She holds her hands out, palms up, and shakes her head. I don’t know. “I have a child. He’s six. I’m forty-six. He wasn’t supposed to be able to be born. I tried for years, to no avail, and honestly believed I was being punished for what I did. To you. To your sister. For my abandonment, my selfishness.”
I become fixated on her words: I have a child. My mind snaps back at her, sarcastically. No, you have three children. But then again, I don’t think of her as my mother, so why would she think of me as her child? Because, because, shouldn’t you always remember your children? I never had the luxury of forgetting a woman I’ve never met, a vague figure of a mother, mostly invented or derived from old, yellowed Polaroids of Evelyn’s old friends that I found in her closet. I flipped through them like I was shuffling cards, greedily pawing, until the women’s faces were smudged with tiny fingerprints. I always wondered if one of them was my real mother. I could never bring myself to ask.
Caroline had easily forgotten us. The evidence is right here: I have a child.
I realize then, her darting eyes, her fidgeting, her reluctance to talk to me. She was afraid. But also maybe, just maybe, relieved. The decision was made for her, who can blame her now?
I stand up. “But you did. You did talk to me. Why?” I swallow. Out of nowhere, I want to cry, I feel the bite in the back of my throat.
“I owe you. I owe . . . Evelyn, I guess? Joan? I’m sorry, whether you believe that or not.” She rocks back on her heels.
“I have to go.” I think of Cash in the car. The faceless, nameless man who threatened Caroline. Later, the way she’d surely be watching out her curtains all night. I hitch my purse high on my shoulder and it swings back, knocking over the half-full water glass. Water edges down the sides of the table, and on the floor, creeping toward the rich, leathery sofa. I suppress the urge to apologize. Caroline’s eyes dart from me, to the puddle, and back, and I know she is struggling over which is a larger disaster.
She stands woodenly in the living room, eyes closed. “Zoe,” she says softly.
I stand there expectantly, stupidly still hoping for something, a hug, an apology, a gesture of kindness. Friendship.
“Don’t ever come back.”
? ? ?
I climb into the passenger side and slam the door. Cash had reclined his seat and is startled awake. He shakes the sleep from his eyes.
“Already? What happened?” He adjusts the backrest upright.
“She was threatened.” I blurt. He cocks his head, confused. I take the card with Joan’s information and flash it in front of his face. “Also, I have a sister.”
If he’s shocked, it doesn’t register on his face. He just nods.
“Did you know?” I demand.
He shakes his head. “No, Zoe. I swear. I had no idea.” He turns the key in the ignition and backs slowly out of the driveway. He keeps his eyes forward, trained on the road. “What happened with Caroline?”
“She’s a bitch.” I say it forcefully, partly because I’m tugging on the seat belt and it finally breaks loose, but the curse slips out easily and it feels good. Even as I say it, I know it’s not completely true. It occurs to me then—even without the threatening phone call, would the outcome have been any different? She didn’t stay in touch with Joan. “She has a new life. I don’t fit in—you were right. Is that what you want to hear?” I huff and sit back, crossing my ankles.
“No. Zoe, I’d hoped I was wrong. You know that, right? What did she say?” He shifts uncomfortably as he puts the car in drive.
“Cash, she got a phone call. Someone threatened her if she talked to me.” We’re stopped at an intersection and he turns to look at me, his mouth hanging open.
“What? Who called her?”
“I have no idea.” I shrug. “Here’s the weird part. My sister, Joan? She knows I exist. She found my mother, our mother, three years ago! Evelyn had no idea that Joan even existed. The whole thing is fucked up.”
“I’ll admit that’s odd.” He rubs his chin. “Will you look for her? Joan?”
“I don’t have to look for her. Carolyn gave me her address.” I wave the card in front of him again, blocking his view of the road. He swats it away.
“So what do you want to do now?”
I think about it for a minute. “Honestly? I want to find Joan. I want to meet her.”
“Right now?” He gives me a sideways smile. My anger is like an ocean swell, forceful and overwhelming one minute, receding to calm the next. I watch as we turn the corner, off Caroline’s street, and her house fades from view. I feel a small prick of fear: Who called her? Then a crazy idea; could she be lying?
“Yeah. Would that be awful? To just show up?” I wonder out loud.