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“No,” Sylvia said.
“Oh?”
“Too busy taking care of Adelle,” she said.
Mrs. Haider laughed, and then her expression darkened. “It’s too bad about Mr. Price.”
“Yes, I know,” I said, hiding my real feelings about that man and his stroke.
“Did you ever get a chance to see him or speak to Mrs. Price?” she asked.
“Get a chance? No. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, didn’t you know? He passed away last month. Heart failure. Probably part of the stroke. Very sad. I always admired him, and he was very popular with the students.” She paused. “I wondered why I didn’t see you at the funeral. I just assumed you’d be there, but with your pregnancy and all, I’m sure you were quite occupied.”
“Yes,” I said. I didn’t want to keep talking to Mrs. Haider about anything, particularly that man. Fortunately, Adelle began to squirm uncomfortably. “We’d better move along. Almost time for a feeding,” I said.
“I’ll do it,” Sylvia announced. “We both do it.”
“That’s very good, Sylvia. I’m sure you’re a wonderful and helpful aunt. I’ll see you again soon, I hope. Good luck with the baby, Audrina. Beautiful child,” she said, and walked away.
Sylvia looked very confused, but thankfully, Adelle was taking up all her attention now. For a few moments, I stood looking after Mrs. Haider as she pushed her cart away. I replayed what she had told me. Mr. Price was dead. I should be happy about it, and I was, but I couldn’t show that, and the news had caught me by surprise. I was stunned. Why hadn’t Arden mentioned Mr. Price’s death? Surely, he would have known. I would have thought he’d come rushing with the news, saying how just it was that he had suffered. Maybe he thought it would have disturbed me, as it was disturbing me now, and decided not to mention it. He was right. It would have reminded me of what I’d permitted to happen, practically right under my nose.
We finished our shopping and headed for home. Adelle was crying more and was very uncomfortable now. Just as we reached Whitefern, a car that had obviously been parked in front of the house began to pull away. It slowed as we approached and then stopped and ba
cked up.
Mr. Ralph dropped what he was doing with a lawn mower and rushed to help us with the groceries. Sylvia wanted to carry Adelle.
“Put her in the bassinet, Sylvia,” I said, keeping my eyes on the strange car.
“And warm the bottle,” she recited.
Whoever was in the car just sat watching us. The afternoon sun threw a blinding glare on the car’s windows, but I was able to see that the driver was a gray-haired woman. She watched us enter the house. How odd, I thought. Why would anyone come all the way out here and just sit in her car?
We hurried inside, and I began to put away the groceries while Sylvia tended to Adelle. Whatever problems she had taking care of herself didn’t affect her care of the baby. I thought to myself that a mother’s instincts were too strong to be discouraged. Sylvia read at the level of a seven- or eight-year-old, with a vocabulary barely more advanced. She had trouble with grade-school math, and her memory was like Swiss cheese, full of gaps, but she was as focused about the care of Adelle as any new mother would be.
When I had heard about Mr. Price’s death, my anger had been revived, and my satisfaction at how much pain and suffering he experienced had been heightened. But there was irony here, too. I was so happy for Sylvia now. Adelle truly was giving her life meaning, more perhaps than she was giving to Arden’s and mine. Yes, we’d be her parents. We would make all the major decisions for her from now until she was an adult herself, but the bond between her and Sylvia would be forever strong, although invisible to outsiders. In my heart of hearts, I knew that Adelle would someday realize who her real mother was.
Perhaps she would confront us and demand to know the truth, especially as she grew and her features resembled Sylvia’s more than Arden’s or mine. She would go to sleep at night with the question on her lips: Who am I? I was sure that Arden and I would argue about it. I would want to tell her the truth, and he would insist that I never do. “What difference does it make now?” he would surely say.
How could I explain it so he would understand? Could I really get him to see how difficult it had been for me being told I was the second Audrina, never as perfect as the first? How could I get him to feel what I felt as I struggled to find my own identity while being haunted by an angelic older sister whose name I possessed but whose perfection I would never realize? It would certainly never be realized in my father’s eyes, the eyes that were most important to me.
I smiled as I watched Sylvia kiss and coo at Adelle. She was fascinated by her tiny fingers and toes. I told myself that I had to put aside my thoughts about what had happened and especially not dwell on the revenge fulfilled with Mr. Price’s death. I hated to give her any credit, but Mrs. Matthews had been right. I should not dwell on the dark past. I should dwell on the future.
The sound of the doorbell jerked me out of my musings. Whoever was in that parked car probably had decided it was time to call on us. I had no reason for it, but I began trembling. I didn’t move until the doorbell sounded again and Sylvia noticed.
“Someone’s here,” she said.
“Just take care of Adelle, Sylvia. I’ll go see.”
She smiled gratefully. She didn’t want her care of the baby to be interrupted.
Maybe it was another Jehovah’s Witness or the like, I thought, and went to the front entrance. I opened the front door. It was the elderly woman I had seen in the parked car. She looked like she couldn’t be much more than five feet tall. Her gray hair was thinning but curly and trimmed at the base of her neck. She wore a vintage-looking knee-length, embroidered, single-breasted denim dress with a pair of very worn leather shoes. On her right wrist was a multicolored beaded bracelet. Arden would say she looked as if she’d been put together in some thrift shop.
“Yes?” I said.
The woman’s cheeks seemed to bubble at their crests, and she was wearing too much lipstick and rouge. Aunt Ellsbeth would have slammed the door.
