My Sister's Prayer (16 page)

She was playing some kind of game. On my phone.

“Where did you get that?” I asked, tilting the rearview mirror so I could see her face.

“From your purse,” she responded, not bothering to look up. Another dinging noise, followed by a casino-like jingle.

“My purse?”

“Yeah. And by the way, you really should turn on password protection. You never know when someone might take your phone.”

She continued on with her game, not even hearing the irony of her own words. Unbelievable.

“Nicole,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, “what did I say to you about respecting my things? I wasn't kidding with all that.”

“I know you weren't.”

“And yet here you are, playing on
my
phone. What part of respect do you not understand?”

“Oh, come on, Maddee. Do you know how badly I miss my apps? It's just a game—”

“Games, calls, texts, whatever. You could be surfing the Internet trying to buy me a brand-new set of color-coded organizational binders, but it wouldn't make a difference to me. If you try to use my purse, phone, laptop, tablet—
whatever
—without asking first, I'm taking you straight back to Nana's, no questions asked.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you're not respecting my boundaries, and I can't have that.” I sucked in a breath and counted to ten. Maybe I was overreacting, but her action had really startled me. Was this how it was going to be? Her violating my space, my privacy, my things, and then acting as if I was the one with the problem?

“Fine,” she huffed. “No phones, tablets, laptops, PalmPilots, Walkmans, Gameboys, beepers, fax machines—.”

“You think the sarcasm is helping?”

She grunted. “Fine,” she said again, this time handing the phone to me over the seat. “I promise I'll be good. Just please don't make me go back there.”

“I'm not making you do anything,” I reminded her. “Actions have consequences, Nicole.
Your
actions. How this plays out is entirely up to you.”

I glanced at her in the rearview mirror, but she was looking off in the distance. After a long moment, she spoke.

“I can't go back there, Maddee. I didn't say anything to you before, but it wasn't just Nana getting on my nerves. It was the nightmares. They've always been worse at her place, you know that, but they were nearly unbearable this time.”

I studied my sister, considering her words. If she was telling the truth, then I didn't blame her for needing to leave. She had struggled with horrific nightmares for years, ever since that day at the cabin in the woods. On the other hand, she was smart enough and manipulative enough to know that this was exactly the sort of tidbit that could get to me in a way that nothing else could. Her dreams had tormented me throughout my childhood too, one more thing I couldn't protect her from. She knew how I felt and was probably using this now to try and get me to soften the rules simply out of compassion and guilt.

Whether she was playing me or not, I could practically feel the tightrope under my feet, that delicate balance between wanting to trust her and knowing I had to protect myself at every turn.

“Just…respect my things. Please. I don't want to take you back there any more than you want to go.”

She didn't respond, and the silence hung heavy between us as I took the roundabout onto Franklin Street. We were nearly home, and the last thing I wanted was for us to start off on the wrong foot.

“Sorry to be so harsh,” I said finally. “But if you recall, it is on record that I'm a big meanie.”

She grunted, but I could hear the hint of a chuckle. “I'm sorry too. I won't touch your phone again without asking.”

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” After a long moment, she added, “You know you want that color-coded organizational binder set, though.”

C
HAPTER
T
EN

Maddee

Y
ou live
here?
” Nicole asked as I put the car in park and turned off the ignition.

I'd found us a spot directly in front of a gorgeous, three-story Georgian house with thick white pillars, a decorative pediment, and a row of dormers across the top.

“No, but I'm allowed to park here,” I replied, relieved we'd gotten something so close to home. Sometimes the best I could do was a couple of blocks away. “We're right around the corner.”

I climbed out, popped the trunk, grabbed and unfolded the wheelchair, and then opened the car door to lean inside, holding my arms out toward my sister.

Nicole and I gripped each other's wrists, Red Rover-style, and then I pulled, gently scooting her toward me across the seat. As I did, her two brightly colored casts shot out on either side of my legs like twin cannons rolling into place along a parapet. When she was as far as she could go, we released our grip and I got into a different position, managing to lift, pivot, and lower, transferring her successfully from car to wheelchair.

“Man, that's exhausting,” I said, trying to catch my breath as I raised her legs and set them onto the elevated leg rests. “I don't know how Inez does this all day long.”

“Yeah, well, try it with two cracked ribs and then tell me about it,” Nicole replied, her voice strained. She smiled as she said it, but I could see she was hurting.

Fortunately, the curbs along here were low, so once I'd retrieved my bag and locked the car, it was easy to get her up onto the sidewalk—except that my purse kept sliding down my arm as I pushed the chair.

“Want me to hold that for you?” she asked as it slid down yet again.

“Thanks,” I said, lowering it onto her lap.

“No, thank
you
,” she replied. “I'm thinking if you look the other way, between here and your place I could probably score a couple quarters, a tube of lip gloss, and a breath mint.”

“Don't push it, Peanut,” I replied, surprised at how easily the old pet name tripped off my tongue. The two of us had lived such separate lives for so long, and yet now that she was sober again, it was almost as if the old Nicole was back.

Despite her pain, she was looking all around as I pushed her down the sidewalk, taking in everything like a prisoner fresh out of lockup. Even if she hadn't been so confined of late, this neighborhood was a truly beautiful part of Richmond, its streets lined with historic homes, their graceful exteriors painted in shades of vibrant yellow, sage green, or navy blue. There were doors and shutters of reds and purples and whites. Some yards had small pumpkin patches, their succulent vines curling around picket fences and spilling out onto the brick sidewalk. Others had lush pots of chrysanthemums lining their front steps, the fiery flowers bursting with life.

When we came to the corner, I paused for a moment to take in the stately redbrick home across the street—Miss Vida's sprawling colonial with its wraparound porch and intricate stained glass windows.

“And here we are,” I said.

“Get
out
! You told me it was super small.”

“Yeah, this isn't it,” I said with a chuckle. “That is.” Leaning forward, I pointed toward the carriage house tucked behind, peeking out like
a shy toddler from the back of her mother's legs. Size-wise, the structure was almost embarrassing, but what it lacked in space, it made up for in style.

“It's adorable,” Nicole said diplomatically as I pushed her closer.

“Well, it's little, but it's home.”

Once inside, though there wasn't much to see, I gave her a quick tour, starting with the kitchen and then the bathroom.

“My room's up there,” I said, gesturing toward the stairs. “And this is where you'll be staying.”

With a flourish I pulled aside the privacy curtain to reveal the living room, all set up and ready for its new inhabitant.

“This is for me?” she asked, taking in the bed with its crisp, powder blue linens and lacy white coverlet, the plant stand I'd draped with a small tablecloth and pulled into service as a bedside table. Atop that was a small vase of yellow daisies and a wicker basket filled with things I thought she might enjoy—magazines, a deck of cards, some candy bars. There was also a coloring book and crayons, and I was about to make a joke about that when I looked down and realized she had tears in her eyes. She brushed them away sheepishly.

“Sorry. I cry a lot these days. Probably has to do with not being high all the time. Forces you to feel things, you know?”

“Yeah, I get that,” I said, surprised at her admission. I knew that for her to even say such a thing was a positive sign.

“Speaking of drugs,” she added, “what time is it?”

I took in her pale face and hunched posture and realized her meager pain meds had worn off. As a recovering addict, the strongest thing she could take for all of her injuries was prescription-strength ibuprofen, but at least that was better than nothing. She needed to eat something first, though, so I rolled her over to the table and pulled from the fridge the lunch I'd already prepared for her. It was one of her old favorites, ham on rye with mustard, and a side of potato salad

“Oh, Maddee, that's so sweet. But I'm just not hungry.”

“Sorry, kid. You can't take the pills on an empty stomach. Try to eat as much as you can while I unload the car. Then you can have your medicine and shift over into the bed for a while.”

“That would be nice. I'm wiped.”

It took three trips to bring everything in, but by the time I was done, my sister had managed to polish off half the sandwich and a fair amount of the potato salad.

From the travel case Nana prepared, I pulled out the bottle of ibuprofen and then watched as Nicole's trembling fingers plucked the little tablets from my palm. She swallowed them down, tipping her head backward, eyes closed, as if willing the feeble medication to work faster and stronger. I looked away, not wanting her to see the distress on my face. On the one hand, I wanted more than anything for her to stay sober, even if it meant suffering now. On the other, I couldn't stand seeing her in this kind of pain.

We managed to get her into the bed, but it took such an effort that she just lay there, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from her hairline.

“It's hard,” she said between gasps, “even the little things.”

Without thinking, I brushed the hair from her face. She didn't push my hand away. Instead, she closed her eyes.

“We'll unpack your stuff later,” I said softly. “You just rest for now.”

“Okay,” she mumbled.

By the time I slid her privacy curtain back into place and took one last peek, she was already sound asleep.

After eating my own lunch and giving Nana a quick call to let her know we'd made it and all was well, I spent the next three hours upstairs in organizational heaven. I'd bought a new whiteboard and a pack of dry erase markers, which I used to draw a calendar. Then I filled in our schedule for the next few weeks, including my work hours, Inez's visits, Nicole's doctor and physical therapy appointments, and so on. With that as the framework, next I slotted in her NA and Celebrate Recovery meetings, grateful that there was so much to choose from in the Richmond area. Between me and Inez, we should be able to get her to one or the other every single day.

Later that afternoon, once Nicole was awake, I showed her my masterpiece of scheduling. She burst into laughter.

“Aw, man! Some things never change. You're giving me flashbacks, Maddee. Wow.”

“Excuse me, but this was a lot of hard work.”

“I'm sure it was,” she replied, still laughing. “And I appreciate it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But, wow. It's just so…you.”

“So me?”

She wiped at her eyes. “Yeah. Like, remember our Barbie beauty parlor? I was happy just washing the dolls' hair and stuff, but you had to create a tiny little appointment book for the front desk—and then you got mad if any of the dolls showed up late.”