Twin tides, p.14
Twin Tides, page 14
Chapter Thirteen
Caliste
Officer Badiou apparently didn’t want to interrupt the impromptu sobbing session that was happening in the lobby. After Caliste and Aria both calmed down, Paul finally extracted himself to talk to the detective—alone. Watching her father walk away from her, once again, triggered the latent anger lying in wait within Caliste.
“Perfect. He gives us a big hug and explains nothing,” Caliste says, using her sleeve to wipe her face. A mix of tan foundation, now tinged orange, and her eye makeup smear in ugly streaks down the cream-colored fabric.
“Well…it’s nice to know we are twins and aren’t…I don’t know. In some weird alternate universe,” Aria offers before blowing her nose in a gross sputter on her sleeve.
She’s right. They were definitely separated. But why? Caliste glances at the closed double doors where Officer Badiou and Paul disappeared. How many more secrets are lurking in their family? She turns on her heel to grab Aria, ready to propose going back to the inn to rest, when a familiar voice interrupts their snotty exchange.
“Con, don’t wipe your nose on your clothes. It’s unsightly.”
Caliste whirls around. Priscilla is standing at the entrance of the police station, ensconced within a mahogany mink coat with a very spherical lime-green bundle in her arms. Her face is flushed from the cold. It takes a moment for Caliste to compute as Aria whispers, “Who’s that?” and tugs on her sleeve.
“Mẹ. You’re here?”
Caliste’s shaky voice causes the lime-green sphere to stir, and Dylan’s cherubic face pops out of the bundle.
“Chị!” he yells, causing Aria to jump.
Caliste inhales and approaches the duo with arms outstretched. She expects to simply take Dylan from her stepmother, as she is used to, but is surprised by Priscilla hugging them both tight.
“Con. I’m so sorry,” Priscilla whispers, her brittle voice strange to Caliste’s ears. Priscilla holds on for a moment longer, ignoring Dylan squirming in between them. She releases her grip and waves her hand at Aria.
“Oh. I should introduce myself…” Aria’s flustered as she steps toward them.
Priscilla hugs Aria this time. Dylan complains, but once he peers up at Aria’s face, he shrieks.
Caliste laughs at Dylan’s confusion, which produces another unsightly bubble of snot that she wipes away with her sleeve.
“Oh my goodness. It’s true. You are identical,” Priscilla says, pulling away from the embrace. She lets Dylan clamber down onto the station floor and takes Aria’s face in her hands.
“You didn’t know?” Caliste asks, squatting down as Dylan darts toward her.
“Of course not,” Priscilla replies. “God. Your father is a fool. He insisted he wanted to explain in person, as if he hasn’t made you both wait long enough for the truth already.”
Aria’s cheeks are smashed between Priscilla’s manicured hands, which are massaging them like dumpling dough.
“I’m sorry, but…are you Caliste’s stepmom?” Aria finally speaks. She only recently found out she has a sister and a dad. Now there’s a baby and a woman who Caliste’s called Mom. Her brain can’t process these new faces fast enough.
“Yes. I’m Priscilla, Paul’s second wife.” Priscilla’s voice tightens, and she drops her hands with a weak smile.
“Chị, what’s happening? That girl looks like you,” Dylan whispers into Caliste’s ear as she lifts him up to sit on her hip. That said, what he thinks is a whisper is quite loud, and both Priscilla and Aria look at them.
“She’s my sister. She’s your sister…We just…lost each other. Somehow.” Caliste brushes back Dylan’s hair, which is slick with sweat from being under his puffer coat’s hood. His round, nearly black eyes widen before darting to study Aria again. Distilling the present situation into something a toddler can understand really strips everything bare; the story sounds laughable in such simple terms.
“Have you two eaten yet? I heard about the whole ordeal with the boy from town. Goodness, you poor girls…” Priscilla sighs and loops her arm behind Caliste. “I’ll take you to get something to eat.”
Caliste is too taken aback by her stepmother’s gentleness to disagree, and she and Aria find themselves following Priscilla out to the parking lot like a line of baby ducks.
Is Caliste hallucinating? Priscilla has never been this nice to her. It’s such a stark difference that Caliste can’t even give Aria a proper rundown of her family and what’s happening. They approach a silver Audi SUV—Dad’s typical choice when using a company car—parked next to Caliste’s Mercedes-Benz.
As Priscilla clicks the remote, unlocking the car doors, Caliste finally mentally adjusts to the present circumstance and blurts out a question.
“Why are you here? Our mom…You can’t be comfortable…” What Caliste is trying to say is that coming with one’s husband to identify the body of his previous wife cannot be a pleasant experience.
Priscilla turns back toward them, spinning on her heel. She swings the car keys around her index finger for a few seconds as she considers her response.
“You are a daughter who has lost a mother, as am I,” Priscilla says.
“Ah…” Caliste is speechless. After all these years of resenting Priscilla, Caliste realizes she doesn’t know much about her stepmom. She had no idea Priscilla’s mom was already dead; she never thought to ask.
“If it makes you uncomfortable for me to be here, I can leave.”
“No!” Caliste’s mouth moves faster than her brain, and she doesn’t know why she refused the offer so aggressively. “Thank you, Mẹ.”
Mother. For once, the word doesn’t feel like a lie.
* * *
Aria
Caliste and Aria haven’t quite had the time to catch up on every facet of each other’s lives from the past fourteen years—the details of Caliste’s relationship with her stepmother being one of them. Priscilla is put together and sharp, with medium-chestnut hair styled in a way that suggests effortlessness (but Aria knows such a look takes many hours in a salon chair). However, there’s an odd dynamic at play here. Caliste is acting like the person across from her is someone she doesn’t know.
They’ve come to a small, brightly lit diner on Main Street that, on the exterior, looks like it belongs on a ’50s-era movie set. The neon sign outside says Joe Joe’s Diner. The inside is more modern than Aria expected, with hanging faux vines and a muted rustic color palette occasionally punctuated by pops of red. It’s quite early in the morning, with the diner having opened only ten minutes ago.
“How many, ma’am?” a waitress asks after the glass door shuts behind them. A cherry-red apron is tied around her waist.
“Three and a high chair. Preferably a booth, please,” Priscilla says, looking away from the row of barstools. “I’d like my daughters to be able to sit next to each other.”
The “my daughters” surprises Aria, and she catches Caliste smiling next to her.
As they make their way to a booth, Aria immediately senses the pointed stares aimed in their direction. Their crew is especially out of place here, amid the scatter of all-white patrons. However, Priscilla doesn’t carry herself any differently, unlike Aria, who often tries to shrink as much as she can in spaces like this.
“I still can’t believe it,” Priscilla says, her head in her hands and her elbows on the shiny vinyl surface of the table. She slides forward a bit, her cashmere-covered arms slipping across the table until she’s eye to eye with Aria. “He really was telling the truth. You two are twins.”
“And Dad just told you?” Caliste asks. She’s staring down at the laminated menu in front of her, picking at the torn plastic edge so it makes a repetitive tch-tch-tch noise. The vision Aria has of her sister—as an enigmatic force to be reckoned with—has all but disappeared. Here, Caliste is small, her insecurities fully exposed. It’s the first time Aria has thought of her sister as a normal teenage girl.
“Yes. I swear to you, I had no idea,” Priscilla says before sighing and leaning back. “I gave him an earful. What kind of husband keeps something like this from his family? But it does explain some things.”
“What things?” Caliste asks.
“It’s complicated.”
“Then uncomplicate them.”
Priscilla sighs.
Dylan thumps his legs in the gray wooden high chair. He seems to be aware of the contentious conversation between mother and sister. He reaches toward Priscilla, his small fingers opening and closing like a Venus flytrap as he speaks.
“Mommy. Be nice.”
“Yeah, be nice,” Caliste quips, and taps her younger brother on the nose with the tip of her index finger.
Priscilla smiles at him and takes a long few seconds to gather her thoughts.
“When your dad and I started dating…” Priscilla stops, pursing her lips as she considers how to phrase what is coming next. “Bà Nội told me that your mother wasn’t mentally well…that there was a risk you’d be the same.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Caliste asks, her voice rising in indignation.
“I…didn’t know better then. I should have. Your grandma told me you needed to build resilience and not to baby you or get closer than necessary. That woman…” Priscilla sighs and slumps in her seat. “Every time she thought I stepped out of line with you, she’d let me have it. But I am the adult here…and the way I treated you was my choice. I’m sorry.”
“Could you repeat that? I’d love to have it recorded for future reference,” Caliste says.
Priscilla’s somber face finally breaks into a laugh.
“There’s no good reason to have separated you,” Priscilla says, sobering up. Her impeccably shaped almond nails rap on the plastic.
The diner’s door opens, the sharp jingle of bells ringing in the air. When Aria looks up, Paul Hà has appeared. His is a face she recognizes in herself, weary and hollow from fatigue. She inhales to steady herself. Every moment, from the horrible outing to Lake Agatha until now, has felt like a terrible dream. Seeing Paul in this moment is like ice water to her face.
This is the father Aria spent her whole life thinking was dead.
Caliste
Priscilla scoots in to allow Paul to sit. In a move that startles Caliste, she reaches across the table and grabs Caliste’s hands in hers. Her fingers and palm are soft, and she presses with a comforting firmness.
It’s okay, Priscilla mouths, and her eyes are glassy. Why is she about to cry?
Caliste stays silently seated at the table, aware of this being a unification of father and daughter. Caliste is not the daughter she’s thinking of, though. The part of her that wants to confront her father recedes behind the part that wants to give Aria the moment she deserves.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Paul says, sitting down with a sigh. He slips off his herringbone wool coat and reaches over to give Priscilla’s hand, which is currently holding Caliste’s, a squeeze.
Caliste is amused that Priscilla glares at him in return.
“Did you finish your talk with the officers?” Caliste interrupts as Paul starts to glance at the menu.
“…Yes, I did.”
“And?”
There’s a long and painful stretch of seconds before Paul responds.
“My girls. I’m so sorry.”
“Are we getting an explanation, Ba?” Caliste asks.
“It’s…going to be a long explanation. But I will tell you everything,” Paul says, and shifts his gaze to Aria. “You look well…Ariadne.”
“Aria. I go by Aria.”
“Ariadne is a bit of a mouthful. Your mother,” Paul says, gesturing between the two of them, “loved this old book of Greek stories a friend gave to her. She named you two. Everyone in the family asked why we’d pick such complicated names to pronounce.”
“Why didn’t you give us Vietnamese names?” Aria asks.
“My Vietnamese name was Phúc. You can guess what they called me when I was growing up in this country. Giving you Western names was my only criterion, and your mother loved your names so much. I couldn’t say no to her.”
“Are you going to tell us what happened, or are you going to keep reminiscing?” Caliste asks.
At first she wanted to remain quiet so Aria could take the lead. But now she can’t help it. The lie. This all-consuming lie hangs between them. She never really understood her dad. She understands him even less now.
The waitress descends upon their table to take their orders, and Paul sighs with visible relief. Perfect timing for him.
“I’d like a coffee. No cream, but a bit of sugar,” Paul says. He usually orders his coffee completely black.
Priscilla orders the same, in addition to a two-egg breakfast plate with pancakes and bacon she plans to share with Dylan.
“Can I have a coffee with cream and sugar, the Tex-Mex omelet, a side of French toast, and some fruit?” Caliste says. Now that the fog of last night’s events is slowly lifting, the hunger is kicking in, and she’s starving.
“Oh yes! Please add a side of fruit to my order, too,” Priscilla pipes up as Dylan makes a face.
“What do you want?” Caliste asks, nudging her sister.
“Maybe the same? Except no French toast, please.”
The waitress jots everything down and darts off before returning to bring them all their coffee with a tray of packaged sweeteners and a small jug of cream.
Paul sighs, placing the cup of coffee on the table after taking a sip.
“We lived here. All of us. Your mom. Me. Eventually, Thu joined to help us. We were in over our heads with you both.”
Aria nods. Caliste leans over and places her arm around Aria’s shoulders. This is their story…but why does Caliste feel like she needs to protect Aria from something?
“Your mother…On the night she disappeared, Thu and I looked everywhere.” Paul pauses, taking a glance around the diner and lowering his voice. “The police weren’t a big help…” he says quietly. “She was a missing person for a bit, and then they claimed she must have run away.”
Aria speaks for the first time. “Why would they think that?”
“We fought…that last day. We had a disagreement. One of the neighbors overheard. Then your mom drove away and never returned.”
“Did they suspect you did something to her?” Caliste asks.
Aria gasps, and Priscilla coughs after taking a sip of water. Caliste ignores the sting of the reactions. She knows what it means to ask this question. But she wants to hurt her dad. And…it is a rational question.
Paul, to his credit, takes it in stride. “Yes. They questioned me and Thu. But they ultimately concluded that your mother left. We waited for as long as we could manage. But no one ever found our car…or her. It was awful for you two as well. The crying. Calling for her every night. At some points, you were inconsolable. We kept telling you she’d come back.”
Caliste’s heart pinches. He’s right…At least, she thinks so. But something triggers a dream…or is it a memory?
In whatever it is, Caliste can’t breathe. The wailing is constant, like waves crashing against the tide. Over and over again, she is crying and heaving, trying to fuel her next scream. Next to her…she hears the same powerful sobbing. Wave after wave.
Twin tides rushing toward the same shore.
“It wasn’t a dream,” she whispers.
“What was that?”
Her father, Aria, and Priscilla peer at Caliste before she realizes she’s spoken out loud.
“Never mind. What happened after that? How did we get separated?”
Paul stares at Caliste, and the eye contact is so intentional, it makes her uncomfortable.
“Marrying your mother made things difficult for me. I was estranged from my family because of it. We had very little money.”
Caliste frowns. She knew Bà Nội and her mom had a fraught relationship, but why would that have anything to do with being separated from her twin?
“At the time, I couldn’t afford to take care of you both by myself. And Thu and I…simply butted heads.”
“What about Aunt Thu?” Aria asks. “What did she want?”
“She wanted to keep you two together, and she was willing to take you both.”
Caliste badly wants to blurt out that Aunt Thu should’ve done so, but she keeps her mouth shut for Aria’s sake. Caliste’s dad doesn’t deserve her kindness, but Aria does.
“Did Bà Nội know about us?” Caliste asks.
“…No. She didn’t. We were estranged by the time you were both born. One day I was her estranged son, and the next I arrived on her doorstep with a daughter. This sounds awful, but once your mother was out of the picture, accepting me back was a nonissue.” Paul pauses, as if he’s contemplating his next words. “I honestly think they were relieved she was gone.”
“Jesus Christ,” Caliste mutters. She always suspected as much…but to hear the cruelty aloud stuns her.
“It’s terrible, I know.”
“Then why did you do it? If Aunt Thu was willing to take us both, what was the point of separating us?” It’s Aria asking this time. She speaks with a level tone, and Caliste can’t get a read on her.
Paul fixes them both with a clouded expression.
“It…seemed like the best idea to keep you both safe. You both would get the undivided attention of one guardian. I always planned…We always planned to tell you one day.”
“When? What day, Ba? Was it ever going to be the right time?” Caliste asks.
“You can hate me if you want. I don’t know if we made the right decision. But you’re both here now, and safe. That is what’s important.”
