A Sister’s Betrayal

Could I forgive her after the fact?

It was three weeks after Vicky’s funeral. I went with my mother to Vicky’s summer house in Connecticut. I still couldn’t believe she was gone…my oldest sister, dead at the age of 28.

There’s three of us, or — there were three of us. Me, Vicky, and Ada. I’m the baby, at 23, and Ada’s 26. I know that dad wanted a son but he gave up after having me. Mom’s good about it, although I think she wished Vicky was a boy.

“Sue,” my mom snapped. “Get this door open! I can’t do it.”

I came out of my reverie and climbed the steps to the porch, to unlatch the screen door.

It was stuck, as usual, but a good swift kick to the bottom right hand side pried it open with a bang.

The house was clean but had the forlorn and musty smell of absence. Vicky’s maid was still coming by twice a week, to check on things. Mom decided to keep her on for another few weeks, before turning the house over to realtors for the estate sale.

I started to miss the sounds of Vicky’s laughter. Whenever we came to visit, she would come bounding down the stairs, laughter preceding her always. It was high pitched and soft, almost like wind chimes.

The house remained silent.

“Oh Sue,” said mom. “I miss her so.”

“I know, Ma, I know. So do I,” and my voice broke.

We started to cry again, not in sobs, but silent tears which trickled down our faces as we walked from room to room, taking inventory of the work ahead of us.

My sister Vicky had willed her house and its contents to a charity for the homeless in Manhattan. Her pictures were everywhere. My sister was Manhattan. A famous model and toast of the town. No husband, no kids, her pick of men, sights, sounds, scents, and plush experiences in life. All of this and more, so far evading Ada and I.

I don’t want you to think for a minute I begrudge Vicky her life. She always promised that when the time came, she would take care of my mom and dad. She already did, with the money she left to all of us, in her will. We were still in shock over that, as well. Little did I know that I would be truly shocked a few weeks later.

My mom and I worked throughout the afternoon, tagging and separating good items from useless ones throughout the house. Mom brought back some of the more personal things (letters and photos) in a separate box. I offered to keep the box at my apartment until she felt like going through it at a later time.

A few nights after seeing my mother, I went out to the movies with my fiancé, Steven.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Okay…” I said. “A little tired, but things have been so crazy.”

“I know — it’s hard to believe she’s gone…” Steve’s voice trailed off and his shoulders slumped back in the seat.

The lights dimmed, and the movie flicked across the screen.

From time to time during the movie, I glanced over at Steven. He didn’t seem to be concentrating on what we watched. I noticed he was crying at one point. What could I say? I put my hand on his arm, then he laced his fingers in mine.

We walked home after the movie, but didn’t talk much.

“You know, I loved her,” Steve said when we reached my apartment building.

“Oh Stevie, I know you did, and so did I.”

“No, Sue,” he said in a low and anguished voice. “I really loved her.”

I felt myself go cold, and felt a sinking feeling in my chest.

“No, Steve, don’t tell me this…”

“Damn it! I’m telling you! Don’t you think I feel guilty? Don’t you know how I lie awake at night saying to myself, ‘Sue is your fiancé, she’s the one with the engagement ring on her hand?’ I know that I love you, Sue, I just don’t know how I’m going to forget her or…”

“Or what? Tell me!”

“Nothing.” His face was contorted in agony.

I choked back a sob and ran upstairs.

I was too angry to speak to Steve over the next several days, which passed quickly. Much too soon, I had a call from my mother.

“Let’s look at the box tonight,” she said.

“Okay. Why don’t you come over at 7:30?”

Mom arrived late, which gave me extra time to make fresh coffee and muffins.

We took out the box and laughed over the first few items. They were notes from Vicky’s first boyfriend, Dave.

“Mom, she was crazy about him, remember? I used to tease her for hours!”

“I know,” she said. “Remember when she paid you back by spraying starch on your curling iron?”

We laughed so much over the memory that tears were coming out of the corners of our eyes.

The next item out of the box was Vicky’s personal photo album.

We started to flip through the pages one by one, and stopped short on page 32.

There was Vicky with Steve…at Disneyworld in Florida!

The pictures were from six months ago. Vicky was supposed to be in Milan on a photo shoot. I knew Steve was in Florida then. He told me he was going to visit his college buddy, Clark.

Now I knew their deception.

My mother slammed the album off of the table. I was so stunned by the action that I could only stare at the picture pages loose on the floor.

The images of my sister and fiancé together became etched on my brain. Things that hadn’t made sense before made sense to me at that moment. All of the unexplained absences, missed phone calls, and times they showed up within a few minutes of each other at family events.

I don’t know who felt worse. My mother, or I?

“So what are you going to do?” she asked me.

“Do? There’s nothing to do. Vicky’s dead so their relationship is over. I’m going to fling Steve’s ring back in his face.”

“Don’t you dare! He doesn’t deserve it back.”

“It takes two to tango, Ma.”

Whap! I felt the sting of her slap across my face.

“Your sister’s dead. Respect her.”

“Respect her? HER?! Ma! Wake up! She had my fiancé behind our backs! You’re talking to me about respect?”

“Sue, you were so cold…so cold at times to Stevie. A mother knows these things. You’re still young…you can learn. He needed someone who could feel more for him and laugh a lot. I think you were too serious…”

“Ma…oh Ma”…” I sobbed. “I just wanted to do the right thing…”

“…and the right thing is for us to start our lives over again. She would want that, Sue. I know she loved us, even if this hurts.”

Mom held me tight as I sobbed, for the double loss of my sister and of Steve.

It’s been three months now and I still ache, but the pain lessens as the days go by. Mom gave me Vicky’s photo album, and when I look at it now, I think of the happiness in her wind-chime laugh. Even though it hurts, I know she loved Steve.

Against my mother’s wishes, I gave Steve’s ring back.

Vicky would have been proud.