Authors: Sally John
Ransomed Dreams (22 page)
Seated beside her father’s hospital bed, well into her third acrylic nail, Calissa chewed, gnawed, and picked away.
It was an idiotic way to sublimate, to trade an emotional pain for a physical one. Stopping the behavior didn’t seem to be an option, however.
She watched her father breathe, or rather she watched the machine breathe for him, cajoling him onward and upward.
Hang in there. I might let you off the hook yet. Sheridan might show up yet. I doubt, I seriously doubt, she’ll let you off the hook, but showing up will be something at least. You know?
Sheridan. She had it worse. They’d all wanted to protect her. Calissa, Ysabel, even Harrison. But now, learning what they’d kept from her, it wouldn’t sound like concern. It must sound like betrayal. From their mother, too, with her suicide.
Maybe it wasn’t suicide. Maybe that was only Harrison talking out of another side of his mouth, getting in one last cruel joke on his wife.
Helena said he loved Ysabel. He sure had a funny way of showing it.
On a scale of one to ten with ten being
Little House on the Prairie
, Calissa rated her childhood as a seven. Everybody’s parents argued, at times loudly, right? Every parent kept secrets, especially about the past. Her parents and several others she knew disguised their love as buying everything the kids needed and keeping the peace when necessary, say at piano recitals. Some parents, like Harrison and Ysabel, added one last note: they continued to live together. Increasingly frequent times apart notwithstanding, they kept up that facade.
Face it,
she thought. Childhood trauma was a given. So she should just get over it. Even if it crept into her life when she was forty-seven years old. Right?
Calissa heard movement at the doorway and turned.
Sheridan entered, a Styrofoam container in her hand. “Fries.” She gave it to her and sat next to her in the other chair. “Garlic.”
“No way.” The distinct aroma floated out as she opened the lid. “Oh, yes way. Thank you. This beats fingernails.”
Sheridan touched Calissa’s left ring finger with its bloody nub of natural nail. “Ouch.”
“You get used to it.” Calissa ate, stealing glances at her sister gazing at Harrison.
Something had changed, something intangible but real. First off, Sheridan gazed rather than glowered. And she was calm, but not like a stoic. What had happened? She’d left an hour ago, pale, eyes swollen, arm entwined through Luke’s. Calissa didn’t think it was the garlic fries. Had she opened a can of worms by forcing her sister and Luke together?
She popped another fry into her mouth. She really didn’t need to take on one more load of big-sister guilt. Who knew? Maybe Sher and Luke had been in touch all along. Maybe Luke didn’t have to use his super-duper spy powers to track her down.
Sheridan said, “Liss, do you remember that mean kid who lived down the street when we were young?”
“Mean kid? Oh yeah. Ty ‘roly-poly’ Foley.”
Sheridan smiled.
“I still owe him one,” Calissa said. “The day I got my first car, he put a tack strip under the back tire.”
“Big deal. What about ruining my ninth birthday party? He smashed his hand right through that beautiful cake shaped like Wonder Woman.”
“I plan to hunt him down. I figure as a city council member, the police will do me a favor and scare the living daylights out of him—what?”
Sheridan was shaking her head, her eyes wide.
“I’m kidding.” Calissa pointed a french fry at their dad. “I am not that conniving.”
Sheridan seemed to be concentrating on taking deep breaths.
If Calissa had learned anything in those disastrous years trying to mother her rebellious teenage sister, it was when to keep her mouth shut. She closed it around another fry. Despite the calm exterior, Sheridan was still in bad shape.
Sheridan moved her head as if stretching out kinks. “My point is, Mamá always said Ty’s life experiences were not mine and I should forgive him.”
“He was a mean, destructive little monster.”
“She didn’t say to be his best friend and allow him to do whatever. She just said don’t look at him like he’s a pile of dung.”
“Be nice to him, in other words.”
“Deeper than that. Like Jesús. Love him in spite of everything.”
“The kid should’ve been locked up.”
Sheridan grinned. “Probably.”
Sheridan, Mamá, and Jesús. Calissa felt a stab of annoyance. The three of them had always left her out of their tight little loop.
“Liss, she would say forgive him.” Sheridan wasn’t talking about the neighbor boy. She was looking at their dad.
“But he doesn’t deserve it.”
“No. Neither did the neighbors or the store clerks or the D.C. socialites. Remember?”
Calissa cringed. Racial prejudice was up close and personal when it came to going out in public with a Latina mother.
Sheridan said, “No matter how people treated her, she treated them with love. We watched her do it, day in and day out. You or I would be upset or embarrassed. But she’d say, without a trace of sarcasm, ‘Let’s pray for her. Poor thing, she must not like herself very much. She must not know how much Jesús loves her. If we forgive her, she might start to believe that He does too.’”
“You were like that too. I swear, you had more friends than anybody as a kid. Even in high school you never had an enemy.”
“Except him. He was the one person I could not forgive. Remember how Mamá did, though?”
“How?”
“You really didn’t notice?”
Calissa shook her head.
“She smiled at him. Every single day she smiled at him. Her face lit up. Actually, I don’t think it was
her
smiling. God smiled through her at him.”
“Weird.”
“Mysterious.” Sheridan sighed. “I’m tired, Liss. Tired of holding on to the junk.”
Calissa closed the empty take-out container and stared at their dad, helpless and hopeless. “Bram tells me it takes too much energy to carry all the garbage of past hurts. It’s hurting us, Sher.”
“Yeah. I think it hurts him, too. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t go.”
“Maybe he would apologize if he could right now.”
“Maybe. Maybe he is.” Sheridan met her eyes. “I want to forgive my dad.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Do you want to?”
Calissa nodded.
“Just tell God, then.” Sheridan turned toward Harrison. Her eyes were open and her lips moved, but she made no sound. Their mother used to pray like that, in silence so that her husband and eldest daughter wouldn’t make fun of her.
God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t know how to tell You.
Calissa watched her sister and nearly panicked. “Sher! Do it for me too? Out loud?”
Sheridan nodded and then she began to pray audibly. In Spanish, fluent and flowing.
Calissa shut her eyes and felt another stab of annoyance. No, not annoyance. Envy. She might as well admit it. She’d been jealous of Sheridan her entire life. There was the role of the cute little baby, born when the older sister was in the seven-year-old, not-so-cute stage. There was the knack for languages by age two, the unabashed compassionate heart, the athletic prowess, the PhD, the marriage. The special connection with Mamá in all things churchy. The special connection with God Himself.
Lord, forgive me.
Calissa reached out and grasped Sheridan’s hand.
“En inglés, por favor.”
“Holy God—” there was a smile in Sheridan’s voice—“I miss You.” The sound of a smile faded, and she whispered. “Mamá would tell us that You are here, though. That You hear me. Us. I quit. I don’t want to carry the garbage anymore. I don’t want to look at my father as if he were a pile of dung. Please forgive me. Please forgive him. And for Jesus’ sake, help me to forgive him.”
Calissa cleared her throat. “Ditto.”
“Amen.”
“Amen.”
Wilmette
In spite of the long day that had begun with an ugly blue car and ended with a prayer at the hospital, Sheridan felt too keyed up to sleep. Calissa and Luke appeared to be in the same condition. Late that night they lingered with her in the living room in front of the fire he’d built and drank peppermint tea.
“So. Lucas.” Calissa’s eyes twinkled. “Did Sher ever tell you about our ancestor?”
Sheridan groaned. “Liss, I told you he wanted skeletons, not childhood fantasies.”
“But this goes to your motive for marrying Eliot.”
“You’re saying that’s a skeleton?”
“No. I’m saying it’s interesting background material.”
“Well, you’re skating on thin ice, Sister.”
Calissa smiled.
Sheridan couldn’t help but grin. Something had broken loose between them. Undoubtedly it was related to that prayer at their father’s bedside, to their willingness to let go of Harrison and all the hurt he had caused in their lives.
Calissa nearly flounced in her seat as she turned to face Luke. “Sheridan was convinced our mother was descended from royalty.”
His brows rose slightly. He was in noncommittal mode.
“You’re not impressed,” Calissa said. “It could very well be true. Our great-grandmother Ysabel told our mother Ysabel that her great-great-great-something-grandmother, also named Ysabel, had sailed over from Spain and settled in what became Venezuela. All the firstborn daughters from that point on were named Ysabel. Our mother, her mother, her grandmother.”
“But not you,” he said.
“Why is it people always point that out? Obviously not. The story goes that Harrison was not keen on the idea of ancestral tradition. Eventually he did agree to give Sheridan
Ysabel
for her middle name. Anyway, this grandma Ysabel showed our mother a shawl.” She leaned forward as if to emphasize her next words. “Made of purple silk. Purple. The color of royalty. Ysabel, as in Isabella, as in queen.”
Sheridan said, “As in, it was fun to pretend some great-great-ancestor of ours was a cousin to the queen of Spain. It made us feel special.”
Calissa snickered. “You felt so special, you married an ambassador so you could live like royalty.”
“I can’t believe you said that.”
She shrugged. “Just another of my zany notions to explain why on earth you left the life you had here in Chicago. Your work was a dream come true. Ask her what her favorite game was growing up.” She nodded at Luke. “Ask her.”
He looked the question at Sheridan.
“School,” she said.
Calissa shook her head. “Nah. It was benevolent professor.”
Luke chuckled. “Benevolent professor?”
“I swear, that was what she called it. She was an odd little four-year-old. She’d say, ‘Let’s play benevolent professor.’ Mamá and I laughed, but we’d play along. We’d mess up our hair, smear mascara on our cheeks, and wear mismatched clothes. Sher put on a fancy dress and a tiara. Why the tiara? We didn’t know. Next she lined up her dolls, picked up a heavy dictionary, and gave them a lesson on kindness. Then we’d sit and beg for food. She’d give us apples and candy bars and hugs.” Calissa’s eyes glistened.
Sheridan felt her own sting at the sight. Was it possible her sister hadn’t always seen her as a burden?
“Remember, Sher?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Calissa turned back to Luke. “Fast-forward several years. Professor and social worker, dream come true. Except for that curious tiara. Hm. Fast-forward some more. Eliot enters the picture and offers Dr. Cole a chance to live in an embassy and be benevolent. Ta-da.”
“Ta-da?” Luke said.
Sheridan grinned. “Well, yes, ta-da. Embassy life is as close as an American can get to living like a princess short of marrying a prince. I had huge staffs and lived in enormous, beautiful homes. I entertained heads of state and wore gorgeous gowns.”
“And,” Calissa added, “you kept up your benevolent work like all good princesses. I think maybe your dream was less about classroom teaching and more about being related to Queen Isabella.”
She sighed dramatically. “I only wish there’d been a crown.”
Calissa laughed loudly.
Luke cleared his throat. “Excuse me, ladies.”
Calissa said, “Oh, buzz off, Traynor. We don’t want to talk shop anymore tonight.”
Sheridan grinned. “Yeah, Traynor, buzz off.”
“Sorry, but I’m leaving in a day or so and I’m wondering—”
“A day or so?” Her rare sense of lightheartedness drained. “What do you mean?”
“Bram and I have to leave as soon as possible.”
“But you can’t.” She heard the anxiety in her voice. She didn’t know where it came from, but she couldn’t stop it. “It’s not over yet.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “It is, Sher. It’s over.”
Calissa glanced between them. “What’s over?”
He waited another long moment before he broke his gaze and looked at Calissa. “When I found Sheridan and Eliot in Mexico, I destroyed their sanctuary. I dragged her out into the world that still frightened her because of what happened in Caracas. What’s over is her need for a crutch while she’s in it.”
How could he say that? Not many hours ago she was a basket case phoning him to come be her crutch.
“You are okay,” he said to her. “Here you are in Chicago, giving me grief about a tail, visiting your mother’s old friend, laughing with Calissa. You’re not the same woman I picked up in Topala.”
Sheridan stared into her mug. Her earlier panic hadn’t been because city sights and sounds bombarded her with Caracas flashbacks. No, it was because she faced an emotional abyss and she was so very tired of facing emotional abysses by herself.
Calissa said, “You were saying you wondered what?”
“I wondered if Helena would talk to me. I may hear something helpful.”
“I don’t think she’d mind. I’ll call her and ask if you can come with us tomorrow. We planned to meet after she goes to the bank.”
“The bank?”
“I didn’t tell him that part yet,” Sheridan said.
“Our mother mailed something to her for us,” Calissa explained. “She’s kept it in a safe-deposit box all these years.” Her forehead creased. “It arrived after Mamá died. She must have sent it just the day before.”
“Did Helena say what it was?”
