“I will. Thanks for calling. Good-bye, Nana Clara Beth.”
She didn’t say good-bye. She simply hung up. I smiled to myself, imagining her look of irritation.
I realized that Daddy wasn’t upstairs. He was in what had been his office when he lived with us, and he was on the phone with people from his business. I wondered if I should go in and complain about him doing anything except sitting with me and being worried sick. But maybe that was too much, I thought, and returned to the living room. I had just flopped onto the sofa when I heard the doorbell. I waited, hoping Daddy would come out to answer it, but he didn’t. The doorbell rang again. I heard him shout, “Get that, please, Haylee. I’m on the phone.”
I half hoped it was one of my friends or Kaylee’s. I knew just how I would act and look. I’d make sure that they’d be sorry they had come. Of course, it could be the police with some important news. I looked out the window first and saw an ordinary late-model white Honda in our driveway. The detectives had a four-door black Ford.
I opened the door to find an African-American woman who looked like she was in her sixties. Her short hair was neatly trimmed and almost completely gray, a dull sort of dirty gray because of the way the black strands resisted in places. She was an inch or so taller than I was but heavy, with very manly shoulders and dark-brown eyes that looked too small for her face because of her heavy cheeks and wide forehead. She was not in any sort of nurse’s uniform, so I had no idea that she was the nurse Daddy had hired.
For a moment, I considered that she might be a Jehovah’s Witness, but she had nothing in her hands to give away, no pamphlets or cards. She wore a dark-blue jacket over a cream-colored blouse and a pair of black slacks, with what looked to be specially designed gray walking shoes and the ugliest thick white socks that rippled around her ankles. She wore no makeup, not even lipstick, and didn’t even have on a pair of earrings. Her watch had a big face and looked like a man’s watch.
I was going to say We don’t want any before she spoke, but she said, “I’m Mrs. Lofter.”
That gave me no clue, of course. She could just as easily have said, “I’m Miss America.”
“Are you with the police?” I asked. I had no idea why any other stranger would come here if not to sell something.
“No. Dr. Bloom called me, and your father called this morning. I mean, I think he’s your father.”
“Me, too,” I said dryly. Then it hit me. “Are you a nurse?” I still hadn’t backed away to let her in.
“Yes, of course,” she said.
“Daddy!” I screamed, standing there and still looking at her. He’d have to get off the phone now.
Mrs. Lofter’s face exploded with surprise, her eyes bulging. I stepped back.
“He didn’t tell me about you,” I said, as an excuse for my hard reception. “Daddy!”
He hurried to the entryway. “Coming.” I imagined he thought it was the police at first. “Oh. Sorry. I was on the phone. Mrs. Lofter?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I’m Mason Fitzgerald, and this is my daughter Haylee,” he said, offering her his hand.
I didn’t move.
She looked at me as if we hadn’t met in the doorway or she still didn’t believe I was really his daughter.
I had to practice that look of devastation, I thought.
“So it’s your sister,” she said, not needing to finish the sentence.
“Yes, my identical twin sister.” I didn’t think I ever told any stranger that Kaylee was my twin sister without adding identical. That was Mother’s influence. I decided I would start dropping the identical part now. No matter what happened, we would no longer be so exactly alike. I might even reduce it to just sister. Kaylee was sure to be changed if and when she returned.
Of course, if she did return, I had all sorts of good answers and excuses rehearsed for what had happened.
“How do we go about this?” Daddy asked. “I assume you’ve been made fully aware of the situation?”
“Yes. We want to take care of our basic needs first,” she began, with the tone of someone who had been part of our family for years, if not always. There was strength and authority in her voice, but she didn’t sound as condescending as some of my teachers and my grandmother Clara Beth. However, she directed herself more to me than to my father.
“The two of you have to remain as strong as you can and go about your daily lives as best you can. I’m here to help make sure you can do that. It will have a great influence on your mother’s condition.”
“Our daily lives,” I said, as sourly as I could. We weren’t supposed to have daily lives right now, not with the whole world watching to see how things would turn out.
“The more you work at keeping yourselves strong, the better results we’ll have keeping your mother well enough to go on,” she said, beginning her explanation. “Now is the time to give her moral support. There is nothing more devastating to a mother or a father than their child being in grave danger. It’s indescribable emotional pain.”
“It hurts me, too,” I protested, my arms twisted together under my breasts. “It’s my twin sister, my identical twin sister. We’ve been together from the moment we were conceived. Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe thinking about her.”