Live and Let Die (2 page)

Sondra thought Phillip was an odd choice for Tracy. The couple had a whirlwind courtship, becoming engaged four months after meeting and now six months later, getting hitched. While she got hit on just walking out her front door, time and again, she went for tall, dark and handsome.

Phillip was anything but. Phillip reminded Sondra of Urkel, with his small build, high-pitched voice and dated box-top haircut. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he had a pair of suspenders stashed in his closet. However, unlike the madcap and boisterous Urkel, Phillip was painfully shy, introverted and far from a breezy conversationalist. He was a mild-mannered pharmacist, which was in fact how they’d met; he’d filled a prescription for Tracy. Although Sondra had reservations, as far as she could tell, he treated Tracy like gold, which was all that mattered to her; she just wanted her sister to be happy.

The harpist began to play “Ave Maria,” giving Sondra her signal. She wobbled a bit in her rhinestone-laden high-heeled sandals, her feet unaccustomed to wearing anything that wasn’t a flip-flop or Doc Marten. Her knee-length, size six pink taffeta tank dress made a soft swish as she proceeded down the aisle. She caught her mother’s eyes on her and winked at her as Mimi Ellis gave her a broad smile. Sondra reached the altar and looked down the aisle, waiting for her sister to make her entrance.

As their father gripped his youngest daughter’s arm, the guests stood to watch Tracy make her way towards her groom. She couldn’t keep the smile or tears off her face as she looked into the eyes of the man who was to be her husband. Phillip let out a breath as Tracy got closer and shook his head a little and Sondra could see him mouth, “so beautiful,” to himself as he continued to watch her, wiping his own tears away.

Gordon Ellis kissed Tracy on the cheek, gave Phillip a firm handshake before he placed Tracy’s hand inside his future son-in-law’s, and joined his wife in the front row. Sondra took a deep breath and watched in silent awe as her sister got married.

•

The balmy breezes continued to waft through the air as Sondra stood at the end of the driveway enjoying the first cigarette she’d had since the ceremony ended. She had to admit, it had been beautiful. The couple had written their own vows and everyone cried, Sondra included. The first dance had been to “Let’s Stay Together,” the father-daughter dance to “My Girl.” Sondra gave a touching toast honoring her sister and Phillip that brought out everyone’s hankies. Tracy’s own speech about what a difficult road it had been to get here, but how she would take the trip again if it would lead her to Phillip, made couples snuggle closer and singles hopeful that one day they too would find their true love.

Sondra stubbed out her cigarette and as she made her way to the backyard, she caught sight of her parents and Tracy and Phillip talking, each couple with linked hands. She watched them, taking mental pictures: their statuesque, blonde, blue-eyed German mother, a former Olympic medalist swimmer and now a sought-after swimming coach; their black father, a renowned professor of cultural studies at Stanford and best-selling author of several books examining the influence of blacks on popular culture; and Tracy, a slightly darker version of Mimi, was a TV news producer here in Chicago.

Sondra crossed her arms and let her finger trail up and down along the curve of her own rich, buttery caramel neck, her sable brown eyes misting over. She wanted to hold this moment in her heart and mind for as long as she could, knowing it would be a long time before they were all together again.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cake table and realized she hadn’t had any yet. She wiped away the tears and began to walk in that direction when Phillip caught up to her.

“Hey,” he said as he touched Sondra’s elbow.

“Hi,” she replied as she picked up a plastic fork and white Styrofoam plate supporting a small piece of lemon chiffon cake with buttercream frosting and began to nibble.

Phillip shoved his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo pants and smiled. “I just wanted to tell you how much it meant to Tracy that you could be here today.”

Sondra swallowed and shrugged. “Where else would I be?”

“Well, I mean, I know you have a lot to do and all with your trip. When are you leaving?”

“Next Friday, so I’ve got almost a week to get everything together.”

“What’s your documentary going to be on?”

“Images of beauty around the world. Plastic surgery, rituals, that kind of thing.”

“Sounds cool. How long will you be gone?”

“About a year and some change. Then I’ll come back and do the editing. It’s going to be an intense time.”

“Tracy is really going to miss you.”

Sondra looked over Phillip’s shoulder and saw Tracy bouncing a friend’s little girl on her hip while she talked animatedly to another guest. “I’m gonna miss her too. But, my cell phone is one of those global things and I’ll have access to email, though it may not be the greatest.” Sondra put the plate down on the table, only half of the cake eaten. “We’ll still be in touch.”

Phillip nodded absentmindedly then opened and closed his mouth, seeming to struggle with what to say.

“Listen, I know you think we rushed into this—”

Sondra held up her hand. “Do you love my sister?”

Phillip nodded. “More than I can say.”

“Then that’s it. As long as you love and take care of her, that’s it.”

Phillip pursed his lips together into a grateful smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll always take care of your sister.”

•

The reception had run well into the night and Sondra was exhausted. She had a seven a.m. flight back to New York, and Tracy and Phillip would be leaving for their honeymoon in Jamaica on Sunday afternoon, so Sondra wanted to make sure she said goodbye to Tracy before the limo took her back to her hotel in the city. She was leaning against the doorjamb of the front door watching as Tracy hugged the last guest, the straps of her rhinestone sandals slung around her wrist. She waved brightly to them until they climbed into their car and drove away. Tracy’s shoulders slumped a little and she looked over at Sondra.

“So, a year, huh?” she said as she walked over to join Sondra in the entryway.

Sondra nodded. “Yup. Will I be an aunt by the time I get back?”

Tracy winked. “I have a pretty good feeling you will.”

Sondra’s head flipped up. “You’re not—”

Tracy giggled. “Oh, God no. No, no, but we’ve talked about starting a family in the next year or so.” Tracy hugged herself and closed her eyes. “I can’t wait.”

Sondra looked down at the front walk in front of her, tracing a pattern with her toe.

“You’ll be a great mom.” She looked up and smiled. “I can’t wait for you either.”

Tracy’s face grew somber as she looked at Sondra. “You just make sure you come back.”

Sondra held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“Didn’t you get kicked out of Girl Scouts?”

“Yeah, because I flashed my party pants at a Cub Scout.”

Tracy playfully pinched Sondra’s arm, who went to put her sister in a headlock. The two women stopped laughing long enough to give each other a long, lingering hug.

“I love you, baby girl,” Sondra said.

“Back at ya, Sonny.” Tracy smiled. “I’ll see you soon.”

A
ll ten of Sondra’s fingers were red, ragged messes. She’d been flying all day and night and unable to smoke, had nearly chewed each digit to the bone. The pilot announced their initial descent into Chicago and if she could have parachuted in, she would have.

As the plane descended, Sondra flattened her forehead against the window of the plane, searching for the landscape of the city hidden beneath the white swell of clouds, frantic to land, to know…

Finally, the plane taxied to the gate and Sondra ripped her seatbelt from across her slender waist, waiting for the doors to open. The aisles filled with passengers hauling down luggage, turning on cell phones to check messages and chatting away about emails, business meetings and what restaurants they would dine at while visiting Chicago. Going on with their lives as normal.

Sondra went to turn her own phone back on, before remembering it had died just as she boarded. She balled her hand into a fist and bit her knuckle in a futile attempt to give her decimated fingers a rest. She wondered how long it would take the air marshal to catch her if she tried to shove past all these people.

The traffic began to inch forward. The tip of Sondra’s tongue caught the saltiness from the perspiration on her upper lip as she folded her lanky frame over the seat in front of her, waiting for her turn in line. Clutching her one carry-on bag, she shuffled her way into the aisle before finally reaching the door.

She tried to keep her cool as she went through customs. She kept a level gaze on the gate agent as he queried her about her time overseas and what she would be doing while in the U.S.

She had to force the tears to stay inside while answering him.

As soon as she was free of customs, she broke into a run, her smoker’s lungs protesting the whole time. The soles of her flips-slops slapped against the shiny tile like lit firecrackers as the crowds of arrivals and departures parted once they heard her pound towards them. She knew her feet would freeze, but she didn’t care. Tears stung Sondra’s eyes and she swatted at them as if they were errant gnats buzzing around her face as she scanned the boards overhead for directions to ground transportation.

Panting, sweating, and nearly hacking up a lung, Sondra found the door leading to the taxis. The doors slid open and the blast of arctic air almost knocked her to the salt-stained sidewalk. Shivering in her thin sweatshirt, Sondra ran her trembling, blood-crusted fingers through her wavy, black tresses as she darted to the taxi stand. She hopped from one foot to the other to keep warm as she waited for yet another slow line to move forward. The fat black dispatcher, dwarfed beneath a dusty black down coat and furry earmuffs, gave her the once over.

“What happened to your coat, young lady? You know this is Chicago in January,” he laughed, his breath billowing out from beneath jagged, yellow buckteeth to mock her.

Sondra ignored him and ran to the orange Wolley cab he indicated. She jumped in and gave the driver the address, blowing breath into her hands to revive them. She was about to fish out her cigarettes when she noticed the “No Smoking” sign taped to the back of the seat. She groaned to herself and sat on her hands, rocking back and forth in a feeble attempt to keep herself calm.

The gray and grit of the city looked repulsive to her on this frigid afternoon. She didn’t hear the low murmur of NPR—the universal radio station of cab drivers—as she stared unseeing out the window while smiling billboards sheathed under the sludge of winter, decaying buildings and grimy El trains hissed past her in a haze. After an eternity, the cab turned down her sister’s North side street and came to a stop in front of her house. Sondra threw a wad of crumpled twenties at the driver and flung the door open, not bothering to close it. She didn’t hear the cabbie yelling after her as she bounded up the front steps of the house and slammed herself against the door to make it open.

The first thing she heard was her mother’s pained cries. The first thing she saw was her father’s face, and the shake of his head.

Sondra’s knees buckled and she crumpled into a pile on the gleaming hardwood floor.

T
he ensuing days were draped in heavy fog. Tracy had gone jogging and before she left, had talked to Phillip, out of town for a pharmacy convention, mentioning that if the promised snowstorm didn’t materialize, she was going to stop at the store on the way home for a few things and would call him when she returned.

He never heard from her.

Her body had been discovered along the lakefront, her face bashed in. Her empty wallet was found a few feet away and the police ruled it to be a mugging gone wrong, but had no leads. Phillip took on the gruesome task of IDing the body. Tracy had requested cremation and Sondra was thrust into the role of trying to comfort her parents and be strong for Phillip. Her mother, Mimi, never stopped crying, while Phillip and her father, Gordon, cycled between stoic strength and jagged sobs.

Tracy’s memorial service brimmed with people from all corners of the country. Sondra, unable to read the poem her mother had requested, broke down mid-stanza. Phillip rushed to her side and with one reedy arm planted around Sondra’s shoulders, finished reading it for her, his own voice quivering with corked tears.

In the end, it had all been too much for Mimi who, after the service, fled in a taxi back to her hotel downtown, leaving Gordon, Sondra, and Phillip to accept the well-meaning platitudes, and stifle their own tears. Sondra wished she could have hopped a ride with her mother, because truth be told, all she wanted to do was lay down on the floor, curl up in a ball and cry herself tearless. When people didn’t think she could hear them, they would tut-tut about how terrible it was to outlive your children.

Sondra was starting to think it was pretty shitty to outlive your younger sister.

It took the better part of five hours to clear the house of mourners, people reluctant, it seemed, to leave, as if the simple act of departing Tracy’s house would mean they really would have to say goodbye. They lingered long into the night until Sondra had finally started to hint it had been a long day.

Exhausted, Sondra flopped into the couch in the living room, watching the promised flurries float across the night sky. She heard a noise and tilted her head to see Phillip come in. He too seemed mesmerized by the fat, juicy flakes drifting to the frozen ground. She noticed he was clutching Tracy’s burgundy cardigan sweater.

“When it finally hit me that she was missing, I found myself carrying this sweater around, wondering if she was cold and just wishing I could wrap her up in it.” He sighed. “And it smells like her.”

Sondra sniffed and turned her attention back to the snow. “I wondered the same thing. If she was cold, I mean.”

Phillip came over and sat down on the couch next to Sondra. For several minutes, neither of them spoke.