Eleanor had just finished getting a fire going in the fireplace when Lena rolled herself into the living room. By the smell of her, Eleanor could tell she’d been at the bottle again. Lena had taken to smoking in her room, thus containing the reek of her menthol cigarettes to a small part of the house. Even so, wherever she went, she carried the stink of her various vices with her.
“It’s really coming down out there,” said Eleanor.
Lena’s lap was covered with a blanket. She wore two sweaters over her bony shoulders. “We better call that kid who shoveled for us last year, see if he’s up for doing it again this winter.”
“Already did,” said Eleanor, closing the top of the kindling box and then sitting down on top of it, warming her hands near the flames. “I spoke to his mother. The snow’s supposed to taper off midmorning. She said she’d send him over after he gets home from school.”
“If there is school tomorrow. They may cancel it.” She cackled. “Do you ever remember our school being canceled because of seven inches when we were kids?”
“No,” said Eleanor, thinking back. “Only for a blizzard.”
“I used to love going for walks when it was snowing out. Nothing like it. A real wonderland.”
“I remember that, too,” said Eleanor. She twisted around when she heard the TV snap off. The tall blond renter emerged from the den carrying a sack of pretzels and immediately headed up the stairs, taking the steps them two at a time. Once she figured he’d gone into his bedroom, she looked back at Lena and was about to comment on him when she saw that her sister was still staring at the empty stairway, seemingly deep in thought.
“He remind you of anyone?” asked Lena.
“Not really. Should he?”
“If Timmy’d had a son, he’d look just like that kid. He’d be the right age, too.”
“Timmy didn’t have a son. You know that. He died when he was a boy.” She decided to get something off her chest. “Speaking of Tim, why on earth did you have to tell Britt that he was a figment of her imagination?” She’d been upstairs at the time getting her purse. When she came back down into the living room, she had to scramble to figure out what Lena had told Britt.
“I didn’t want to bare my soul to the likes of her. It was none of her goddamn business. All I wanted was for her to leave and never come back. But no, oh no. You had to invite her to dinner.”
“You put me in a terrible position. You made me lie to her to back up some ridiculous story that Tim never existed. I’ll never, to my dying day, understand you.”
“You’re always talking about family solidarity. That’s all I was asking.”
Eleanor looked into the fire, deciding to take a more gentle tone. “Tim died in a car accident, Lena. It wasn’t your fault. His death doesn’t make you a bad mother.”
Lena rolled her wheelchair closer to the fire—closer to her sister. She pulled a flask from inside her sweater, unscrewed the cap, and took a several swallows. “Our family secrets seem to be unraveling. I might as well toss another one on the pile.”
Eleanor sensed the old house breathing around her. She loved the feeling of being cocooned, cradled, safe. “What are you talking about?”
“Timmy.”
“What about him?”
“You’re going to hate me.”
“I already hate you.”
She smiled. “I lied to you.”
Eleanor closed her eyes and groaned. “Might as well say it, whatever it is.”
“I’m an old woman,” said Lena. “I need absolution.”
“And you think I can provide it?”
“I didn’t say I was crazy,” she said with a wry smile.
“Just tell me,” said Eleanor. She was tired and ready for bed.
“The fact is, when Timmy and I left after … after we buried the body in the garage, I drove back to a commune in upper New York State, where we’d been living for several years. Don’t give me that look. It was the seventies. Seemed like the thing to do. I’d been with a guy there. Timmy loved him and he loved Tim. And, well, you know me. I wasn’t a very good mother, or partner. I cheated on this guy. I’d go into town, have a few drinks at the local bar. Some nights I didn’t come home. It got pretty bad between us. He finally kicked me out, told me I couldn’t stay at the farm anymore. I wasn’t pulling my weight. He said that Tim would be better off with him. He figured he was Tim’s father, so he had rights. I disabused him of that idea, which only made him angrier. He told me he didn’t care. He loved Tim.”
Eleanor had lived with her sister for a large part of her life. She didn’t think Lena had the capacity to surprise her anymore, and yet now she had.
“I left Timmy there. With him.”
Eleanor was stunned. “You’re telling me you left your son with some hippie on a commune and just took off?”
“Yes.”
“You mean, Timmy didn’t die in a car accident like you said when you came back home?”
“He’s alive. Somewhere. He probably hates me. He has every right to.”
Eleanor wasn’t just stunned, she was outraged. “You abandoned him? Your own son? How do you think that made him feel?”
Lena fortified herself with another swallow from the flask. “The guy I’d been with told me to leave, go off at night like I often did. We agreed that he’d wait a few days and then tell Timmy that I’d … you know, died. Gone to heaven. That I was in a better place and all that crap.”
Revulsion rose up inside Eleanor, nearly cutting off her breath. She couldn’t believe her sister could be that cold, that irresponsible. “Did you ever love your son?”
Lena leaned forward in her wheelchair, wiped the cuff of her sweater across one eye. “Of course I loved him. I regretted what I’d done almost immediately. But what could I do? Go back and make my boyfriend look like a liar? Confuse Timmy even more? What could I give him? I had no money, no prospects. I saw myself the same way you did—a loser. A screwup. Cheap. Genetically deficient. You can’t call me a name I haven’t called myself.”
As always, Lena was making the story, this sepia-stained semi-reality, all about herself. Poor Lena, Eleanor wanted to say, but instead, said, “You never tried to find Timmy?”
“It was years before I did. But yeah, I tried. By the time I took a motorcycle trip back to the farm, it wasn’t there anymore. Nobody knew where any of the people who lived there had gone. It was a dead end. I stayed in the town where I used to go drinking at night, spent some time at the bar. I walked around berating myself. I felt close to Timmy for the first time in forever. I guess I’m glad he doesn’t know I’m still alive. If he did, and he had any balls at all, he’d find me and take revenge. I used to be afraid of that—of him finding his contemptible mother. Of course, other times I prayed that he would find me, no matter what the outcome, just so I could see him again.”
Eleanor was rarely so angry that she contemplated violence, and yet what she felt toward her sister at this moment wasn’t anger, it was pure rage.
“Where are you going?” asked Lena, rolling her wheelchair back as Eleanor got up.
“My room.”
“Do you hate me?”
Eleanor felt nothing but wreckage in her stomach. She’d always felt guilty for judging her sister so harshly. She no longer did. Lena was the black hole who’d dragged everyone down into the abyss with her. “What do you think?”
Looking up, her eyes wet, she held Eleanor’s gaze. “It’s like I’ve spent my entire life suspended over this terrible, brutal darkness.”
All Eleanor could force out in response was, “Poor Lena. Poor, sad, put-upon Lena. It’s always about you, isn’t it. Your pain. Your problems.”
Lena stared at her for a long moment, then, with her lips pressed into a thin, determined line, she returned her attention to the fire. “I knew you’d understand. You’re always so kind. Such a fine, generous woman. People love you because you’re sugar sweet.” She took another gulp from the flask. “I may be a mess, but I don’t hide behind a bunch of empty platitudes.”
“Goodnight, Lena.”
“Yeah. Whatever you say, Eleanor. You always know best.”