Sybil at Sixteen (17 page)

“Is that wrong?” Evvie asked. “I want to protect Sam.”

“Sometimes you can't protect people,” Meg replied. “Sometimes the best you can do is hope the love you've given has made that person strong. Sam's going to come through this, Evvie, because of all the love you've given him. I'm going to come through this because of all the love Nicky gave me. We all will.”

“I'm sorry,” Evvie said. “I'm sorry about everything.”

“I feel like that all the time,” Claire said. “But at least I've had a good time first.”

Evvie laughed. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

“I still have a question,” Thea said. “Why does Sebastian Prescott want to get to know us better?”

There was a moment's silence, and then they all burst into laughter, except for Thea, who continued to look puzzled. “Come on, Thea,” Claire said, getting off the bed. “Let's go to my room, and I'll tell you the whole sordid story.”

“I think we need to talk,” Evvie said to Meg.

“I agree,” Meg said. “Sybil, are you going to be all right? Do you want some help getting into bed?”

“I'm fine,” Sybil said. “If I need help, I'll ask for it.”

Meg nodded. “Come to the kitchen,” she said to Evvie. “I could use some tea.”

Sybil was glad to see them all leave. She remembered nights when she'd been a kid and had fought going to bed while the others were still awake. All the best things happened when she wasn't around to witness them, she'd been sure of that. Part of her wanted to be with Thea while Claire explained about Nick's complicated parentage. She wanted to be with Meg, too, accepting her share of the blame for what happened to Sam's family. She wanted to be involved.

But more than that, she needed to be alone. She took the note out from under the light, and stared at it again.
You are nothing like me
. It must have been enormously important for Nick to send that message to her. Everything he'd ever said to her was important, she knew that now. And this was something that meant so much to him he'd written it down so she could keep it if she needed to, the way Kip had kept that note about his mother.

How could Nick say she was nothing like him when just the week before he'd said how much alike the two of them were? It made no sense. Not that much of anything made sense to Sybil just then, between the exhaustion and the drugs.

She felt the note in her hands, the neatly made folds. Nick was fastidious. Even his handwriting showed that, clear and precise.
You are nothing like me
. Did Nick mean that as some form of repudiation? Was he angry at her for finding out about Sam? That didn't feel right. There'd been no anger in him during their last walk together, just caring conversation about how much he loved her, loved all his daughters.

And then Sybil realized that what she held in her hands was Nick's suicide note. It was so obvious that the paper seemed to burn her hands, and she dropped it onto the desk. Nick had examined his life those last days and seen all his failings. He had lost control, and without that, how could he protect Meg or any of his daughters? All he had left to give them was the money from his insurance and a guilt that wasn't really his. So he told Sybil how much he cherished each of his daughters, and he told Meg he loved her, and he got into his car knowing he would never return. But first he'd left Sybil a note, his legacy to her, so she would never worry that her life would be as filled with failures and deceits as his.
You are nothing like me.

The tears came easily then to Sybil, but through the intensity of the pain, she knew Nick had left her one final secret. He trusted her with his despair, trusted her not to tell the others, so that if they chose to believe his death had been an accident, they could indeed take comfort from that fantasy. So Sybil picked up the sheet of paper, and tore it into a hundred little pieces. She brushed them as best she could into the wastepaper basket, but it didn't matter. No one else would ever know what Nick had written. She suspected at that moment she was very much like him, but she could no longer tell. The day would come, she knew, when she would look in a mirror, and see just who she was, but for the moment, all there was was fog.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE

“Thank you for coming,” Sam said. “I think it's time we had a talk.”

Sybil nodded, and walked into Sam and Evvie's apartment. She could hear Evvie in the kitchen, making their dinner.

“I need wine!” Evvie called out. “Sam, would you please get a bottle?”

“Care for a walk?” Sam asked.

“Okay,” Sybil said.

Sam grabbed his keys, and closed the door. Sybil followed him down the stairs. “The liquor store is only a couple of blocks away,” Sam said. “How're your legs holding up?”

“My legs are fine,” Sybil said. “I wish people would stop asking me about them.”

“I'm sorry,” Sam said. “I'll never mention them again.”

Sybil looked up at Sam. It had been a month since she'd seen him, a month since that horrible string of deaths and funerals. He didn't look changed, but then she doubted she looked different, and she knew she was.

“I'm sorry, too,” she said. “I just feel like I've been defined by my accident the past few years. Not just by my family, either. I've been feeling that way about myself. Like everything that's happened to all of us happened because of the accident. Like the only way I can prove my worth is by not using canes or crutches. I actually promised Nicky that, after he died. That I'd run marathons if that's what he wanted.”

“And what do you want?” Sam asked.

“I want to be able to get around,” Sybil said. “That'll do for the time being. If that means canes, crutches, or even wheelchairs, then fine. I want not to be obsessed by my legs. I want to be whole again. No big deal.”

Sam laughed. “You never had small ambitions,” he declared. “If we can't talk about your legs, can we talk about the weather? It's a nice day.”

“It's a beautiful day,” Sybil agreed. May had brought perfect spring weather to the Boston area. Some days the warm temperatures and the budding flowers made her miss Nick even more intensely, but other days they brought her comfort, as though Nick somehow were responsible for the sun. But then again, there were times when she was a child, that she'd felt Nick was the force behind the sun.

“How's school?” Sam asked.

“All right,” Sybil replied. “No better. How's your job?”

“A little strange at first,” Sam said. “When I got back to work, I was more a news story than a news reporter. But the curiosity wore off, and things are pretty much back to normal.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Sybil said. “That really happens?”

“At work it does,” Sam said. “We're having spaghetti with meat sauce. It's the only thing Evvie knows how to cook. I hope that's all right with you.”

“It's fine,” Sybil said. She felt a sudden wave of shyness, as though this were the first time she'd ever met Sam. In certain ways it was.

She thought back to the moment that had taken the greatest amount of courage in her life, when not only had she admitted her guilt to Evvie, but explained her reasons. “How's your grandmother?” she asked. It took almost as much bravery on her part to get those words out.

“She's doing all right,” Sam said. “I speak to her every night, which drives Evvie crazy, but she talks to Megs just as frequently, so she can't really complain. We're going down to Long Island next weekend, to spend some time with her. After the wedding, she's going to spend a month in Israel. She has a sister who lives there. It'll be good for her to get away.”

“That's nice,” Sybil said. “I mean, I'm glad she's …”

“Still functioning?” Sam asked. “I'm glad, too. I wasn't sure that first week how she'd do, and frankly, I'm not ready to lose another family member just now. I don't have that many to spare.”

“I'm sorry,” Sybil said.

Sam stood still for a moment. “We're all sorry,” he said. “That's why we need to talk.”

“But so much was my fault,” Sybil said. “I live with that every day, Sam. I know there's nothing I can do to make it up to you, but at least I want you to know how badly I feel.”

“Evvie and I have been talking a lot about it,” Sam said. “About everything that happened that week and who's at fault for what. It isn't easy to assign blame. There isn't any one villain. I feel just as guilty as you do.”

“But why?” Sybil asked. “You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Didn't I?” Sam replied. “The day I spoke to my mother and I decided I had to go out there, Evvie and I had a terrible fight because I refused to tell my grandparents. I claimed I was protecting them. Well, maybe if I'd thought about all the possible consequences, I would have realized my grandfather could find out about my mother—his daughter—some other way, like the way he did find out, and what that would do to him. He'd been having heart problems for a while. That's why I thought it was best if he never knew. Like I could keep that kind of secret from him forever. I should have told him, but I was afraid if I did, he'd talk me out of going there, and at that moment nothing was more important to me than meeting my mother.”

“It wasn't your fault,” Sybil said.

“It was a little bit,” Sam said. “It was my mother's fault, too, for putting me in that position. It was your fault for tracking me down, and your parents' fault for turning her in, and the media's fault for making a news story out of it, and hell, we can always blame things on the FBI. In my family, that's a tradition. I'm just starting to realize how remarkable it is my grandfather lived as long as he did. It took a terrible toll on him all those years not knowing if his daughter was even alive. And he expended so much energy raising me, worrying about me, doing a thousand things I took for granted but that were really extraordinary acts of love and sacrifice. I worry now that he didn't know how much I appreciated him. That's one reason why I keep talking to my grandmother every night.”

“I miss Nicky so much,” Sybil said. “Can I say that?”

Sam smiled. “I miss him, too,” he said. “And Evvie, well she's grieving for a lot of lost years.”

“It scares me to talk with her,” Sybil said. “When she called to invite me to supper, I almost said no.”

“I'm glad you didn't,” Sam said. “I put Evvie in a terrible position six years ago. I told her at the time that being involved with me would force her to lie, but she was angry at Nick because of all the lies she'd just learned he'd told about his past. Angry at Megs, too. I really don't know if she would have made such an immediate commitment to me if she hadn't read that detective's report about Nick. I'm glad she did. I can't imagine what my life would be like without her. But it would have been better for Evvie if we'd met a couple of years later, if she hadn't been thrust into deception quite so abruptly. I knew at the time I was doing something wrong, but I couldn't help it. I loved her so much. But I know it's because of me she never worked things through with Nick, and that's one reason why he died. There's plenty of blame to share.”

“Is that the liquor store?” Sybil asked. It was still too hard to talk about Nick's death.

Sam nodded. “We need a bottle of red,” he said. “Something cheap and peasantlike. How does that sound?”

“Fine,” Sybil said. She followed Sam into the shop and looked around as he made his selection. The champagne reminded her of Nick.

“Parents are strange things,” Sam said, and then he laughed. “Not that I've had that much experience with them.”

“How was it?” Sybil asked. “With your mother. Can you talk about it?”

“A little bit,” Sam said. “Actually, at first, it was all I could talk about. Evvie and I were a royal mess that first week. We were so caught up in our own grief and guilt, we could barely hear what the other one was saying. And then right after that, I found I couldn't even think about my mother, let alone discuss her. I guess that was the week I went back to work, and naturally there were questions. I just closed in. I've spent most of my life being closed in, and I reverted right to form. That week was even worse than the first, because that was the week it really hit Evvie that Nick was gone, and she'd burst into tears at the strangest moments, and I was refusing to feel anything. She was a fountain, and I was a stone wall. We were a great pair.”

“But things are better now?” Sybil asked.

“I'm walking with you, talking about it,” Sam replied. “That must mean things are better. I'm glad I saw my mother. When you don't know who your parents really are, you create mythical creatures. It's better to have the reality.”

“Nicky said that,” Sybil declared. She paused for a moment, and supported herself on her cane. “He said that about his father.”

“He would know,” Sam said. “A lot of the time my mother was unconscious, or delirious. But there were moments throughout that week when she was aware, and we talked. She told me things about my father I never would have learned otherwise. She told me how thrilled they were when I was born, just like any new parents. That meant a lot to me somehow, to know that in between the radical politics and the bomb-building, they were a young couple delighted with their baby. I didn't have that before, and now I do.”

“Sebastian Prescott's been calling once a week,” Sybil said. “Megs doesn't know what to do about him.”

Sam laughed. “Evvie and I have been talking about inviting him to the wedding. She says she's a little old to be getting grandparents. But neither one of us has so much family that we can afford to toss away another relative. Besides, I'll bet he'd be good for a big wedding present.”