When We Were Sisters (37 page)

Cecilia was already standing in the middle of the wide expanse, taking deep breaths. Shards of light streamed through gaps in the siding, the way light had never penetrated when we lived here. In my mind's eye I could see it the way it once had been, alive with animals who'd only had Cecilia to really care for them. Left to Jud, their lives would have been even more miserable.

I went to stand beside her, not to be on film but because she needed me. Mick waved to get our attention, looking more worried. “We're ready. But again—”

Cecilia sliced her hand through the air to cut him off. “We're ready, too.”

We waited a moment, and then she turned to me. Jerry was already filming.

I took the lead. “Until now there was so much I didn't know. Not for sure anyway.”

She knew exactly what I meant. “You wondered.” It wasn't a question.

“Only when I was older. Only when I started to put things together. I just couldn't figure out why you would have...” Tears were running down her cheeks now. “But now I get it.”

“I did everything I could to keep you from finding out what Jud was doing to me.” His name was no longer secret. She had said it. Mick would remove if needed, but she didn't care.

I saw her hesitate, as if the next part was locked inside her. I couldn't let her suffer. How could I make Cecilia expose herself and what had happened when now I knew the worst?

I said the words for her. “He raped you. Here?”

She walked to the edge of a pool of light, jerky stilted steps so unlike the way she moves onstage. She gestured to the wall just feet from where the indoor part of the hog pen had extended. Hay had always been stacked there for the hogs and the horses.

Then she turned, her eyes still shining with tears, but her voice was steady when she spoke. “In the hay, if you can believe the cliché. Whenever he could get me alone out here. But the first time he raped me was inside the house. Maybe a week, two after we came to live here? He had to figure his angle, and that took some time. He had to figure out how he was going to cover what he was doing if I tried to tell anybody. He had to wait for it to get hot enough that it made sense to turn on the air conditioners.”

I was crying now. “Cecilia...”

“He could reach my bedroom through the bathroom. He waited until...his wife was asleep. Her days were exhausting, and she slept like the dead, or so he said. Nobody could hear him...or me.”

I put my hand over my mouth, afraid I would vomit.

“I always fought back. He liked that. But he was strong, and he told me nobody was ever going to believe me, that at most I'd be moved from the ranch. And later, when he realized how close you and I were, he said if I was moved, he would make sure
you
stayed behind because one sister was as good as the other.”

I covered the few yards between us and hugged her. She put her arms around me, and we held each other, trembling and crying, until Donny and Kris found their way into our embrace and the filming stopped.

47

Kris

Robin fell asleep well past midnight. I didn't expect her to stay that way all night, but I thought she might for a while. Me? I needed fresh air, and I needed to walk, even if I couldn't go very far before the campground lights faded away. Staying close was fine with me. I needed to be nearby in case Robin woke up before I expected her to. I didn't want her to be alone tonight, and walking circles on the dirt road between campsites was better than nothing.

I slipped into sweatpants and sneakers, and covered my T-shirt with a light jacket. Earlier a thunderstorm had moved through, and while the sky was now cloud-free, the temperature had dropped, so the air was almost cool.

Under different circumstances I might find camping in Cold Creek appealing, but tonight all I could think about was getting Robin away forever. Unfortunately that wasn't going to happen immediately. Something was brewing for the end of next week. Even Mick didn't know what. After filming ended today Cecilia had announced that much. Apparently she made the arrangements herself, but as yet she's refusing to reveal details.

Keeping secrets is still a way of life for Robin's sister.

The camper door opened with a screech and closed with a metallic click. Once outside, I waited for a few moments, but Robin didn't wake up.

The campground lights were muted, certainly not bright enough for jogging. There were too many ruts in the road, and those ruts were now puddles. Once Robin told me that as a girl, in her happy foster home, she and Cecilia captured tadpoles from puddles that stagnated in a nearby vacant lot, hoping to watch them turn into frogs. Tonight, for the first time, I see how precious those carefree moments of normal childhood were for my wife, and why she had been so devoted to staying in touch with the Davises, who had given them to her.

And to Cecilia.

The distance between a nine-year-old and a thirteen-year-old stretches for miles. That Cecilia had taken the child Robin under her wing, cherished and protected her, taught her how to play, dress, laugh, even speak freely? How fortunate for all of us. But for Robin, being loved at last by another human being who continued to remain in her life despite every obstacle, a sister who watched over her, advised her and later adored Robin's children the way she had adored her? That has made all the difference in her life.

Why had it taken me so long to see clearly that somehow these two sadly broken children had healed each other and, in the healing, given the world something infinitely precious? Two intelligent, talented women who might have been lost in a system that tries, but too often fails, to protect and nurture children who have no one else.

Now I was face-to-face with the truth. And there was no doubt in my mind why I hadn't wanted to acknowledge it. The woman I loved had come close to not surviving her childhood. Without her sister she might have shriveled in her shell, become the desiccated cocoon-bound caterpillar, not the butterfly. And Cecilia was the most important reason Robin had learned to fly.

I had never wanted anyone else to be as important to Robin as I was. Right from the beginning I had been jealous of Cecilia. And it didn't take a lot to recognize that she had also been jealous of me. We had been locked in competition, but there had never been a need for it. Robin has enough love for everyone in her life, love she saved through the years and shared when each of us appeared.

On my second lap I was still mulling this over when I saw someone on the road in front of me. At first I couldn't make out who was approaching, but when she moved under one of the scattered lights, I realized Cecilia, like me, was hoping that the air and some exercise would finally help her sleep.

In a moment we were close enough to search each other's faces. “Robin's okay?” She spoke softly so she wouldn't wake those closest to where we stood.

“She's sleeping. The way you and I should be.”

“That particular
should
is going to take a while.” She managed the slightest of smiles, although it looked foreign on her drawn and shadowed face. She looked the way anyone would expect her to, exhausted, drained of emotion, wary.

“Months?” I asked.

“If I'm lucky.”

“Donny?”

“He finally passed out. If a back rub goes on for hours, even the best of masseuses will eventually fall asleep. Hal and Ivan are under orders to leave me alone.”

I nodded to the picnic area beyond us. “Sit awhile?”

“With you?” She smiled again, a little wider. “Why should this night be any stranger than the day that led up to it?”

The picnic area was well away from the campers. We found a table that was sheltered by a massive live oak and, despite the rain, dry enough. I sat on the tabletop while Cecilia sat on the bench just below. No light filtered through the leaf canopy, although occasionally leftover raindrops seeped through and splattered my shoulders and head. I think we were both glad we didn't have to read the other's expression.

She lifted her hand toward the treetop. “My almost-adoptive family had a tree the size of this one in their backyard. They weren't the kind of people who like trees, but they kept that one, because cutting it down would have cost too much. No storm ever passed without a reminder I shouldn't stand under it when there was lightning nearby. So, of course, I stood there anyway. Every time.”

“Rebelling?”

“You know what? I don't think so. I think by then I decided lightning was a quick, easy way to disappear. Poof. Gone. Just like that. I was a kid. I probably thought it would be like an alternate take on the
The
Wizard of Oz
, lightning zapping me from one world to another, instead of a tornado. And by then I figured I was already living with the Wicked Witch and her family, so why not take a chance?”

I thought about that. “How did you do it? Become the person you are? I know Robin helped, the way you helped her. But with everything that happened to you, how did you get where you are today?”

“Where I am isn't everything it appears to be.
Who
I am isn't, either.”

“Listen, you're preaching to the choir. Remember me? I've never been your greatest fan.”

“True enough, and back atcha.” If there was venom there, it wasn't audible.

I leaned back on my elbows and let the raindrops bathe my face. “But whether I wholeheartedly admire every little thing I notice when I'm with you or not, I'm also aware you are one fantastic piece of work, the whole package. Beautiful, talented, thoughtful—when it suits you.”

Her laugh was throaty and, I thought, genuine. “It actually suits me more than you give me credit for.”

“I think that's true.”

“You're admitting you may have misjudged me a time or two?”

“More than that.”

“Then as your reward I'll teach you a lesson about why some people survive terrible things and go on to flourish, at least more or less. Somebody loved them. Somewhere along the way somebody cared enough to stretch out a hand and help them along.”

“That's it?” I asked when she stopped.

“Not quite. If the survivor is blessed with strength and some modicum of insight, then he or she may find the courage to keep moving through the bad times. It's all about percentages. How much bad. How much caring. How much strength and insight, not to mention mental health. But now I know I come from strong people, miners who risked their lives every single day to make a better life for the families who counted on them. Plus the women who loved them and did whatever they could to help everyone survive. I was given a talent and the ambition to use it. And those horrible years convinced me there was nothing left to lose, so why not plunge in headfirst and take whatever chance presented itself?”

She was silent a long time before I spoke. “I am so sorry. About everything that happened at the ranch.”

“Yeah, back at the ranch.”

“You protected Robin. I don't know how I can find words to tell you how much I owe you for that.”

“Well, I didn't do it for you, Kris.”

I punched her lightly on the shoulder. “But I reaped the benefit. And our kids did, too.”

“At the time I wasn't looking into the future. Not really. I just knew I couldn't cope if Jud hurt Robin, too. I would have done anything to keep that from happening. She was the only good thing in my life.”

“Cecilia... I know you're the original self-made woman, but you're going to get some help with this, aren't you?”

“Now that it's out in the open? It's not like I've repressed anything that bastard did to me. I haven't forgotten one single violation. It's with me every minute of every day.”

“So maybe now it's time to start forgetting. The right person might help you.”

“Are you and Donny in cahoots?”

Everything would change the moment I opened my mouth, but it was too late now to let that stop me. “No, but maybe we should be. Because, you know, as hard as this is for me to admit, we
both
love you. And in the same way you did everything to protect Robin, we both want to protect and help you.”

I heard her take a deep, shattered breath. “I don't know if I deserve anybody's love.”

“There is no question you do.”

“You
are
in cahoots.”

I slipped down to the bench and put my arm around her. “You're too close to everything that happened here. Haven't you done what you need to in Cold Creek? Isn't it time to call this place quits forever?”

“No.”

“More secrets?”

“Closure.”

She was shivering. I stripped off my jacket and dropped it over her shoulders. Then I pulled her closer. She came willingly. Forever after our relationship would be different, and both of us knew it.

“Then we have to stay, because you do need closure,” I said.

“Robin does, too.”

“Will this do it? Whatever you have planned?”

“It's the kind of grand gesture I like best.” She looked up at me as if deciding whether to elaborate. In the end she did. “I won't need a lawyer, Kris, but it will be good to have one present when the grand gesture is revealed. Just in case. I'm glad you'll be with me and Robin.”

“What are you planning?”

Her eyes glistened, and I wasn't sure the sheen was tears or excitement.

“I'm going to burn the place down,” she said.

I was immediately appalled. “You can't do that.”

“But I can, Kris. Because these days I own every square inch of the Osburn ranch.”

48

Robin

Nobody burns down a house without months of preparation. Cecilia has been planning this moment since she and Mick began negotiations. Even before the accident and before I signed on to take photos. But knowing my sister, one way or the other she would have made sure I was here to see it.

Now we were on the sidelines watching the preparations for a training burn, but she had been busy all morning, greeting firefighters, discussing details with the training instructor, Randy, and his team, conferencing with Mick about where the film crew could stand and how close they were allowed to get. I had been busy taking photographs. This was our first chance to speak privately.

Ten days had passed since we filmed inside the barn. Kris and I had gone home the next day, and Cecilia and Donny had headed for New York.

I stayed in Virginia three days; then, with Nik in tow, I flew to California to take photos of Mick and his editors at work as they sorted through more archival footage and went over the hours of live film.

Nik had his chance to ask questions of everyone involved, but also to talk with some of Cecilia's people about their jobs. He also got heavy-duty tutoring from Fiona on how to use
my
smartphone to make quality videos, as well as advice about a few add-ons to make that happen. I'm not sure which impressed him more, the sweet allure of making his own films or Fiona herself. I do know that the basic cell phone Kris bought him will be another technology relic after his next birthday.

Nik had been thrilled to accompany me, and we'd had the kinds of great conversations we might not have again during his adolescence.

Since then I'd only seen Cecilia for a few minutes on the day Nik and I left California. I know that she and Gizzie have spent the two days between then and now working on more music for the documentary. Mick says what he's heard so far is well beyond his highest expectations.

At the moment, clad in light sweaters and jeans, we are out of the fray. Beyond us Cold Creek's fire department and several departments from nearby townships have gathered for their preentry briefing. The Osburn house and barn will be cinders and smoke by evening, and in the process, more than a dozen of the firefighters will receive training to sharpen their skills.

“The paperwork was mind-boggling, but my business manager handled most of it,” Cecilia said.

“You could have lit a match and walked away.”

“I think they call that arson. And why not make something good come from this? To do it right we had multiple inspections. We had to find and remove asbestos, make sure the house was structurally sound.”

“Structurally sound so they can burn it down?”

“They can't have trainees falling through rotting floors after a fire's been set. Between my people and theirs we had to disconnect utilities, check for things like fuel tanks, historical significance. They had to shore up the porch, nail plywood over windows so the burn will progress the way they want, chop holes in the attic roof to—”

“To match the ones Mother Nature provided?” I remembered our morning in the house together. “Is that what happened to the wallpaper and the flooring?”

“Wallpaper can catch fire and cause a flashover. Smoke from vinyl floors is polluting. You wouldn't believe the licenses and permits. My business manager threatened to quit about halfway through.”

We were talking logistics, but I still wanted to know something more important. “Why, CeCe? Before all this talk of burning the place down, you bought the property. You've had it for a couple of years? Why?”

She took her time. I thought she was considering her answer, because maybe she didn't really know. “So many reasons,” she said at last. “None of them sensible except that I paid a bargain price and with some work on the irrigation system, the land will be valuable someday.”

“I'm sorry, but I'm sure you didn't buy it as an investment.”

“An emotional investment, I guess. This time I want to be the one who decides what goes on here.”

“And burning down the house and barn accomplishes that?”

“Some of it.”

“You could have dismantled the buildings and hauled them away.”

“Imagine what a load like that would do to a landfill?”

I listened as she rattled on, but I thought there was more to it than a concern for the environment. When she finished, I said so.

“You didn't want to imagine the house or barn in a landfill, rotting slowly and taking up space in your heart, did you? You wanted this whole episode finished. Purified by fire.”

She turned to look at me. “You're right. I'm going to build a residential facility for girls on this land, and I don't want evil spirits haunting it. I have a team working on the concept. Vivian refuses to leave her position at CFF, but she's on board to help us find the best people to create a similar model here.”

I hadn't suspected, but I wasn't exactly stunned. How better to make the ranch come alive? “And you thought of this when? You never said a word.”

“I got the idea when we were filming. I can't adopt all the Hayleys in the world, but I can help some of them move on to a healthier adulthood. I'm living proof we never completely transcend our beginnings, but the more help we have, the better our chances.”

I slung my arm over her shoulders. “I honestly thought after today we would be done with this place forever.”

“We'll never be done with it, Robin. You know that.”

Of course she was right.

The firefighters, mostly young, muscular and male, wearing identical black T-shirts emblazoned with the name of their company and yellow turnout pants held up with suspenders, were horsing around while they waited for the meeting to begin. One of them winked at Cecilia. I watched her wink back as one of the two women, who was sitting beside him, punched him in the arm.

“Admirers everywhere,” I said.

“My plan will take years to get up and running. I thought burning down the house and barn was bad, but building something new will be a thousand times worse. I'm determined to get this right.”

“That's going to be the end of the documentary, isn't it? You announcing this?”

“As the barn burns to the ground. Mick knows. He's beside himself with joy.”

“Everyone seems to know about this but me.”

“Just Mick, Vivian, a few experts in the field who are advising me.”

“Donny?”

“Of course.”

Cecilia was widening the circle of people she loved and trusted. In the long run an expanded circle would be good for both of us. I always worried about her isolation, if you can call having millions of fans who love you isolation. I felt responsible for my sister, as she felt responsible for me. Too responsible.

Both of us had sacrificed too much.

“I wanted to tell you in person,” she said, “but I thought you needed a little time first to absorb everything we've gone through these last few months.” She swept her hand in front of her. “Are we better off? Am I crazy to think I can bring laughter and love to this place after everything that happened here?”

I had been waiting for the right moment to tell her something myself, and now I had my opening.

“After I went home this last time I wrote Betty Osburn.”

I had surprised her. She was speechless, then angry. “Why would you do that?”

“I wanted to tell her what Jud did to you. I wanted to know if it was old news or if she'd known all along.”

“Why do you care?”

“Maybe I wanted to believe she was better than he was. I don't know why. Maybe I wanted to believe in spite of all her other faults she wouldn't have let him. If she knew.”

“And you think you can believe
anything
she says?”

“The letter came back. Somebody scribbled ‘deceased' on the envelope.”

“So. She's dead.”

“I made sure. I found her obituary on the internet. She died in January.”

Cecilia isn't as hard-hearted as she lets on. She can get misty-eyed over puppies and sunsets, but she wasn't misty-eyed now. “Well, that's one less Christmas card to toss next year.”

I didn't tell her I had never
tossed
Betty's cards. Instead I filed them in my cubbyhole of an office, where no one else would ever stumble on them. And I didn't tell her that after I learned Betty was dead, I finally went back, opened and read them all.

As it turns out, I hadn't needed to read more than one. Each had been identical. One word, followed by her name.

Remember.

Betty.

Kris was like a little boy, watching everything the firefighters did, even following from a respectful distance as they hauled in straw bales and wood palettes to start fires in each room. I was beginning to suspect my husband had a secret desire to give up the practice of law and start putting out a completely different type of fire.

He repeated what I already knew, but I loved his enthusiasm.

“They could burn down the whole place in less than an hour,” he said, as if he would love to see that, “but there wouldn't be much training in it. So that's why they set the fires one at a time, room by room, put them out, bring in a new group, start all over. Each one presents a different set of problems. Not to mention stairwells, attics. At the end they set one more and let it catch for good. After that they'll burn down the barn.” He pointed toward the house. “That backhoe over there is standing by to push the debris in on itself so they don't start any unintentional fires.”

I couldn't wait for this day to end. The whole scene was a photographer's dream, but for me, being here was closer to a nightmare. I just wanted to finish and go back to Virginia.

The firefighters were donning their turnout jackets, reflective tape glistening in the sunlight. Some already had on helmets and masks, oxygen tanks strapped to their backs, boots and gloves. I could no longer tell the women from the men.

“We have to stay a hundred feet away,” he said. “Cecilia can go a little closer if she wants. They have extra protective gear if she decides to.”

“We'll see what Donny thinks about that.” I saw the two of them off to one side talking, but the conversation didn't look like an argument. Donny was too smart to protest for long. They might be falling in love or already there, but Cecilia was still her own woman and always would be.

“Let's get lunch and find a place to watch,” he said. “Before anything big happens.”

I already had photos of the firefighters suiting up, of their work inside, their strategy and training meeting, of the interior diagrams perched on an easel with Randy pointing out where the exercise would begin. Betty's parlor had been chosen. Some part of me thought I should be sad, but Betty's dreams went up in smoke a long time ago.

“You get the lunches,” I said. “I'll find a place where I can take some good shots if there are any to be had in the next half hour.”

He left for the taco truck Cecilia had reserved. As a thank-you she wanted to feed everyone on the property, and the truck was the easiest way. I scouted for a good spot to sit and watch, but also to launch myself and my camera if the occasion called for it.

Kris returned with two boxed lunches and a tarp. He spread the tarp under the shadow cast by an evergreen, where we could see what was happening beyond us.

He opened the first box to show me three assorted tacos, guacamole salad and a luscious-looking brownie before handing it to me. “You and Cecilia looked like you were having an important conversation.”

“I asked her why she bought the property.” I hesitated. “Then I told her Betty Osburn is dead.”

Kris looked up from his own box. “Your foster mother?”

“The woman who lived here.” The word
mother
had never seemed appropriate.

“How did you find out?”

I took my time squeezing a packet of hot sauce on a bean and cheese taco. “After we moved to Meadow Branch she began sending me Christmas cards. I didn't open them.”

“Do you think it was wise not to find out why she had gotten back in touch?”

“I didn't want to know.” Since Kris always wants the facts, I could see that was hard for him to understand.

“How did she get our address?”

I shrugged, because I didn't have a clue. “The internet? A private investigator? It couldn't have been easy.”

“Do you think she wanted to connect? To apologize in her own way?”

“Betty wasn't the kind of person who apologizes.”

“Maybe she wanted to tell you she'd finally heard from or about her husband. If she did, wouldn't it be good for Cecilia to know where he is?”

Kris was still thinking like a lawyer. Nothing but more facts would make sense to him.

“If he was still alive Jud would be in his late seventies, but even back then he had life-threatening health issues. Cecilia will have to deal with his ghost, but not the flesh and blood man.”

“It's always sounded odd to me that he just disappeared the way he did. Wasn't the ranch worth enough to hang on until his wife finally decided to divorce him? You said they fought all the time.”

“He wasn't a good rancher. He let things go if they were too hard to keep up with. He spent whatever cash they took in on himself or his women. That's one of the things he and Betty used to fight about. The ranch was deeply in debt. Cecilia would know how deep, since she kept the books.” I took a bite of taco and chewed awhile before I added, “But I'm guessing he waited until he thought nothing more was coming his way except trouble. Then he took off.”

“So you woke up one morning, and he was gone?”

I made myself swallow, although it took effort. “He walked away late on a Saturday afternoon. He left a note saying he wasn't coming back and didn't care what Betty did with the ranch or herself. And that was that.”