Twin tides, p.10
Twin Tides, page 10
Eventually, the SUV rolls to a stop in the police station parking lot. Aria makes a show of waking up by stretching and yawning. Sliding her phone into the water bottle holder of her backpack, Aria opens the car door.
Tyler gets out of the car to help with her luggage. He moves slowly, and it occurs to Aria that he’s stalling.
“Would it be okay if I get your number?”
“Sure,” Aria says, although she normally says the opposite. Tyler smiles, and his shaggy mop of brown hair bounces as he moves to haul her suitcase out.
In the face of the unknown, her sure is almost cathartic. She pulls her phone out of her coat to send a message through the app’s messaging portal.
Your Ride with Tyler
Hi, this is Aria. Here’s my contact info.
The trunk of Tyler’s car shuts, and Aria watches him pull up the handle of her suitcase.
“Thanks,” Aria says, avoiding his gaze as she reaches for the handle.
“Of course. Stay safe, and I’ll text ya for our swimming lessons later,” Tyler says, winking at the joke, and Aria fakes a laugh.
When he shuts the driver’s-side door, the force kicks up wet dirt and a splatter of snow. Aria coughs, dragging her suitcase behind her as she heads over to the police station’s entrance. When Aria enters the station, the pale and otherwise uninteresting face of a young, smiling clerk appears. The woman opens her mouth as if to greet Aria, but the smile falls almost immediately.
“Miss, uh. Miss Aria Nguyen…” the girl stammers.
“Yes. Aren’t you expecting me?” Aria asks, too tired to put on an act. “I’m here to talk to Officer Badiou about Xuân, my m— I mean my aunt.”
“R-right. To see your aunt. Your cousin? Wait…Oh my god…”
“Cousin? What are you talking about?” Aria asks. She pulls back the hood of her jacket and turns away from the stammering clerk.
Then she notices what—or rather, who—is causing this woman to act like she’s seen a ghost.
Seated on a dingy green love seat in the lobby’s corner is a nondescript brunette man who Aria assumes is Officer Badiou. And seated next to him is a girl. A girl Aria recognizes instantly as an uncanny Valley girl version of herself. If Aria weren’t still standing near the clerk, she’d think she was sitting next to Officer Badiou.
After several stinging seconds of silence, the man stands and finally speaks.
“You…do know each other, don’t you? You’re…cousins?”
“No. I don’t. She’s not my cousin. What the hell is going on?” Not-Aria says loudly, her eyes—Aria’s eyes—staring directly at Aria.
“This makes things complicated,” Officer Badiou mutters, and his clerk quips a helpful “Ya think?”
Not-Aria stands, striding toward Aria without breaking eye contact. This girl is a version of Aria, one she’s pictured in her dreams, a version who exercises, who has nice skin and shiny hair. A version of Aria that must be a maladaptive daydream taunting her. But, no, this girl is very real and getting closer. Aria can’t begin to comprehend how, though.
Aria can hear her own heart beating clearly, a ringing thump in her ears. Wait—is it her heart? Or this stranger’s? As Aria freezes, working through the tenuous net of confusion in her mind, Not-Aria finally reaches her.
“You. You…” she whispers. Then Aria’s look-alike hugs her, her long manicured fingernails piercing Aria’s sides. Not-Aria is crying, and now so is the real Aria.
Twins. We are twins.
THE MINNESOTA CHRONICLE
July 17
LES EAUX, Minn.—Authorities are investigating the drowning of 19-year-old Riley Cochran at Lake Agatha. According to the Les Eaux Police Department, Cochran left the cabin she shared with campers at Camp Griffon at 4:21 a.m. on Tuesday and failed to return.
Responding personnel immediately began a search of Lake Agatha and the nearby Les Eaux Slough, where Cochran’s backpack was found and articles of clothing had washed ashore. Recovery efforts were called off late Thursday evening as a storm front moved into the area. Her death has been ruled an accidental drowning.
Cochran’s death is the latest in a recent string of Lake Agatha drownings, reminiscent of the series of drownings that occurred over a decade ago. Some Les Eaux citizens are suspicious: Are the drownings truly accidental, or are they the result of something sinister? Cochran was on the women’s swimming and diving roster at the University of Minnesota, fueling skepticism that her drowning was an accident.
At a town hall, Officer Gordon Badiou addressed the skepticism: “This is a moment of particular pain, and I empathize greatly with those who’ve been affected. However, I advise the public to avoid groundless speculation. The Cochran family deserves time to grieve quietly.”
The string of drownings in Les Eaux prompted longtime town patriarch Eric Hane to address Les Eaux residents in the recent town hall via video call. He emphasized a renewed commitment to increasing the safety of the area with a $20 million gift to the Les Eaux Water and Recreation Committee.
Chapter Nine
Caliste
Caliste has always been sure of her place as the unwanted daughter of House Hà and its empire. It isn’t an irrational thought; both her grandmother and her dad have always treated her with the same barely guarded irritation. Caliste isn’t unreasonable or prone to flights of fancy. But this feeling of being an outsider…it was intuition.
That instinct is now in her arms, evidence validating the sneaking suspicion that her father has always resented her. He kept the wrong daughter. The girl before her, the one who looks identical to her, might’ve been a better fit. This girl—who has, until this very moment, lived an entirely different life from Caliste’s—is her sister.
Her family.
And that means one of them was chosen over the other. Or perhaps this sentiment applied to them both. The thought makes Caliste’s insides tangle into knots.
“So…you are positive you don’t know each other?” the harebrained officer interrupts, and Caliste has to pry herself off the other girl to retort.
“Are we acting like two people who know each other?” she snaps, the snot and tears on her face causing her to make an ugly snorting sound. Her hands linger around the other girl’s shoulders protectively. The other version of herself is rigid and robotic, but Caliste is too overcome by the thunderous heartbeat in her chest to realize she might be overstepping this stranger’s boundaries.
“I’ve never met her. And we’re not cousins. Thu Nguyễn is my aunt; I call her my mom because it’s easier. She adopted me,” the other girl says meekly, as if she’s the one at fault.
Officer Badiou’s face alights with an ambiguous expression, and he shakes his head. “No…you’re right. I’m sorry. Gosh…Well. Have a seat. Do you want coffee or tea?”
Caliste imagines what kind of watered-down beverage this station might deign to call “coffee” and promptly replies, “Tea, please.”
At the same moment, so does the other girl. The two glance at each other, and Caliste offers a small smile.
“Your name?”
“Aria,” she says, her voice setting the hairs on Caliste’s arms upright. It’s Caliste’s own voice but firmer, somehow. She even sounds more mature.
“That’s pretty. My name is Caliste.”
Aria’s face screws up, and Caliste is worried she’s offended the other girl already.
“Oh. I…Never mind,” Aria says.
“What is it? Are you okay?” Caliste can’t tell whether Aria is nervous or afraid.
“Let’s…sit.”
The two perch in the lobby seats where Caliste was sitting with Officer Badiou before. She and Aria answer an inane series of questions about their flights—small talk about the narrow plane seats and the stale air of the airport. Caliste asks why the station has only two people, and Officer Badiou explains that everybody else is working security for a local event. Caliste wants to be annoyed with him, but she truthfully doesn’t know what sort of talk might be appropriate for the occasion. It isn’t as if he’s going to open with her dead mom.
Aria and Caliste sit opposite each other now, their bodies like fun-house mirrors. Caliste says nothing, unnerved by Aria’s earlier reaction. It’s perfectly and awkwardly silent except for the white noise of Officer Badiou and the clerk whispering loudly. The sound of Caliste’s pulse fades behind the teakettle hissing awake.
“When’s your birthday?” Caliste asks, breaking the silence.
“May first. What about you?”
“May second…” Caliste replies.
Huh.
“Ariadne is my name, by the way.”
“What?” Caliste asks, startled as Aria changes topic. Her gaze breaks from the two people attempting to hide their own stares to look at Aria. The girl seems to be more at ease now, sitting up straight and leaning toward Caliste expectantly.
“My first name is actually Ariadne. I mean, it’s the name I was born with. But no one calls me that. I’ve always gone by Aria. My aunt can’t even pronounce my full name.” She scoffs and starts chewing on her lip, a bad habit Caliste recognizes in herself.
Caliste opens her mouth to reply, but she hasn’t formed a complete thought yet.
“My name comes from the story of the Minotaur. It’s Greek. I always thought it was weird. What Việt immigrants name their kid after a Greek myth?” Aria prattles on, her nerves evident in the speed of her words.
“I…My—I mean, our mom named me, I think. She wanted me to be beautiful. Caliste. Although, in Greek myth, Zeus assaults Callisto because he’s obsessed with her beauty.” Caliste repeats the information like a fact from a history book. “And Ariadne means…?”
“ ‘Holy.’ It means ‘holy,’ ” Aria replies, her eyes drifting to stare somewhere near Caliste’s feet. “Did you know? Do you know…Crap.”
Caliste stifles a laugh as Aria curses and throws her head into her hands.
“I’m sorry. I flew out at the ass crack of dawn, and I’m only vaguely sure I’m not hallucinating,” Aria adds.
“I get it,” Caliste says, taking her sister’s hand. Her twin’s hand. “I…had no clue. I don’t know what’s going on, but I need to ask my dad.”
“Wait, your dad? He’s still alive?” There is desperation in Aria’s voice.
Caliste’s mouth falls agape again. “Er, yeah. I…” She’s unsure how to proceed, mostly because she still has no clue what the hell is going on.
In that moment, Aria’s phone buzzes, and Caliste is silently grateful for the interruption.
The reprieve is short-lived. Aria glances down at her phone screen before quickly shutting off the display.
“Is it important?” Caliste asks.
“Not really,” Aria says. “It’s a party invitation.”
Caliste suddenly recalls Paul’s constant refrain, a phrase that’s always haunted her.
You look just like her.
Up until now, Caliste always assumed he meant she looked like her mother. But did Paul mean Aria?
“Hold on a minute, sorry,” Caliste blurts, standing up and dropping Aria’s hand. “I need to talk to my dad.”
There was a reason for Paul’s peculiar mix of care and anxiety before he sent Caliste off. And that reason must’ve been about her potentially meeting Aria for the first time. He must’ve known their aunt—Thu, was it?—would be notified about Grace’s body, too.
She lets the creaky door of the station swing behind her as she races over to the Mercedes-Benz SUV that Ha Foods Corporate arranged for her. The dusty kick-up from the country roads has already marred the sleek sheen of the car. She slides into the leather seat and counts to calm herself down, thinking hard about what words she’ll say to her father first as she turns on the car. As the dashboard’s backlight flashes, an endless thread of questions weaves through Caliste’s mind.
Is Aria my twin sister?
Why were we separated?
Why did you never mention her?
Do you not care about your whole other child?
What else aren’t you telling me?
Does Priscilla know? Grandma? How many people maintained the lie?
Each question prompts a new one, and the waterfall of queries makes Caliste queasy.
The SUV’s Bluetooth connection rings, loud in the empty vehicle. Caliste fully expects her father not to pick up.
Guilt must have gotten to him.
“Hello? Cali? Did you land?”
“…Yes, Ba. I left the airport already.”
“Good. Good…” He sounds tired, and Caliste can picture him sitting at his desk, brow furrowed, a drink surreptitiously balanced on his knee.
“I have a question, Ba, and I need you to answer it honestly.” The word for father rolls off her tongue, its weight different from ever before.
“Yes?”
“Is there something you need to tell me?”
“Hah. Don’t be cryptic.”
“Ba. There is a girl here.”
“I…”
It’s that single syllable, that single breathy and astounded vowel, that reveals everything to Caliste. He knew. Paul knew. He knew and was never going to tell her.
“She’s there? I thought Thu was…”
“Thu? Her aunt? Sorry, I mean our aunt? Ba, what the hell?”
“Stay put. I’m coming. Christ…I should never have listened to her.”
“What? Ba? What is going on? Who’s ‘her’?” Caliste yells. The defeated tone of Paul’s voice is making her angry. But before she gets another word out, the line is dead.
“You have to be kidding me. Always on his terms. Always.”
Without thinking, she slams her fists into the wheel, and the SUV’s horn shrieks, startling her so badly that she doesn’t realize Aria has left the station and is approaching her.
Caliste’s face is hot, and her heart rattles in her chest. Calm down. When she glances out the window, something about Aria’s face appearing relaxes her.
“You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. My dad…He’s coming. He wouldn’t answer any questions over the phone.”
“Figures. My aunt didn’t pick up at all,” Aria says, her voice deflated. Caliste can’t read the expression she wears.
“The detective or cop, whatever—he told us we should take a break for today. He’s going to review the files.”
“We can’t go see her now?” Caliste asks, processing each piece of information one by one. The undersides of her palms are slick with sweat, and she’s concentrating hard on not letting her emotions overwhelm her.
“No…He claimed it’s protocol, but I’m not sure. They want to get their facts straight before they have us identify her body.” Aria is grimacing as she says this.
“Right,” Caliste says dryly. “As if the answer to what the hell happened is hidden in some files.”
Aria laughs meekly before her gaze darts around the interior of the SUV again. “Is this your car? You’re not allowed to rent here, are you?”
“Oh…no. This isn’t my car. It’s, like, a company car. My dad arranged it for me.”
“I see…Well, have you found a hotel nearby?”
“Ugh…yes,” Caliste replies. She’d tried to find at least a three-star hotel, but the only place in town is a quaint Victorian inn right by the river.
“Would it be weird if we stayed together? Not in the same room or anything!” Aria interjects, waving her hands frantically. “I mean, it would be nice. To…maybe stay at the same place?”
“Yeah. It would be,” Caliste replies, cracking a smile. Nothing made more sense.
Aria is her sister. She has never been more relieved to meet a stranger in her life.
Aria
Aria sits in Caliste’s passenger seat, acutely aware of the silence and how clean the car’s interior smells. The car looks brand-new, and the soft scent of lemon and rosemary gives off the air of a very fancy spa. As Caliste drives, Aria takes the opportunity to cyberstalk her sister. One earphone in, of course, so she can still hear Caliste.
Cali Hà is pretty, fit, and perfect. She executes burpees as if training to be in some superhero movie. Her following is big but not too out of control. When she speaks to her audience, she’s commanding but sweet. She’s posted collaborations with Adidas and Lululemon. It surprises Aria that no one in her life has ever stumbled across Caliste’s page. But Aria remembers she has a barely used account and follows exactly twelve people—Philip and a myriad of DC-area foodies. Anonymous. Invisible. Aria is a background character, and Caliste is not.
Thankfully the ride is short, so Aria doesn’t stew too long in her insecurity. It takes a few turns down brick roads before the Victorian inn appears, flanked by beautiful aged hemlock trees. The place has some charm to it. The siding is a rosy mauve with ornate marigold yellow trim and an emerald front-facing gable. Aria imagines herself lounging at the base of a tree and reading a pulpy period romance, pretending to be a girl in a poufy Regency-era dress being pursued by some gentleman.
“Ick,” Caliste says, cutting off the car and glancing at the inn with an ambivalent expression.
“I think it’s cute,” Aria says as she opens the SUV’s passenger door. She’s surprised to hear the subdued babble of water.
“Let me guess: You also think scraggly little dogs are cute?”
“Of course I do,” Aria replies, suddenly thinking of Sir Barkley van Floof—and Philip. Shaking her head, Aria accepts her suitcase, which Caliste effortlessly dislodged from the trunk.
