Becoming Sarah (7 page)

A wave of loneliness swept over me. Maria. I would give anything to have her with me right now. She’d stroke my hair and tell me I'd be fine. She’d help me up the stairs and put me to bed.

Instead I negotiated the stairs alone, pausing at each landing. The last flight I took at a run. I fumbled open the door and made it to the bathroom just in time. When my stomach was completely empty I brushed my teeth, kicked off my sandals, and practically crawled to the bed.

As I fell asleep, I vowed that alcohol would never, ever touch my lips again.

I woke
up
feeling, if possible, even worse.

I lay in bed, my head splitting, my stomach clenching. Suddenly I understood my mother’s plaintive moans on the mornings after she’d had too much to drink. I used to drag her out of bed by force, shove her in the shower, and bully her into going to work. “Take an aspirin,” I’d say. “Don’t be such a big baby.”

Now
I understood how cruel I’d been, though perhaps justified.

The
house
phone rang. The noise sent violent spikes of pain through my skull. I groaned, rolled over, and pressed my face into my pillow. After four rings, the answering machine picked up.

"Ms. Winslow? This is James Todd, from the San Francisco Police Department. I'm calling in regards to --"

I
sat up and grabbed for the handset
by my bed. My head and stomach protested, but I ignored them. "Yes? Hello? I'm here."

"Good. We need to talk."

"Oh!" I needed some good news. "Did Ricky confess?"

"Hardly." His voice was grim. "Ms. Winslow, I did some checking. Ricky Jones has no criminal record, nothing at all. His grades are decent. His teachers have never had any issues with him."

"But you talked to him, right? You asked him where he was Wednesday night around --"

"I'm not finished," Detective Todd broke in. "I did some additional checking. After I was done with Ricky, I looked into your record, Ms. Winslow."

"My -- ?"

"That's right. You neglected to tell me a few things when you came by yesterday. The arrest for shoplifting? And I found out you've spent a little time in the mental health system, Ms. Winslow. A private, very upscale facility, but an institution all the same."

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say; I hadn't known. "But that doesn't change --"

"I also spoke to Jamie's friend Maria. Maria describes a young woman very much like you, Ms. Winslow, who came to her door on Thursday and claimed to be -- what did she say? Claimed to be Jamie reincarnated, or something like that. Does any of this ring a bell?"

"No, I --" This conversation was going very badly.

"Jamie's mother also saw you, or your identical twin perhaps. She says you were standing outside her window and spying on her. I have to tell you, Ms. Winslow, this doesn't look good. If there wasn't a rape involved, I might even consider you as a suspect. I have no idea why you latched on to this particular case, but I suggest you drop it pretty damn fast."

"Won't you please just talk to Ricky?" I begged. "Okay, maybe this does seem strange, but there's an explanation."

"Really? I'd like to hear it, then."

"I -- I can't tell you."

Detective Todd heaved a sigh. "All I can say, Ms. Winslow, is that I advise you to stay far away from Jamie's family and anyone related to this case."

He hung up. I sat listening in horror to the dial tone. So Ricky was going to get away with murder, it seemed. But I wasn’t about to let Detective Todd keep me away from my mother and Maria.

Speaking of whom – I grabbed for the clock next to the bed. It was already 10:30. The funeral was in half an hour, on the other side of town.

“Can’t be late for my own funeral,” I said aloud, then giggled. That was so creepy it was funny.

I jumped out of bed, and immediately regretted it. It felt like Thor had taken his hammer to my head. As I dressed – in a black wool designer suit, its skirt a
little
too short and tight for the occasion – I fought off nausea. My mother always said a little food made her feel better, but even the thought made me wince.

I scrubbed last night’s lipstick off my face and ran my fingers through my hair. One thing I could say for Sarah – she looked great no matter what. Her skin might be a little pale this morning, and there were faint dark circles under her eyes, but I still thought she was beautiful.

I made it to the front door of the building before I nearly collided with Nick, who came bounding up the stairs to ring the buzzer. “Just who I was looking for,” he said, and swept me up in a hug before I could protest. He held up a paper bag. “Look, I brought bagels! I can’t stay long –“

I pulled away from him. “I suppose you have to get back to your wife.”

He shrugged. “So? Let’s not get into this, Sarah.”

“No, let’s not. I don’t have time anyway.” I stiffened my spine and looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t want to see you again, Nick. Not this morning, not ever. So how about if you just take your bagels and go home
where you belong
?”

He stared at me, speechless. His mouth hung open, which to my great satisfaction marred his picture-perfect face.

“Goodbye, Nick.” I marched past him down the stairs.

He ran after me and caught my arm. “Wait, Sarah. What’s this? Yesterday you were all over me.”

“That was then. This is now. It's over.” I shook his hand loose and kept on walking.

He ran alongside me. “You’ve always run hot and cold, Sarah, but this is ridiculous. What kind of game are you playing?”

“No game.” I spotted a cab and raised my arm to hail it. The driver pulled up to the curb. As I opened the door, Nick’s mouth twisted in fury. Yup, he was definitely less handsome this way.

“You stupid bitch,” he yelled, as I slammed the door in his face.

I felt marginally better after that, at least until the taxi pulled up to St. Michael’s. My mother wasn't a regular churchgoer, but she'd dragged me to an occasional Easter Sunday here. I associated the church with flowered hats, kids with scrubbed faces and slicked-back hair, women in bright suits, and smiles all around. Now I saw instead little clusters of people in dark clothes on the sidewalk talking softly, solemnly -- strangers and neighbors, my teachers, my friends. Some dabbed at tears. Some smiled, then covered their mouths with nervous fingers.

I
didn't want to get out of the cab; I didn't want to go into the church. Yesterday I'd been kind of excited about the idea of the funeral. I'd get to see who cared enough to come. I'd get to hear what people really thought of me. Now it didn't seem like such a great idea.

The driver cleared his throat. "You said St. Michael's, lady, didn't you?"

"Sorry." I paid him, got out, and walked slowly toward the church's front stoop.

Inside, I glanced around. I'd never seen so many people here, not even at the Christmas Eve service we'd attended once. I recognized maybe two thirds of them. All my teachers were here, and a lot of my classmates. I nearly raised my hands to cover my face, to hide from them; I kept forgetting they wouldn't know me. I felt like an intruder, somehow.

There was my mother, near the front pews. Aunt Janelle stood protectively on one side of her, Maria on the other. My mother wore black wool pants and a too-small jacket, one she'd bought herself last Christmas. She'd put on weight since then. I had to clench my teeth against the pain of seeing her look shabby. Quick tears sprang to my eyes.

As I watched, she bowed her head. Her shoulders slumped forward. Aunt Janelle put an arm around her, and my mother leaned heavily against her friend. I wanted so much to go to her at that moment. I wanted to make it okay. She didn't need to go through this. She didn't need to grieve for me.

I took two steps forward. At that moment, Maria looked up and saw me. Her face registered shock, then anger. Detective Todd said she'd complained about me. No one would make a scene today, would they? What would they do, toss me out?

I stood frozen as Maria touch Mom's arm and whispered something into her ear. They both turned to glare at me. I lowered my eyes and refused to meet theirs. When I looked back, they'd turned their backs on me. I breathed a sigh of relief, but my stomach was in knots. They knew me now, and thought I was some crazy woman with a weird fixation. How the heck was I supposed to get close enough, now, to convince them of the truth?

I moved slowly down the aisle, always careful to keep my distance from my mother. The crowd parted around me, and I saw it: the casket.

Oh, God. That was me in there, dead. I'd only seen a couple of bodies in my life -- my grandmother's, and one of my mother's co-workers. The co-worker I'd never met, and my grandmother I barely knew; she'd lived in Chicago and had more or less disowned my mother years ago. I'd viewed their bodies with a sort of morbid fascination.

This was different. I'd figured the coffin would be closed, but it wasn't. I couldn't stand to look and yet I knew I needed to. I needed to see my old body to know this was real. Closure, they called it on the talk shows.

I got in line.

The line moved slowly, too slowly for me. Irritation twisted up inside me. Look at these people, here to gawk. They paused in front of the casket. Some of them gasped, others broke down and sobbed. I wanted to get up in front of them and shout, "I'm not dead, you idiots!"

When it was my turn, I closed my eyes as I stepped forward. I couldn't look, and then I did.

Me. Jamie Lumley. Still and pale, pancake makeup layered on my cheekbone where Ricky hit me.

My body wore an outfit I'd never liked, a long flowered skirt and a white turtleneck sweater. The turtleneck to hide the bruises, I supposed. My hand went involuntarily to my neck -- Sarah's neck.

I wasn't as homely as I'd thought. That's what surprised me most. From the outside, looking down at my own face, I could see that I had nice eyelashes, a dark pretty fringe curving on my cheeks. My hair wasn't bad, either -- more red than brown against the white pillow, thick and shiny. Oh, but had my body always been so lumpy and awkward, so clumsy? After only three days I'd grown used to Sarah's graceful
silhouette
.

Still, I felt a wave of affection and pity for the body in the casket. I'd lived 16 years in that body. I'd felt pleasure inside it, as well as pain. I’d had chicken pox and the occasional flu, and once I’d broken my ankle, but otherwise I’d been healthy. More importantly, this was the body of the person my mother loved. This is the body that came from hers.

How strange to think it would go in the ground now. How strange to think that it would rot away, while I went on living.

I’d stood too long, looking down at my own face.

I moved away, toward the back of the church. People were taking their seats now. I slid into a back pew, between a man I didn’t know and my fourth grade teacher. Mrs. Pettigrew, that was her name. She’d always liked me; she let me erase the board for her every day after lunch.

The service began with a priest I didn’t know. He read a bible verse and went on for a while about God’s will. After a few minutes, I tuned him out. I couldn’t quite believe some big guy in the sky wanted Ricky’s hands around my neck. What purpose was there in that? Was I supposed to end up here, in Sarah’s body? But if so, why didn’t He just speak up and explain His reasoning?

Maria stood up to speak first. She took out her notes and smoothed them on the podium. Even from the back of the church, I could see that her hands shook.

“Jamie was my best friend,” she said, and had to stop because she was sobbing too hard.

A lump grew in my throat. I balled my hands into fists; my nails cut into my palms. Maria pushed on: “I first met Jamie the summer after fifth grade. She was sitting by herself in the park, reading a book. I’d taken my little nephew there to play. I put him on the slide about a million times, and every time I looked up this girl with the book was watching us. Finally I asked her if she wanted one of our cookies. She said yes, and we started talking and everything. It turned out we were both going to the same middle school next year.”

Maria paused and took a deep breath. “Jamie was the sweetest and best person I’ve ever known. If you were her friend she would do anything for you. Whenever I forgot my lunch she made me eat half of hers. If I didn’t understand something in my homework, she explained it again and again until I did.”

She was really crying now, and so was I. “Jamie was so loyal. Once when another girl started talking trash about me when I wasn’t there, Jamie got up and walked out of the room she was so mad. She was hella smart, too. She got almost straight A’s. When I didn’t want to study she got all upset at me and said I had to go to college to keep her company.” Maria wiped her eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever know anyone as good Jamie ever again. Ever.”

I don’t think there was anyone in the church who didn’t have tears streaming down their face. The hurt in the room overwhelmed me, to the point I almost forgot I wasn’t really dead. To them, I was. To Maria, I was. And at that moment I was having trouble believing she’d ever change her mind.