Although Irene asked a lot of questions about Littlefield, Mother asked many, too. She was so much like her former self that I decided not to challenge her way of dealing with the horrible thing Haylee had done, not only to me but to all of us.
Afterward, Irene pulled me aside to tell me my mother had made enough of an improvement for her to consider cutting back to only a weekly visit.
“Her doctor agrees,” she said. She didn’t mean to suggest it, but I realized all the pressure was on me now not to spoil the recovery. If I expressed any anger in front of Mother when Haylee was here or if I was in any way mean to her, this fragile reconstruction of Mother’s life might crumble.
Irene had Mother take a rest before dinner, and I went to my room. I had some homework to do over the holiday, and I thought it would provide the best way to avoid thinking about the challenge that lay ahead.
My father called to see how things were going. “I see her feisty self has returned,” he began.
I told him a little about the way she was behaving and how she was coping.
“Well, that might be for the best, but don’t you permit anyone there to make you uncomfortable, Kaylee,” he warned. “I won’t stand for you enduring an unpleasant second. Understand? You call me, and this whole thing is called to a halt. Your sister is going to hear the same from me.”
“I know, Daddy. Thank you. I’ll be fine.”
Just before I went down to dinner, Troy called. He told me his sister had just arrived, but his father was not home yet. I told him how it was going for me.
“Do you think I should speak to my sister before Thanksgiving dinner or after?” he asked.
“I’d do it after, just so you don’t make her uncomfortable for the evening.”
“That was my thinking, too. It’s great to have someone bright enough to bounce ideas off of,” he said.
“I wish that was all I was.”
“I’ll call you Friday,” he said. “Right now, I’m going to the indoor pool to relive a memory.”
“Glad you can’t see through the phone,” I said, and he laughed.
“Kaylee,” he said, then paused.
“I know,” I said. “Me, too.”
I had this eerie feeling after I hung up. Anticipating words, feeling similar about things, was, after all, what had made Haylee and me the Mirror Sisters.
18
In anticipation of Haylee’s arrival, Mother was up before either Irene or me; she was even up before the sun. I heard her moving through the house, but I remained in bed. It had taken me longer than usual to fall asleep.
I had done as much as I could to occupy myself the night before. After Irene suggested that Mother go to bed so she would be fresh for tomorrow, Mother had kissed me good night, something she always hesitated to do because Haylee wasn’t here to get a kiss as well. But now I saw the excitement in her eyes. It was on the tip of my tongue to warn her not to expect everything to return to what it was, but at this point, I was even afraid to look worried or pessimistic.
A song by Charlie Chaplin that Haylee and I would play on our pianos together flowed through my thoughts: Smile . . . Hide every trace of sadness . . . Smile, what’s the use of crying.
“You go to sleep, too, Kaylee. It’s a big day tomorrow,” Mother had said.
“I will,” I promised.
Irene had escorted her up, assuring her that everything was set for Thanksgiving dinner. I heard their chatter die away and then sat and stared at the two pianos, remembering Haylee when we were only eight, beaming with pride at how well we sounded together. Perhaps she was only proud of herself.
Now, when I rose in the morning, showered, and fixed my hair, I pondered what to wear when I greeted Haylee. When my father had taken me to visit her, I had deliberately chosen that sexy dress. Dr. Alexander had picked up on it immediately. She knew I wanted not only to rub my survival in Haylee’s face but also to emphasize that I looked better than she could look at the moment. I wanted her to be jealous of me. I wanted her to hate herself.
I had no intention of doing that now. In fact, I chose one of the dresses Mother had bought for us that Haylee thought did nothing for our figures. She even hated the color, a shade of beige that she claimed was blah. I put on no makeup or jewelry, either. Then I slipped into the plain-looking low-heeled beige shoes Mother had bought to go with our dresses and went down to breakfast.
Irene was at the kitchenette table having coffee alone. Before I could ask where Mother was, Irene nodded toward the dining room. I looked in and saw Mother intently studying the table settings like a champion chess player, adjusting a fork a little to the right, a knife a little to the left.
“Good morning, Mother,” I said.
She looked up with an odd expression for a moment and then smiled. “Oh, I’m glad you’re up. I was thinking of having the two of you sit together rather than across from each other as usual,” she said.