Chapter Twenty-One
Sarah
SARAH SAT AT the dinner table, a pasta spoon dropping from her fingers. She was blankly staring at her sister, Alison, who had revealed a magnanimous secret to the table. Her husband, like usual, was away on a business trip, and her added presence put a damper on the entire meal. Even Zach frowned as he took a bite of spaghetti.
“Yes. Isn’t it crazy? Karli Kirkpatrick was crying at Planned Parenthood.”
“Why were you there?” Sarah angrily hissed.
“If you listened to me in the first place,” Alison interrupted, as a bird flew by the window, “you would have heard I was passing by on my way to my favorite seamstress. I knew it was Karli because you can’t miss that shade of white blond hair.”
Sarah gritted her teeth.
“Sarah, have you talked to Karli lately?” asked Helena as she sipped from her water glass.
“Actually, I have,” she said, though it was laced with guilt and sadness. She shook her head, on the verge of tears. “She was so happy about her baby. At least I thought so. She couldn’t have aborted her child, right?”
“Oh, Sarah,” tsked her mother, who wrapped her arms around her, choking her. She hugged her daughter with a loving intensity, but it fell short of the warming effect.
Sarah pushed away and shook her head. “Karli wouldn’t do that.”
“Why was she there, Sarah?” Alison said, lifting a piece of Caesar salad to her lips. “Come on. Put the pieces together.”
“Alison,” hissed Scott. “This is ridiculous. You of all people should understand the ramifications of gossiping. It’s inexcusable behavior, Alison, at least at this table.”
“Hypocrites,” Alison gasped under her breath, twisting her diamond ring around her finger. “I always knew Karli was destined for that kind of life.”
“Alison, that’s enough,” growled Scott again.
Alison was quiet, but Sarah felt the burning sting of tears. “She just doesn’t get it.”
“What don’t I get?” her sister screamed back. “Don’t you understand what I want you to get: You left this place, Sarah, and you come back and think everything’s just as perfect as always. You think you can come back and pick right back up. It doesn’t work that way.”
“Did I ever say that?” Sarah gasped, feeling ravaged by more emotions than she’d felt in a while: guilt, anger, shame, defensiveness.
“No, but it’s pretty clear,” Alison said, scraping her fork across the glass bowl.
Scott and Helena looked at each other before shaking their heads. Mute, Zach stood up and disappeared into the kitchen, away from the dreary suffocation of the dining room, where Alison glared fiery darts in her defenseless sister’s direction. Sarah didn’t look up.
“I think we need to have this talk,” Scott said, clearing his throat.
Alison shook her head. “This isn’t the time, Dad.”
“What do you mean?” Sarah glumly said, breathing out a few puffs of air. The resounding tone of utter secrecy and life-changing catharsis pounded her ears. She wanted to hide, to run, to cry.
“I don’t know how else to say it.”
“Sofia is really my sister?” She closed her eyes, imagining her parents exchanging a knowing look. Then she imagined Joel, smiling when she told him what her parents admitted, releasing him from the chains of a forgotten sibling. Even for a split millisecond, she imagined pushing her sister on a swing, feeling what it meant to have a sister for the first time in her life.
Instead, she opened her eyelids and her mother was shaking her head. Alison even snickered.
“No, Sarah. Sofia is Ethan Sealet’s daughter.”
She shook in fear. “What—what is it then? What...”
“You have another sister,” said Helena, without emotion. Her expression was completely deadpan.
“Another sister? What do you mean?”
Scott looked at the table. Zach should be here to lighten the mood, he thought, but Zach was probably already eavesdropping anyway. They had to be serious in this moment.
“We had another child, between you and Alison.”
“Excuse me?”
“Her name was Olivia. She was three years older than you, so, now, she’d be around twenty-two.”
“Olivia?” Sarah croaked. “I have another sister?” She was hyperventilating in the next moment, unable to breathe. Alison’s eyes narrowed in response.
Helena blankly nodded, no emotions still. “We lost her when I was pregnant with you.”
“How is it possible I didn’t know about her? How could you keep this a secret from me? I had another sister? How! This isn’t humanly possible!” Sarah shot up, throwing her pasta spoon at her father. “You all have only lied to me. That’s been the mantra of my existence! With all due respect, I freaking hate you!”
She rushed away, the sweat, tears, and anger comingling into a desperate claw of maddening rage. How could they keep so much information away from her? As she fell onto her mattress upstairs, she questioned her reaction. Had she overreacted, or had her reaction been spot-on? How could her parents have kept a hidden sibling locked away from her, even if the child had passed away at such a tender age? Why would they have kept it from her?
She lazily pulled out her phone but realized she had no one with whom to communicate, so she flung the piece of metal across the room, and buried her head into a collection of fuzzy pillows. She had a sister—kept hidden away—just like Joel.
She rummaged through her backpack in the nearby corner and pulled out a wad of bills. She had close to two hundred hidden in this backpack, just for the sake of necessary cash. Her debit and credit cards were safe in her purse in the crystal vase in the library. She could easily run down the road, buy some food at Jimmy J’s, and take a taxi to Savannah.
Spurred by this brash idea, she quickly gathered some of the cash and padded down the stairs, feeling like a spy on a deadly mission. She was able to curtail the hushed whispers of her family members and made it to the back door where Zach stood waiting, his shoes already on. “Where are we going?” he whispered.
“You’re not leaving. You’re still sick.”
“Take me with you.”
She shook her head. “I can’t, but I’ll come back for you, okay?” She bent down and kissed him on the top of his head, a mannerism he usually hated with all his being. Now, however, he knew his sister was about to do something moronic, and if she didn’t come back, he wanted to treasure this moment.
“What are you about to do!” he hissed.
“Bye, Zach!”
She rushed out into the lateness of day, the sunset spellbinding. She rushed as fast as she could to the door outside, plugging in the key code before her exit. She ran off into the night, all the way down to Freed Park on the edge of a bayou and Fordham Point, and found herself calling a cab from the city.
When the cabbie picked her up, she revealed the address she needed to go to, and through the casual small talk, Sarah realized how stupid she was being. She had run away from home, to do what? To preach? To get away from it all? She hadn’t even brought a toothbrush or her contact lens keepers. Instead, she was trusting no one else—except a cabdriver who would charge her a ridiculous amount of money—so she could flock to a place of dread.
She felt hot tears sting the bases of her eyes. She wanted to dive deep into a Mexican cenote and never float upwards, because this was the result of a major loss of faith in the humans she knew, the humans who paid for her college, the humans who had gifted her with life.
He pulled up to the old, forgotten house, and Sarah quickly paid him. She pulled out her phone and dialed Joel’s number, just in case she would need him. She guessed she probably would.
He didn’t answer.
“Hey, it’s Sarah. I…I left my house and took a cab to Savannah. I’m at Karli’s house. I just wanted to let someone know—if, by chance, I go in there and die. Anyway, okay, bye.” Nervously, Sarah walked up the ol
d concrete steps and, in the now dark night, regretted coming here. She should have stayed in the suffocation of her parents’ mansion.
She knocked on the door and waited, her heart rate galloping like a horse against the wind.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Her phone buzzed beside her, but Sarah put it on silent.
Waiting.
The door flew open to reveal a rugged, skinny face with a protruding nose and leathery brown eyes. John Cruston looked like a ravaged drug dealer, and he was downright scary. He held a knife in his hand and said, “Who are you?” His words were venomous, just by the tone, and Sarah regretted silencing her phone.
“My name’s Sarah…”
A female’s face appeared atop John Cruston’s shoulder, and Karli’s mouth fell open. “John, let me have a moment with this girl.”
John continued to block the way. “Oh, why, Karli? Maybe she’s visiting me.” His laughter sent Sarah straight into a wall of self-loathing for what she had just done.
Karli pushed him out of the way and shut the front door, so she and Sarah stood on the little porch together, mere inches away. “What are you doing, Sarah?”
“I came to see if it is true.”
“If what is true?”
“Did you abort your baby?”
Karli’s body went slack, and then she grew incredibly angry. “If I did, why would it be your business? What are you going to do, yell at me like last time? ‘Selfish, no-good Karli Kirkpatrick!’ I’m pretty sure that’s what you said, and now, now of all times, you show up at my door to judge me? Get out, Sarah, two-shoes Sarah. This neighborhood is a dark, haunted place, and you’re going to get eaten alive.”
Sarah shook her head. “Already I’m being eaten. Karli!” she screamed as her friend slammed the door behind her.
Sarah fell over, sitting on the concrete steps, imagining goblins and voodoo witches appearing from each of the ransacked houses. Gently, she glanced at her phone. A thousand little texts from her parents, each delivering a line of GET BACK HERE NOW! One even promised to call the police, but Sarah knew they were too pristine in society to call the cops. That was for lower class people.
Everything always delt with the fallout. If there was a nuclear fight between two upstanding citizens, usually it amounted to nothing, really, because the fallout from such an action would be terribly daunting to not only the individuals involved, but their families and friends.
Sarah locked her knees and pushed them closer to her chest. She wasn’t sure what she had just done in the slightest, but there was no stopping herself now. The usual levelheadedness had been replaced with an ache for the sister she never knew, the girl who had been hidden from her while she rushed around the country. It was unbearable.
Sarah flicked open her phone again. A few texts from her mother, urging her to come home. They were looking for her, but she wondered if they really were. In all reality, they could be driving around a cul-de-sac, but she doubted it. They did not want to arouse any suspicions from any friends, because this would show weakness. Their weakness at parenting.
With the hazy glow of streetlights, it was impossible to make out any stars in the large void of black sky. Sarah felt lonely, and maybe even tired. It was nearing eleven o’clock, and still nothing happened.
Eventually, Sarah stood up and began the long, arduous walk home. She’d spent most of her cash on the cabbie, and with thirty bucks to her name, she knew she couldn’t afford a ride back. She wouldn’t call anyone either, because—like her parents—she didn’t want anyone to see her in such a state of peril.
With each foot in front of her, Sarah Towson got one step closer to home. Karli’s house was on the southern edge of the city, a ten mile’s journey across the swampy mud land, and Sarah made the journey for a rampant four hours. She would alternate between running and walking (and mostly walking) due to her lack of energy and lethargy, and somehow made it home by four in the morning.
Her parents were asleep on the sofa and did not stir when she entered via the porch, where she climbed the stairs in complete silence, and fell into her bed moments later. She was dirty, aching, and exhausted, but somehow—on this walk—she had found peace.
An unmistakable peace.
And a desire to finish the race.