Forbidden Sister (The Forbidden 1)

“I hope because you’re with me,” he said.

“What do you think?”

He widened his smile. We entered Central Park. The city was still experiencing a bit of Indian summer, so the park was crowded with women pushing carriages and talking, couples like us just walking and enjoying the weather, and younger kids on skateboards. There were many people from foreign countries there, too. Papa had explained that because of the currency-exchange advantage that foreigners had with the American dollar, places like New York were experiencing greater tourism. Evan asked me what the languages were whenever we heard people talking. I was able to recognize Italian, Spanish, and German easily, but some of the Slavic languages were difficult. I wasn’t sure about the Asian languages. I suspected some Vietnamese.

We sat on a bench, and he put his arm around me. For a while, we did what many people do in the park, people watching. The sun felt warm and soothing on my face. I lowered my head to his shoulder, and he kissed my hair and sucked in his breath.

“You smell fresh and sweet,” he said.

“Mama gets our shampoos and perfumes from my aunt in France.”

“Tell me more about your family in France,” he said.

I explained that I didn’t know that much, because I had been so young when we were there, but I told him as much as I could remember. I was very tempted to tell him about Roxy. At one point, it was on the tip of my tongue, but before I could do it, he decided we should get something to eat.

We did, and then we walked to the zoo and fed some of the animals. On the way back, he told me he had never been as happy or as comfortable with any girl as he was with me. We made all sorts of plans for the week and the next weekend. At my front door, he kissed me as passionately as he had the night before and then stood there looking as though he might burst into tears because he had to be away from me until the morning.

“I’ll call you later,” he said. “Before you go to sleep.”

“You’d better,” I told him. He gave me another quick kiss and walked off. I watched him disappear around the corner.

While I was still standing there, I had the sense that I was being watched, too. I looked around slowly but saw no one in particular looking my way. Even so, the feeling persisted. It even made my heart beat faster.

Roxy, I thought, are you out there? Have you always been?

Finally, I gave up searching the block, studying every corner and alleyway, and went in to do my schoolwork, but I

couldn’t help peering out my windows occasionally to see if anyone resembling Roxy was out there watching our house. When I told myself that my forbidden sister was haunting me, I guessed I meant it in more ways than one. I was sure Papa would be furious if he knew how much I thought about her.

He was very talkative at dinner. I was pleased to hear how much he liked Evan. He said he was surprised that there still were young boys who could be as refined and polite. He said it restored his faith in the future. Mama and I exchanged looks, both of us hiding smiles. We were like two teenagers who couldn’t wait to be alone to giggle.

Evan called in the evening as he had promised. He told me he had rarely had a day like the day we had.

“I can’t remember when I spent so much time in Central Park. None of my friends thinks it’s all that cool a thing to do. Their girlfriends want more excitement.”

“I would have gone someplace else if you wanted to,” I said, afraid he was saying these things just to please me.

“Oh, no. They think like that because they don’t have you,” he said.

It made me feel wonderful to hear him say it. I wondered if he could sense it through the phone, hear it in the softness of my voice. It really took a specially trained person to hide his or her feelings completely, I thought. Whether you intended to or not, your voice, your eyes, or little gestures you made betrayed you. Maybe that was why Roxy never cried or spoke when Papa yelled at her or punished her. She kept herself well locked up inside. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how she really felt. How it must have frustrated him to be unable to get her to react. How strong she must have been to resist someone as strong as Papa. Surely, it was that strength that enabled her to survive on her own.

The older I became, the more interested I was in Roxy. Every time I had a new experience, I wondered how she would have reacted to it. But wasn’t that only natural? Surely, everyone who had a brother or a sister measured himself or herself against them at one time or another. Children were always crying something like “She did it, too!” or “You let him do it!” It was easier to defend yourself by implying they favored one of you over the other. An only child didn’t have that same advantage, and like it or not, I was an only child now.

I tried to put these thoughts aside and concentrate on what Evan was saying. He went on to talk about the commotion now in his house because of his father’s decision to run for Congress. He told me how excited his sister was about it. He said it was her secret ambition to run for a political office someday, too, and their father’s success would help her in the future. Finally, he sounded excited about it himself. I told him so, even though I knew he had been trying to be aloof and cool about it.

“It’s impossible not to be,” he admitted. “You heard them. It’s going to take over our lives for months and months. That’s why I’m glad I have you to help me keep my feet on the ground,” he added.

I told him I was happy about that, too, and then he said, “Bon nuit.” He added before we hung up, “I’ve been practicing this in the mirror.”

“What?”

“Je t’aime.”

I didn’t speak.

“Why is it,” he asked, “that ‘I love you’ sounds better in French?”

“It sounds wonderful in any language,” I said. I wanted to add many things, but I didn’t. I didn’t tell him I loved him. Maybe I would come to say it. Right now, I liked him a lot, and he made me feel good, but I believed people shouldn’t say Je t’aime so easily or quickly. What made things special in this world was how rare and precious they were. Maybe I was like my French grandfather, whom I had never met. Maybe I was a true romantic at heart. Love was too deeply felt and too large an emotion to be tossed about loosely. Save it, hold it in your heart, and cherish the day you really believe it, I thought.