day. “Why Baltimore?”
“I’m supposed to meet somebody there.”
“Someone who knew her?”
“I assume so.”
“And you, do you know this someone?”
“No, I don’t have a clue who it is.”
I told my brother about the letter without revealing any of its specific contents. I didn’t want to worry him, and I knew it didn’t take much to knock Michel off-balance. Instead, I concocted a beautiful little fantasy, using the art of embellishment that I had come to master as a professional necessity.
“So, if I understand correctly,” he began, forefinger raised in his signature way, “you will depart for a distant city in hopes of meeting someone you do not know. Someone who, as you claim, is supposed to tell you things you don’t know about your own mother, things that will help you know who you are . . . I’m beginning to understand why my doctor is so eager to meet you.”
My brother’s deadpan humor always caught me off guard. Michel paused for a moment, then rose to his feet, dead serious now.
“Mum worked in Baltimore,” he said, dropping the bomb and then departing for the kitchen with our dishes in hand.
I leapt to my feet and followed my brother, joining him as he began washing the dishes.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Because she told me that was the place where she spent the happiest days of her life.”
“What a lovely message to give her own child!”
“I made the same observation, but she was quick to clarify: happiest days before we were born.”
“Michel, please. I’m begging you here. Tell me everything Mum told you.”
“She was in love with somebody there,” he said matter-of-factly as he handed me a tea towel. “Although she never specifically admitted it. On the rare occasions she mentioned Baltimore, she seemed rather sad. As she claimed to have spent some of the happiest days of her life there—albeit, prior to our birth—this was not a very logical connection. I therefore deduced that perhaps she suffered from nostalgia, and in all the books I’ve read, such contradictions seem to always involve a love story.”
“She never mentioned a name?”