AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Take a whiff.”
“Of what?”
“Of me.”
“No, I’m sure—”
“Take a whiff. Smell me.”
“Okay…” I dry my hands on a dish towel, walk over to him and make a show of sniffing him like a dog. The fresh scent of the soap lingers on his skin, mingling with the cologne he’d purchased at the store.
“Better?” he asks.
“I have a confession.” I say, straightening. “You really didn’t stink.”
“Yes I did.”
“No, really, you didn’t.”
A moment stretches between us.
“Listen…” he says.
My stomach drops. I know this tone. I’ve heard it many times before.
He continues, “I don’t want you to feel like you need to get involved here. And honestly the caves… it’s not the kind of place you want to be caught unprepared. It’s best if I go alone.”
“No. I’m going. Jesse Taylor started this whole mess by leaving letters, addressed tome, onmydoorstep. Someone has threatened me, and whether the cops believe it’s serious or not, I’m going to take it seriously. And Jesse knows who that person is. I’m as involved in this as you are, if not more. Besides, I’ve got the transportation you need to get there.”
I expect an argument. I don’t get one. Instead, he stares at me for a minute, then finally dips his head, making a decision.
“Alright then, let’s go.”
15
Marjorie
Today there is a festival in town, the Cherry Tree Festival. This time every year the ache I feel for Anna seems to hit a bit deeper. I feel sicker. She loved this festival, the pony rides, the bounce houses, the petting zoo. I remember a goat threw up on her once and instead of crying, she laughed. And so, I laughed too.
Today I am thinking about the last time I took her to the Cherry Tree Festival. I can remember the day like it was yesterday.
Earlier that week, there was a doctor on Oprah (my favorite day-time show), a family therapist or something. The doctor talked about how important it is to spread equal amounts of attention between your children. That we, as parents, need to make an effort to do this. So, that day, I was making an effort. Extra effort, I should say. I even bought Sylvia a new dress. I’d pulled her aside in the kitchen that morning and told her I had a surprise. I unveiled it like it was the Hope diamond and then made a show of saying it was our little secret. I made a point to tell her that Anna didn’t get a new dress. I was proud of myself afterward—of the effort I’d made.
But, by the time we’d loaded into the car to go to the festival, Sylvia’s brand-new dress had a disgusting red stain down the middle. Juice or something. Her short hair was sticking up on the side, even though I’d sprayed it with water and combed it for her and hour earlier. No matter what I did—no matter how much “effort” I put into it—Sylvia always looked like a mess. Even her socks were chronically off-kilter, one pulled up, the other crumbled down. She was just so… she was a slob. All the time. Her appearance, her room, the way she ate, the way she talked.
People say identical twins are supposed to be the same. Not Anna and Sylvia. They couldn’t have been more different. In every way, they were polar opposites. Anna was my straight-A student, my dreamer, my over-achiever, my beautiful little girl with perfect skin. She and I had a bond that I can’t explain. Sylvia, on the other hand, has been behind in her peers in every subject in every grade since she entered kindergarten. She is the most scattered human I have ever met in my life. For years, I followed her around, reminding her to do this, do that, pick-up this, replace that so she doesn’t lose it. She was like a toddler—she still is in a way.
While Anna and I had this otherworldly bond, it seemed, Sylvia and I lacked every kind of emotional attachment a child could have with their mother, and vice versa.
God, I don’t know why I can’t just say it.
I don’t feel love for Sylvia. There. That’s the truth. From the moment she was born, It was like my heart was missing whatever maternal instinct I was supposed to have with her. Like God had messed up and only connected me and Anna in the womb and forgot about Sylvia. I don’t know. I just look at her and feel nothing. Vacant.
About two hours after arriving at the festival, I ran into a mom I knew from school. Anna asked if she and Sylvia could go get snow cones. I said yes and off they went. The mom and I ended up talking for a while, I think about twenty minutes.
When I turned around, Sylvia was walking toward me. She was alone. Anna was nowhere to be seen. I’ll never forget the feeling I had in that moment. The moment you think your child has gone missing.
“Where’s Anna?” I’d asked while frantically scanning the surroundings. “I don’t know,” Sylvia had said.
