The Other Sister, page 16
Kimberly laughed. “Told you. It is one of my absolute favorite decadent treats.” She lifted her cup of latte. “I was having another ‘bad day’ and wound up in a bar on Bourbon Street. Very apropos,” she said wryly. “Anyway, I’m on my third, maybe fourth drink and he stops me. Makes me eat. Starts talking to me. I mean actually talking to me and for whatever reason, I didn’t take it as a come on or a ‘this is what bartenders do’ kind of thing. He seemed to actually care. We talked off and on all night until he got off. I . . . brought him to my hotel room.” She held up her hand when Gail’s eyes widened. “Nothing happened. We talked until we fell asleep.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded yes. “The next day was a different story.” She felt her cheeks heat.
“Umm, umm.”
“Silly, but afterward, as wonderful as it was, I felt guilty.”
“Guilty. Why?”
“I mean that thing with John . . . that was . . . crazy.”
“And dangerous.”
“I know. But Nick . . . it was different. My head was clear and I knew exactly what I was doing. He asked me three or four times if I was sure. So I went into it with my eyes wide open.”
“And?”
“It was the first time that I’d knowingly cheated on my husband. Until this week, I’d never been with another man besides Rowan.”
“I totally get it. But,” she leaned in, “you have nothing to feel bad about. It’s not as if you set out to hurt him or deceive him. You were looking for something that you needed and you found it in Nick. For whatever it’s worth.”
Kimberly sniffed. “I suppose,” she said.
She stretched her hand across the table. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve been through hell. If anyone deserves to be taken care of, it’s you. Just continue to keep your eyes open. When we’re hurt it’s easy to confuse lust with deep like.”
Kimberly snickered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So, what are you going to do about Rowan and your family?”
She pushed out a breath. “I need to speak with Zoie and I want to meet Rose, my real mother. I’m going over there. Today. Now. Before I change my mind.” There, she’d said it, over the pounding of her heart.
Gail slowly nodded. “I’ll go with you.”
When they left the cafe and wandered back into the flow of human traffic it was clear that something had happened. There were pockets of people gathered around cell phones. Anxious faces replaced relaxed ones. That old flutter of anxiety rippled through Kim’s stomach. That feeling of absolute terror for her children and her husband swept through her like a raging storm. She knew those looks. She’d lived it the day the towers fell.
“Something’s going on,” Gail said, as they passed a group huddled near the corner.
“Yes.” She pulled out her Blackberry from her tote. It took a while to get a signal before she could search for the big news outlets. There were several notifications from the news services that The Recorder subscribed to. CNN, The Washington Post, The New York Times, all blared the headlines of a possible bombing at Xavier University. There were multiple casualties.
“Oh my god,” Kimberly muttered and shared the screen with Gail.
“Oh no. Is it an attack?”
“It doesn’t say. Still investigating.”
“How far is that from here?”
“From what I remember maybe about fifteen, twenty minutes from here.” She looked around and every face that her eyes landed on had that same stunned expression, the same expression that had gripped the nation little more than a year ago. “I need to get my car.”
“We’re not going over there are we?”
“No.” She dragged in a breath. “We’re going to see Zoie and my mother Rose.”
Zoie wound her way back along the streets crowded with double and triple parked cars, emergency vehicles, knots of onlookers, and first responders wheeling the injured into ambulances. The air was thick with acrid smoke that hung velvet drape heavy. It stung her eyes and burned her nostrils. She squeezed past bodies, flashing her pass when required until she got as far as the police would allow.
Controlled chaos. Rubble. Smoke. The ominous black zip-up plastic bags that lined the street.
She finally spotted the command vehicle and cornered one of the officers. After identifying herself, the captain shared what details he could and informed her that there would be a press briefing in about a half hour.
While she waited, she moved through the crowd and lucked out on finding a young woman, Madeline Fuller, who had been inside the building but managed to get out moments before the explosion. The shock still registered on her face and her voice shook as she spoke. She shivered beneath the blanket that EMS had put around her. The noise she kept saying over and over. “Screams. Glass everywhere. The blast threw me to the ground. I didn’t know what happened at first. My friends . . .” She began to cry.
“Do you know if they got out?” Zoie gently asked.
She shook her head no. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Her shoulders shook with her sobs.
An EMS worker came to her to let her know that transportation was ready to take her to the hospital.
“Where are they taking the injured?” Zoie shouted to the worker over the continued wail of sirens.
“The most serious are going to University Medical Center, the rest to LSU Medical Center.” He helped Madeline into the ambulance.
Zoie turned in a slow circle. It was déjà vu. Trauma revisited. But she couldn’t let her own feelings of helplessness overwhelm her. She was there to cover a story, to get the word out to the world about what had happened here so that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t happen again.
She was able to get a few words from an exhausted rescue worker before inching her way over to where the makeshift podium had been set up for the press conference. The minute it was over she was going to drive to University Medical, talk with the staff and maybe some family members of the victims.
She took her tape recorder from her bag and turned it on when the mayor stepped to the microphone. She aimed her recorder in the direction of the mayor. She didn’t want to miss a word.
Mayor Hatchett adjusted the microphone and looked soberly out onto the gathering. He cleared his throat and straightened some sheets of paper on the podium.
“This morning at approximately 11:45 am, there was an explosion in the Academic Center Building. The blast leveled the second floor, which collapsed onto the first. Once the structure was compromised the building fully collapsed at twelve thirty.” He took a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his blue suit jacket and dabbed at his forehead. “At the present time, we have twenty confirmed fatalities, multiple injured. The injured were taken to local hospitals. We will not release the names of the victims until all families have been notified. Rescue crews are continuing to search the debris for survivors. According to the most current information we have, there are forty employees unaccounted for.” He lifted his chin. “We have no idea how many students may have been in the building at the time of the explosion. We will keep you all updated as more news becomes available. I will take a few questions.”
Everyone shouted out questions at once hoping to get called on.
“Do you know if it was a bomb? And are there any suspects?” a reporter from the local news channel yelled.
“ATF has determined that it was a bomb. But I don’t have more details than that. And no, we have no suspects and no one has admitted to the crime.”
“Had the college received threats? Could it have been a student or disgruntled employee?”
“We are investigating every possibility.” He held up his hand to tamp down any more questions. “That will be all for now. There will be another briefing later this evening when hopefully we have more information.” A trickle of sweat slid across his forehead. “In the meantime, please pray for the families of the lost, the survivors and our university. Thank you.” He turned away from a barrage of more questions that went unanswered.
Zoie turned off her recorder and stuck it back in her bag. She needed to get to the hospital.
“That’s the house,” Kimberly said when they pulled the car to a stop in front. For several moments she simply sat there.
Gail touched her hand. “You don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.”
“I have to do this.” She unfastened her seatbelt, opened her door, and got out.
Together they walked to the front door.
Gail stroked Kimberly’s back. “I’m right here,” she said softly.
Kimberly gave a tight-lipped nod and then rang the bell.
It was several moments before the door was opened.
Aunt Sage answered. “Yes? Can I help you?”
“I’m Kimberly Maitland.”
Sage blinked. “What?”
“I’m Rose’s other daughter. This is my friend, Gail.”
Sage gripped the doorknob. “Kimberly? Is that really you?”
“Yes. It’s me.”
Sage stood there, frozen, staring in disbelief. Finally, she gathered her wits and her manners. “Come in. Come in.” She held the door open and stepped aside.
“We prayed and prayed that you would come one day,” Sage said while she closed the door behind them. She stared into Kimberly’s face. She reached out and caressed her cheek. “You have our eyes.”
Kimberly’s throat clenched.
Sage took Kimberly by the hand and led her to the sitting room. “Please sit. I’ll get you some refreshment and . . . Stay right there.” She ambled out of the room as fast as her weight and feet could take her.
“You okay?” Gail asked as Kimberly folded down onto the couch.
“I think so. I don’t know. Wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“Who was that? One of your aunts?”
“I believe she’s my aunt Sage, from the pictures that Zoie showed me.” Kimberly looked around in wonder, taking in the homey atmosphere from the overstuffed but well-worn couches and chairs, the mantel lined with family photos and souvenirs. Sheer, off-white curtains gently fanned in and out of the bay windows. There was an old record player in a place of honor on a gleaming wood table, and a piano that looked to have had better days. A far cry from the mansion she grew up in or her lifestyle in Manhattan, yet there was a warmth here that was missing in her high-end abodes.
She turned at the sound of a gasp. A woman with skin the color of warm honey and waves of thick black hair that fell around her shoulders, stood frozen in the doorway. Her hand flew to her mouth. Another woman, not Sage, stood next to her. Those same eyes but a bit unfocused. All three women were versions of each other.
“Kimberly,” came a timid whisper, a combination of a question and a prayer. Rose tentatively took a step into the room.
“Who’s those white ladies?” Hyacinth asked, peering at Kimberly and Gail from the doorway.
“Hush,” Sage cautioned. “That’s Rose’s girl, Kimberly, and her friend.”
“Well now. Ain’t that something,” Hyacinth said and clapped her hands.
“Kimberly,” Rose whispered again. She walked closer.
Kimberly licked her lips. “Yes, it’s me.”
“Oh god, oh my god.” Rose’s eyes filled with tears. She walked up to Kimberly and cupped her cheeks in her hand. “I didn’t know if I would ever see you.” Her voice cracked into tiny pieces. “I . . . they told me you were dead. That you’d died during birth.” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “Zoie found you.” She blinked rapidly, wiped her eyes. “She found you.” She wrapped her arms around Kimberly and hugged her stiff body against her own. “She found you,” she repeated. Slowly she let go and took a step back. She wiped her eyes, focused on the patch of floor between them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No,” she shook her head. “It’s fine. Really.” She glanced around nervously.
“This is your aunt Sage.” Rose extended her hand toward Sage. “And that’s your aunt Hyacinth.” She wrung her fingers together. “Let’s sit down.”
“Why don’t I take your friend out to the kitchen for some refreshment,” Sage said.
Gail jumped up from her seat. “Thank you. I’d like that.”
Sage grabbed Hyacinth by the arm. Gail followed them out.
Rose walked over to the velveteen love seat and sat. Kimberly sat opposite her on a matching side chair.
“How much do you know about what happened?” Rose tentatively asked.
Kimberly’s face tightened. “Only what Zoie told me . . . and my . . . mother didn’t offer much.”
“You talked to her about everything?” Rose asked, incredulity lifting her voice.
“Lou Ellen Maitland is not someone you actually have a conversation with. It’s generally an exchange of sound bites, directives, declarations, and observations.” She glanced away, lowered her head.
“All these years I didn’t know,” Rose said softly. She linked her fingers together on her lap. “I was so young. But I was in love.” A wistful smile teased her lips. “Kyle,” she quickly looked at Kimberly, “your father was an incredible man. So smart, and caring and handsome.” Her gaze drifted away. “It was all a fantasy. I know that now. Back then a wealthy, well connected white man, marrying the barely of age black daughter of the housekeeper was unthinkable.” She drew in a long breath. “My mother sent me to New York. Well, I found out much later that it was the Maitlands that took care of everything, including faking your death certificate, paying my mother to never speak a word of it by taking care of all my college and living expenses. My sisters resented me for years because of that. They knew why girls got ‘sent away’ and felt like I was being rewarded for being a slut.” She snorted a laugh. “I was so broken after believing I’d lost you, I didn’t care. I didn’t want to come back. And Kyle was dead. I had nothing to come back to.”
Rose looked at her daughter who’d risen from her seat.
Kimberly walked toward the window with her arms folded tightly around her slim body. “Secrets are an ugly thing,” she said in a faraway voice. “I don’t know who I am. I’ve lost everything because of secrets and lies.”
Rose came up behind her and placed a tender hand on her back. Kimberly shrugged her away. “As much as I despise what my mother did, I benefited from it. I had a good life, loveless, but good. I had a career and aspirations. I married well. I have two beautiful daughters. All of that is gone now. I have nothing. Zoie did that. If she had only left things alone.” She slammed her hand against the wall.
Rose lowered her head. “I never stopped thinking about you,” she said softly. “What you could have been. What you would look like. When I lost you, I lost a part of myself that was never really filled.” She frowned in thought. “I think at times I even blamed Zoie.”
Kimberly turned around. “Why?”
“I wanted to make her into what I thought you would be and that wasn’t fair to her. I held on.” She fisted her fingers. “So tight. I wanted to bind her to me because I was so afraid of losing her. I couldn’t lose another child.” She crossed the room and sat back down. “But I lost her anyway.” She sniffed, wiped away the tears from her eyes and looked up at Kimberly. “The two of you favor each other.”
“Where is she? Zoie?”
“She’s at the University. The explosion. Did you hear about it?”
“Yes.” She paused. “I suppose she’s covering the story.”
“Yes.”
“Humph. It’s what she does isn’t it. Uncover things.”
“Would you have rather not known the truth? Would you have rather gone on for the rest of your life not knowing your family? Me? Your aunts and yes, your sister.”
A tear spilled from her eye. “Yes! I want my life back! She ruined it all with her digging and probing.” Her body shook.
Rose tried to touch her.
Kimberly held up her hand. “Don’t.” She snatched up her purse from the couch. “You can let her know she finally got what she wanted,” she said, a coating of defeat weighing down her voice. She strode to the door. “Gail!” she called out.
“Kimberly don’t leave like this, please,” Rose begged. “Stay, let’s talk.”
“What else is there to say? Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!”
Gail emerged from the kitchen with Sage and Hyacinth close behind.
“Let’s go.”
“Thank you for the cake and tea,” Gail said and rushed behind Kimberly to the door.
The three sisters stood in the doorway, watching Kimberly and Gail get into the car and drive off.
Sage put her arm around Rose’s shoulder. “You okay?”
Rose hung her head and shook it slowly. “No,” she whispered.
All the major news outlets had the same idea that she did. When she arrived at University Hospital the street and the parking lot were littered with news vans and satellite dishes. Zoie found a place to park a block away and walked back to the hospital as two ambulances raced by.
The ambulance bay took in vehicles as quickly as they pulled out. Swirling red and blue lights spun through the sky. The pungent scent of fear, chaos and confusion burned her nostrils, setting off a physical reaction.
The scent hurled her spiraling backward. Images of destruction from that fateful New York morning flashed like strobe lights in front of her making her momentarily lightheaded, blurring her vision. She leaned against the side of a police van and dragged in gulps of air. She was never sure when the visceral reaction to scent would hit her. Since the day she’d stood frozen in terror staring upward as flames shot from the windows of the towers and bodies leaped to their deaths she’d had moments of flashback, usually triggered by smell. In the beginning, it was extremely difficult for her to work on her Trade Center series, but she’d pushed through. The doctors said it would take time, but eventually the symptoms would disappear. The episodes had lessened, but when they hit she was rocked.
