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Chapter 21-3

Dear Sydney,

You know I’m not much of a writer, but you’ve never seen fit to grace me with your phone number. God, why do we bring out the worst in each other? I was angry before I even finished that first sentence, angry just at the thought of you, at the sight of your chosen name. And I know your blood pressure will rise at the sight of my handwriting, if you still recognize it. Believe it or not, it wasn’t my intention to batter you with dysfunction right out of the gate. For some reason, I’m a fully functioning adult in every other aspect of my life, but when it comes to you I’m still a bitchy teenager. I’m married now. Did you know that? His name is Graeme. He’s a wonderful man, and I’m sure I don’t deserve him, but there you are. I’m happier with him than I have any right to be. We’re coming up on our fourth anniversary.

Dad is still dad, but less so, if that makes sense. He’s even less present than he used to be, more in his own world, or just totally out of it. I can’t tell the difference. I’m worried about him. He’s retired now, and he’s out in the Lab at all hours, doing whatever it is he does, with no phone and no one to check on him. He doesn’t eat right, when he bothers to eat at all. I think he sleeps out there. Sometimes I drop by and I’m not sure that he even knows who I am. Ten years without speaking, and I can still read your mind. “Not that he ever did.” Know us, any of us. And you’re right. He didn’t. Poor misbegotten us. Whoops, slipping into dysfunction again.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I’m writing to you. Maybe I’m maturing, or at least aspiring to. I still feel like you betrayed us, but I’m starting to understand now that you thought we’d betrayed you. I’m not saying that I can ever forgive you, or that I expect you to forgive me, but I can’t imagine mom or Allan would want it this way. It’s been far too long already.

Call me. There are things we need to talk about. Current things, like dad, not the past, since we know we can’t speak reasonably about what’s gone before. Just call me, sis.

Lisa

* * * *

My left hand strayed involuntarily to my forehead. I only became aware of its movement when my fingers felt the unexpected texture of a bandage. I couldn’t remember why the bandage was there. Then I found myself looking at my trembling hand, wondering how something so pained and pathetic could have moved of its own accord.

I went to the kitchen and inspected the row of pill bottles on the counter. The ones I wanted were in my bedroom, where Noel had left them. She’d left the cap loosened for me. Unable to use both hands, I dumped a couple of pills on my nightstand, then picked them up and downed them with a sip of slightly stale-tasting water. I had no more dreams that night.