Three Black Swans (26 page)

The sidewalk went up a slight hill, passed several houses and headed down again, curving around.

The middle of her back relaxed. The eyes of the people in the doorway could not pierce the dirt of the hill. “Genevieve, don’t talk about them,” said Claire. “Talk about you.” I’m not walking past that house again, she thought. I’ll circle the whole town to reach the railroad station if I have to.

The park was a corner garden, with a little fountain and a small statue, some grass and a tall tree. It had one bench, wet from the rain. Genevieve swooshed her hand down the slats, removing most of the water, and mopped up the rest with her jacket. Not great for the jacket, but now they could sit.

Genevieve took the middle. Claire sat on her left while Missy sat on her right. Missy opened her cell phone, stretched her arm out in front of her and caught the three of them on its camera. They stared at the proof of their identical identities.

Claire thought, Only other people will know what identical triplets look like. I’ll see the three of us just in pictures. That’s why I never believed that Missy and I could be identical—I can’t see us both at one time, except in mirrors. Now I have a new sister who is a mirror.

“We could have lived together,” said Genevieve. “We could have been sisters all this time.”

“It’s not too late,” said Missy. “We’re not dead or anything.”

They were laughing now, and it was the same melody, the same harmony, on the same pitch.

“I can’t sit in a row like this,” said Claire. “I can’t see.” She turned sideways, tucked her feet up on the bench and hugged her knees, giving herself a fine view of Genevieve. A split second later Missy did the same. We even sit alike? thought Claire.

“What did you mean about having to be brave?” Missy asked Genevieve.

“It’s a bad story.”

“How bad?” asked Claire. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”

“I want to know everything,” said Missy.

“I’ll make it quick,” said Genevieve. Her mouth trembled. She put her hand up to steady the lips and chin that would have to deliver the news.

Claire took Genevieve’s hand. I wonder if our fingerprints match, she thought.

Genevieve held tight and began to talk. The story of Allegra and Ned was not believable, so it didn’t change Claire’s life. It was just stuff, as if Genevieve were reading from a Weird News column. Claire had been thinking only of the birth mother. When she thought of adoption, she assumed the biological father was offstage somewhere; that he didn’t know, didn’t care, wasn’t home, went to sea. But this birth father—
her
birth
father—was down the block, standing still. Neither parent had been a sad, frightened teenager or a desperate, drug-using loser.

They had just been busy.

Again Claire felt brainless. What did that even mean—how could you be too busy to bring your own daughters home from the hospital?

“But they just stood there,” protested Missy. “In the doorway. Claire and I were created by a man and a woman who didn’t even cross the street for us?”

Genevieve nodded.

“They didn’t run over to meet their other two babies? They aren’t thrilled to find out that we’re fine? That we turned out well?
That we came?
”

“I think they were hoping nobody would ever know,” said Genevieve. “They were hoping it was a flub, like a bad golf score, and it wouldn’t matter.”

“It?” repeated Missy. “Having triplets is an ‘it’?”

“I’m quoting.”

Claire watched Genevieve’s hair puff as the sun came out and the humidity changed and realized that she was watching her own hair, as it were. She and her sisters were breathing at the same tempo. Their foreheads wrinkled at the same time and their hands made the same gestures. Claire let herself merge with Genevieve, in just the way she had previously feared. It was a good fit.

Genevieve told them about Jimmy Fleming and Ray Feingold and the library where she’d watched Rick’s video. She
explained that Claire was legally adopted and Missy was not. “I guess we’ll never really know why they didn’t handle your adoption legally, Missy, but maybe even they felt shame. Even they couldn’t face what they were doing and pretended it would go away.”

It, thought Claire. Meaning us.

“Do you want to meet them?” asked Genevieve.

“Do you
want
us to meet them, Genevieve?” asked Missy. “Because I do want to, but only if it’s okay with you.”

“Not me,” said Claire. “I have parents. In fact, I have parents who are worried.” Claire picked up her cell and speed dialed. Her mother answered on the first ring. Frannie Linnehan’s voice was not just loud. It was lunatic.

“Where are you?” shrieked Claire’s mother. “Are you all right? How could you vanish at a time like this? I know it’s mostly our fault, but you shouldn’t just vanish! You should answer your phone! I am so mad at you, Claire!” Frannie Linnehan’s voice seemed to cross state lines. Missy and Genevieve didn’t have to lean close to hear.

“Hi, Mom,” said Claire happily. It was fine to be yelled at. The people in the doorway down the street hadn’t cared enough to keep Claire, never mind worry about her.

“Clairedy, that video!” Her mother’s voice cracked. “I can’t stand it when you cry on the video. It makes me cry. I’m crying now. Claire, where are you? I need you. Come home. We’ll come get you. We’re all getting in the car right now. We just need you to tell us where to drive. Is Missy with you? Tell me she’s with you.”

“Don’t worry, Mom,” said Claire. “I am so totally coming home. Things developed fast, and actually Missy and I took the train to New York and another train out to Long Island. When I explain, I want you and Daddy to remember that you are my mother and father. You were my mother and father from the minute you got me, you’ll always be my mother and father, and no other person counts.”

“Oh, my God. You’ve met your birth mother!” screamed Frannie Linnehan.

“No, Mom. I never want to meet her. I’m not going to meet her. But I have met somebody. You know that Missy and I are not just twins, but identical twins, right?”

“We didn’t know, Clairedy. We didn’t guess for years. You were both in elementary school before we started to grasp the situation. Even then, we were guessing. The doctor who arranged the adoptions never told us much. I don’t see how you could have any facts either.”

“We didn’t need facts. People forwarded the video. A boy who saw it thought he had met one of us. He made sure that the video was seen by the girl he had met. But that girl wasn’t me and she wasn’t Missy. There weren’t two of us up for adoption, Mom. There were three of us. Identical
triplets
. Our identical sister saw the video. She saw herself. She knew instantly, even though she hadn’t known before. She got in touch. We couldn’t wait to meet her. Actually, Missy couldn’t wait and I dragged myself after her. We’re with her right now. Our third sister.”

Their faces were so close over the tiny phone that the hot tears inching down Genevieve’s face slid onto Claire’s cheek.

Frannie Linnehan screamed. “A third sister! What’s her name? Let me talk to her! I have to meet her! I have to hug her! I have to know her! What could be more wonderful than another girl like you, Clairedy! Is she there? Will she talk to me? This is so fabulous! This is almost as exciting as when we got you at the hospital! Another daughter! What’s her name? You have a decent cell phone! Is she there? Film her! Let me see her! Let me see all three of you! But first let me talk to Missy,” she said sternly.

“She can hear you, Mom.”

“Missy, your parents are mental! They are right here with me, of course, we are having a family conference. In fact, we are piling into the car to set out for Long Island, but you call them this instant, do you hear?”

*  *  *

Genevieve tried to imagine parents who had family conferences. Who were thrilled to hear about her. Who shrieked joyfully, “Another daughter!”

Missy obeyed and called her parents that instant. Her mother was furious. Genevieve listened while the mother yelled, “I shouldn’t yell! Your father and I should have talked to you long ago. Still and all, Melissa Vianello! That video was horrible. Vanishing today was horrible. Not telling us what you were doing was horrible. Not being able to reach you was horrible!”

Genevieve sopped up her tears with the hem of her long
flowing shirt. What would it be like to live with parents who were so emotional? So … so parental?

“I wanted it in the open, Mom,” said Missy. “I wanted to stop guessing. I wanted to know.”

“Then you should have asked!”

Missy’s father took over. His voice was deep and raspy. Genevieve pictured somebody big and broad. “Missy, we couldn’t tell you that you were adopted. First of all, in our hearts, you weren’t. You were ours. It’s impossible to describe how fierce the desire is to have babies. Your arms ache, your house is empty, your future is dull. You want your own kid. And when Dr. Russo said you were ours, they let us go to Newborn Intensive Care long before you were ready to come home and you
were
ours. Every minute, every crisis, every IV. But mainly, we couldn’t tell you because the birth mother never surrendered her parental rights. She never tried to get you back, but she never signed anything either. You’re ours, honey, but not in the eyes of the law. It’s scary, we’ve always been scared. Sixteen years we’ve been scared.”

My parents did that to them, thought Genevieve. All to avoid a few hours of social workers and judges glaring at them. I don’t think anybody would have glared. It was just in a day’s work. And maybe the authorities would have been relieved that baby Missy was getting a better mother than the one she’d been born to.

Oh, Mom! thought Genevieve.

Pain sliced her like surgery without anesthesia. She had never been first on her parents’ list. Everything—cars, watches, travel, fashion, eating out—came ahead of Genevieve. She suddenly,
desperately wanted to be with her great-grandmother. Nobody but GeeGee could comfort her now. GeeGee would not be surprised by this story. She had no use for her grandson Ned and less use for the woman he had married.

And then Genevieve knew something else: her great-grandmother was staying alive for her. Staying active, staying alert. Staying. Because little Genevieve needed all the love she could get.

“Don’t be scared, Dad,” said Missy. “I don’t feel adopted either. I’m yours. I’ll be home tonight. I don’t want any other home. But I do want Genevieve.” She whispered to Genevieve, “I’m definitely going to meet your parents. I have to give your mother—I mean, my mother—a piece of my mind. Imagine scaring my parents like that!”

Genevieve had never given her parents a piece of her mind. How docile I’ve been, she thought. I always try to appease them.

Missy’s mother took back the phone. The yelling was over. The fear was gone. The voice of Kitty Vianello was filled with excitement. “Will Genevieve talk to me?”

Missy transferred her cell phone to Genevieve’s hand. Genevieve felt as if she were not familiar with this technology. I’ll be on the phone with the mother of my sister, she thought crazily. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. Then she said softly, “Hello, Mrs. Vianello. This is Genevieve Candler.”

“Genevieve! Oh, Genevieve! That’s the prettiest name in the world! Oh! I can see you! Claire forwarded a picture of the three of you! You’re in the middle, thank God I can tell. Am I telling just from clothing? Because I know what Missy
and Claire own? I don’t think so. I think I actually know. Genevieve, I’m having a heart attack from joy. Are you all right? We’re already on I-95, heading south. Are your parents okay? Should I talk to them?”

“My parents are okay,” said Genevieve, and it might be true. They would be planning how to contain this, how to spin it. They would come up with a way to protect themselves. They might even enjoy exposure, if they could not prevent it. They might relish being on some shiny talk show with some shiny host.

No, thought Genevieve. That is a deal breaker. We are not letting the media own us. I will set my parents straight on that.

“How far out on Long Island are you?” asked Missy’s mother. “Which bridge do we take?”

Genevieve was appalled at the thought of six parents crossing paths. “Maybe Missy and Claire can still take the train home,” she said. “Maybe we can all meet some other time. Right now I’m just enjoying your voice. You sound happy.”

“I’m delirious, Genevieve. Two were perfect, but
three!
It’s incredible! I love you already. I have to meet you and hug you. Genevieve, have you met your birth parents?”

“Yes,” said Genevieve. “I’ve met my birth parents.”

*  *  *

“My turn,” said Claire’s father. “Clairedy, I’ve been at work all morning. I haven’t even seen the famous video yet.”

“It’s okay,” Claire assured him. “You can skip it.”

“Good, because I’m totally blown away by this cell phone picture of the three of you.” Phil Linnehan raised his voice. “Hey, Genevieve!” he bellowed. “Hi! Welcome! I guess I’m your dad, too. Well—not exactly. Do we know who the dad is? Are we doing dads yet? What stage are we at?
Triplets
. Wow. My heart is flopping around.”

The phone calls ended. The girls were left trembling in the aftershock of this family earthquake. There were a million things to talk about. Claire let Missy and Genevieve do the talking. Already the two of them seemed closer to each other than to her.

How did real triplets behave? Did two have more power and more fun than the third? Did they rotate last position? Did everybody get a chance to be first? Or did they stay equal thirds, like a geometry problem?

I don’t want a problem with Genevieve and Missy, thought Claire. I want it to be perfect.

It seemed impossible to Claire that the supposed parents had not come to find their three daughters. What could Ned and Allegra Candler be talking about in their sweet little white house? She cut them a little slack. After all, she hadn’t been brave enough to cross the street.

“Let’s go meet your parents, Genevieve,” said Missy. “It’s time.”

Even now, even here, Claire had forgotten how closely her thoughts tracked with Missy’s.