Hello Beautiful

Alice considered this. She wanted, more than anything, to go back to the airport. Back to her safe, comfortable life. She had done the brave thing by coming here, and it hadn’t worked out. But what Carrie had said about Alice sealing herself off after losing her father at the age of five had rung true. She had been wrapped up in her mother’s hair; she’d imbibed her mother’s control with her morning glass of orange juice as a child. She was twenty-five years old, and she had never been in love, never had sex. She’d been kissed once, by a drunken boy at a college party, but she had never kissed. She liked her safe life, but she could see how she might need to open some windows, if only to show herself that she could.

“I’m sorry, miss.” The young man was in front of her again. “I tried to contact his colleague Kent too, because William is often with him, but his phone also went to voicemail. I hate to see you wait here. How about you give me your cell number and then go about your day? I can contact you when William turns up.”

Alice wrote her cellphone number on the pad of paper the man handed her and thanked him. She walked out of the building with her head high, as if she weren’t embarrassed, as if she knew what she was going to do next. It turned out that she did, once she was in the clear air of the sidewalk. She would call her aunt Cecelia, whose artwork wallpapered her bedroom and her dreams. Alice had her number — all the phone numbers, actually — from Rhoan’s research.

While she listened to the phone ring, she thought, If no one answers, I get to go back to the airport. When a female voice said, “Hello?” Alice’s heart sank.

“Is this Cecelia Padavano?” she said.

“No — this is Izzy. Are you calling from the hospital? Can I take a message? I’m her daughter.”

“What?” Alice said. “No, I’m not calling from a hospital. I…uh…my name is Alice. Padavano. I think you’re my cousin?”

A silence took over then, on both ends of the phone line. Alice sank into the quiet as if into the deep end of a pool, having no idea when or if she would reach the bottom. “Sweet Jesus,” Izzy said finally. “Alice! Where are you? Are you in Chicago?”

Alice nodded, and then realized she had to speak. “Yes.”

“Come here right now,” Izzy said. “We need you. Come home.”

Julia

November 2008

Julia was in her office when she got the call. It was after six and most of her employees were gone for the day; they’d become aware over the last few months that Julia’s total attention to her work had wavered. They took advantage of her lapses with longer lunch hours and shorter work days. I’ve noticed, Julia wanted to tell them, but she didn’t know what to say next, so she stayed quiet. She’d continued to play hooky herself, usually to spend the day alone in her apartment. She no longer expected her actions or thoughts to make complete sense. She glanced over her shoulder every day, wondering if the real Julia would catch up with her, her face dark with disappointment. That Julia had worked so hard for this particular kind of success, and this Julia was wondering if it had been worth it.

When her phone rang, she saw on the caller ID that it was a Chicago number. It wasn’t Sylvie’s cellphone, but it was possible her sister was calling her from the library or even from her home. She’d never done this before; Julia had texted Sylvie when she was on the way to the airport for their second visit, and that had been the extent of their communication when they weren’t together. But Julia picked up the phone with a feeling of lightness, a sensation that she was about to be the only version of herself that she could stand these days — the Julia she was with Sylvie — and hear her sister’s voice.

“Hello?” she said.

“It’s Cecelia,” the voice said, and Julia was confused for a moment, because Cecelia sounded like Sylvie and of course was her sister, but she hadn’t spoken to either of the twins for a long time.

“Oh,” Julia said, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. “Hi. How are—”

Cecelia interrupted her. “I need to tell you something,” she said. “Sylvie was sick. She had a brain tumor.”

“I know.” Julia’s throat tightened around the words.

“How do you know? Did she tell you?”

“Why did you say it like that?” Julia didn’t want to say, In the past tense. She listened while Cecelia told her that Sylvie had died suddenly that morning. William had gone out for twenty minutes, and she’d walked into the kitchen and collapsed. When he returned, he found her on the floor.

“I asked him what her expression was,” Cecelia said. “I needed to know if she looked scared. He said she was lying on her side, and she looked like she’d gone to sleep.”