Tale of the Warrior Geisha (24 page)

“No.” Rachel sounds determined. “This is really important. It is about Mom, though.”

The office phone rings now, and an e-mail pops up in front of Drew. WHERE ARE YOU CALL ME, Liza has written. Drew groans inwardly, and, fed up with Liza and her constant demands, silences the office phone and swivels away from the computer. “What can I help you with?” She sounds formal yet cheerful, how she imagines a midwestern front-desk clerk to be. Maybe that's where she'll move. Where people aren't so concerned with appearances, and she can be a real person.

“I went to visit Mom today,” Rachel says.

Drew sits up straight, her spine popping. “How is she?”

Rachel takes a big breath, and Drew knows she's trying not to cry. “She was Mom again for a minute, and she told me to get something from her house.”

She pictures her mother's face,
Mom again
, as Rachel says, Mom with recognition in her eyes, instead of the blank Mom they know now, and bites her lip hard. These moments are getting rarer. “Did she tell you about a secret treasure chest buried in the backyard?” Drew says, both to keep the tone light and to tamp down the stinging in her own eyes.

Rachel either doesn't get or ignores this bit of humor. “No. It's some kind of book. In the sewing room,” Rachel continues. She hesitates. “I don't know what kind of book it is. She said you would know. Do you remember her showing you a book in there?”

Drew shuts her eyes, pictures her parents' house, which she'd left as soon as humanly possible, at the age of seventeen and a half, escaping to USC. The sewing room is downstairs. Drew rarely ventured in there. Sometimes, when nobody else was home, Drew would go in and look around, just because she was bored and lonely and nosy. But all she can remember are fabrics and a big sewing machine. A material-cutting table. “I can't think of her showing me any book. I'm sorry. Did she say why she wants it?”

“No. But I just know it's important, Drew. You should have seen the way she grabbed me. Her expression. It was like she was starving and asking for food.” Rachel's voice is flat, which means she's afraid. There's no reason to be afraid about a book, Drew thinks. They'll go find it. No big deal. Rachel's always overreacted. Always has. Once, a huge gray moth flew into the family room while they were watching TV. Rachel grabbed Drew and threw her off the couch, out of the moth's path. “I thought it was a monster,” Rachel had said later. “I was protecting you.” Drew had a bruised thigh for two weeks from that protection.

Drew pictures all the books she's ever seen Mom handle. An Italian cookbook. Curious George.
Amish Country Quilting
. Her mind goes blank. Their mother was never known as a big reader. Besides, Drew was never close to her, the way Rachel had been. “Why don't you just go over to Dad's and look?”

“Yeah.” Rachel gives a little bark of a laugh. “I should. I will. I was just wondering if you remembered, so I'd know what I was looking for.”

Oh. Yeah. Getting a book out of their father's house should not be a two-person operation, but Drew had forgotten, for a second, that their father had disowned her sister. Does she want Drew to come down and help? Then she should ask, Drew thinks stubbornly. Is she supposed to be a mind reader?

Yet something in Rachel's voice gives her pause. Rachel hates, more than anything, to admit weakness. She's the type of person who'd bleed all over the place instead of just accepting a damn Band-Aid from you. Does she want help, but is afraid to ask? Afraid Drew will blow her off?

Drew's phone buzzes again. Won't Liza leave her alone for just a minute? Drew hits SEND on the bank transfer. The page refreshes itself, and her pulse skitters. The balance is down. A lot down.

DREW CALL ME IMMEDIATELY, Liza's text reads.

She clicks the screen dark on her phone, turning her full attention to her big sister. Rachel's never asked for help with Mom. Not once.
You're too far away. I can take care of her. Tom and the kids will help
, Rachel always said, rebuffing Drew's offers. No doubt Rachel thinks this makes it easier for Drew, but instead it makes her feel unwanted.

Drew comes down to visit sometimes, on the weekends, where she sits with her mother, trying and failing to think of anything to say. She usually reads a book aloud, out of the library cart, to fill the time. Then she heads back to L.A. before traffic gets too bad, thinking, sometimes, of calling her sister—but then thinking there's really no point, because Rachel will just say,
Oh, we're really busy today, not going to be home until bedtime
. Which was probably, in fact, a hundred percent true. Anyway, Drew had stopped trying.

Drew clears her throat, imagining going down to help for a couple of days. Suddenly, walking away from this store, from this nonlife, seems like a pretty damn good option. She needs to recalibrate.

She hears her sister breathing on the other end of the phone. How Drew always tried to crawl into bed with Rachel, to be lulled to sleep by that sound. Drew has an urge to put her arms around her sister, to tell her both of them will be okay. She thinks of her niece and nephew—Chase a teenager, Quincy in college—and it feels like someone pitched a ball into her stomach. They're so old now, and Drew has mostly missed it all. If she doesn't know them well, who will come visit Drew when she's in Mom's situation? She wants to see them, too.

Does Rachel want her help? Will she be offended if Drew offers? Drew pauses. “I could come down there and help you find the book tomorrow. If you want, that is. It's not a problem.”
Please want
, she prays.

There is a silence for a moment. “Yes, I would appreciate that, thank you,” Rachel says softly, and that's all that Drew needs to hear. She closes the laptop with a snap.

 

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