Sisters Found Page 16

  “What do you have to be sorry for? You didn’t do anything.”

  “If you knew how hard Mom and Dad have worked to pay my medical expenses, you’d understand—”

  “They should have worked harder,” Charity shot back.

  “There are only so many hours in a day,” Faith argued.

  “Maybe, in a million years, I might understand the reasons for what they did, but I’ll never, ever forgive them for it.”

  “That’s not fair,” Faith said.

  Charity snorted. “Fair? Was it fair for me to have to spend my life with people who didn’t want me?”

  Faith gasped. “Why would they adopt you if they didn’t want you?”

  “My ‘father’ decided an adopted daughter wasn’t good enough and left my mother because she couldn’t deliver him a child of his own. And my mother never let me forget it.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Faith said.

  “I don’t need your pity,” Charity snarled. “I managed fine.”

  “Sounds like sour grapes to me,” Hope interjected.

  “Don’t you dare—” Charity began.

  “Please don’t fight,” Faith said. “We’ll be home soon and Mom and Dad can explain everything.”

  “I can’t wait to hear what excuses they make,” Charity muttered.

  “Put yourself in their shoes,” Faith said. “Can you imagine how they must have felt? I know they couldn’t have wanted to give you up.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because when Hope and I were about nine years old, Mom miscarried a baby. If you’d seen her grieve for that lost child, you’d know—”

  “You’re telling me that after she gave me away, she got pregnant again? She was actually going to have another baby when she’d given one away?” Charity asked incredulously.

  “I overheard Mom and Dad talking, so I know it wasn’t a planned baby,” Faith explained. “But by then the worst of my medical expenses had been paid. I think they genuinely wanted another child. Mom was...devastated...when she miscarried in the fourth month.”

  Faith suddenly realized that her mother hadn’t been losing a child for the first time. Knowing her mother as she did, she might even have believed God was punishing her for giving up the first child by taking the second from her. Faith didn’t think God worked that way, but a grieving woman might be willing to place blame where it didn’t belong.

  Faith had done it often enough herself.

  She’d grown up living in Hope’s shadow, always careful to keep her deformity hidden, which she could do easily by sliding her arm behind her back. With that slight change in posture, she and Hope became identical twins.

  Except, they’d never quite been that. There had been no hiding that missing hand in school. About an inch of flesh had grown beyond her left wrist and was tipped by tiny pink knobs that should have become fingers. The other children had looked and laughed. Nervously. Anxiously. Meanly.

  Hope had been a militant protector, and over the years her behavior had become more and more outrageous so people were more likely to comment about “that wild child” Hope Butler, than to remark about Faith’s missing hand.

  But there had been times when some boy had mistaken Faith for Hope, and she’d seen what it might have been like to be perfect, like her twin, to find admiration in a boy’s eyes, and sometimes even titillating sexual interest. But it never lasted longer than it took for the boy to realize she was the “other” twin.

  Until Randy Wright had come along.

  Faith hadn’t believed Randy could be interested in her. She’d actually brought her arm out from behind her back, to show him the prosthetic device. He’d claimed it didn’t matter to him, that he wanted to spend time with her, maybe go to a movie. But she’d seen the huddle of teenage boys nearby laughing and pointing and figured Randy might have been dared to ask her out. She’d learned to protect herself, and she’d almost said no.

  But there was something about the look in Randy’s eyes that said he wasn’t playing a trick on her. And they’d started seeing each other. She could still remember the first time he’d taken her imperfect hand—or what there was of it—and laid it against his cheek, proving to her, and maybe to himself, that it didn’t matter to him.

  Their romance had survived the long distances that had kept them apart while they attended different colleges. But it hadn’t been difficult to stay faithful to Randy, when he made her feel so cherished and loved.

  She’d very much wanted Hope to find that kind of love, and though she’d never understood Hope’s attraction to Jake, she’d been willing to support it. She hadn’t had an opportunity to speak with Hope lately, but things didn’t seem to be going as well as she’d hoped.

  Charity’s arrival was a shock. Faith still felt awestruck by the realization that she and Hope were not twins, that there had been three of them in the womb.

  It struck her suddenly that the presence of the third child in the womb might have been the reason that she hadn’t been born whole. It was that much more difficult for an egg to split perfectly three times, rather than twice. She glanced in the rearview mirror once more and studied her newly found sibling. And thought that a hand was a small price to pay for another sister.

  * * *

  HOPE HAD BEEN DYING OF CURIOSITY ever since she’d first laid eyes on Charity. She angled herself in the front seat so she could look at her sister—she was still having trouble accepting how exactly Charity looked like her and Faith—and asked, “Have you been living in Texas all this time?”

  “I was raised in the hill country near Kerrville.”

  “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “My mother couldn’t have children, that’s why she adopted me. And I’ve told you how that turned out.”

  “What kind of toothpaste do you use?” Hope asked.

  Charity frowned. “Why in the world do you want to know that?”

  Hope had always been fascinated by the studies that had been done on twins and triplets and quadruplets. She was curious to know whether the results she’d read about would hold true for herself and Faith and Charity.

  She explained, “A lot of twin studies say that heredity has as much, or more, to do with who you are as environment. It sounds crazy, but twins separated at birth show remarkable preferences for the same toothpastes, soaps, cars, occupations, stuff like that. I wondered if we’re all using the same toothpaste,” she finished.

  “I use Crest toothpaste and Ivory soap,” Charity said. “I don’t have a car. But I’d buy a Saturn if I had the money.”

  Hope glanced at Faith and then burst out laughing. “What’s so funny?” Charity asked.

  “We use Crest toothpaste and Ivory soap, too,” Faith said. “And this is my mom’s Chevy I’m driving. Hope and I have a blackberry-colored Saturn that we bought with our baby-sitting money when we were eighteen.”

  Charity shrugged. “Pretty superficial similarities, if you ask me. Those are popular brands.”

  “But still fascinating, don’t you think?” Hope said. “What about your career plans? What did you study in college?”

  “Business,” Charity replied.

  “Me, too,” Hope said. “Faith went into hospital administration. She’s already lined up a job at the local hospital.”

  “I’m going on to law school,” Charity replied.

  “Oh?” Hope said. “What kind of law do you want to practice?”

  Charity hesitated, then answered, “Family law.” Almost defiantly she added, “I plan to work with adoptive parents and children who need representation.”

  Hope settled back into her seat facing forward. “That’s certainly environment at work,” she muttered.

  “What did you say?” Charity asked sharply.

  “I was s
aying your choice makes a lot of sense, considering what you’ve been through,” Hope said. “I’ve been wondering what it would have been like growing up as triplets. Faith and I made a splash as twins. We’d have created a tidal wave of comment and speculation as triplets. I don’t think I’d have enjoyed being gawked at wherever I went.”

  “I’m glad to have spared you the trouble,” Charity said.

  “I suppose that sounds selfish,” Hope conceded. “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t,” Charity interrupted. “I don’t want your pity, either.”

  “It isn’t pity,” Hope said. “It’s...empathy. Or sympathy. Whether we like it or not, the three of us are connected and always will be, especially now that we know you exist.”

  “I have no intention of hanging around here after I confront...your mother and father,” Charity said. “I’m not even sure I’m going to hang around for the wedding.”

  Hope could feel Faith’s eyes on her. With any luck, there wasn’t going to be a wedding, so that was no loss. She hadn’t given up on Jake. But she was troubled by what she’d allowed to happen between them.

  Hope might have a degree in business, but she wanted to use her skills helping Jake on his ranch. At a time when it wasn’t politically correct to focus on being a wife and mother, that was the most fulfilling goal she could imagine.

  Maybe later she’d want to do other things—and maybe that was what had Jake so spooked. She had to admit she hadn’t thought beyond having babies and raising them. But that could take twenty years, and along with all the ranch work that had to be done, keep her life full and satisfying.

  What had been worrying her lately was what she would do with her life if she didn’t marry Jake. She couldn’t imagine herself with any other man, couldn’t imagine the man that could measure up to Jake.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the miraculous third sister who’d arrived so unexpectedly, and who planned to become a lawyer specializing in family law. Hope didn’t have a traumatic childhood pushing her in any particular direction. She’d grown up happy, knowing her parents loved and cherished her, and with a sister who was her best friend and confidante.

  What would life have been like if her parents had kept Charity? For one thing, Hope wouldn’t have been the only “perfect” child. Would she still have been Faith’s protector? Or would she and Charity have teamed up and shut Faith out?

  Of course, they might all three have become bosom buddies if they’d grown up together.

  What was going to happen now? What kind of havoc was Charity going to wreak on their parents’ lives by showing up and accusing them of being heartless and cruel? Especially when she planned on exiting as abruptly as she’d entered.

  “What is it you hope to gain from this confrontation with our parents?” Hope asked.

  “Answers,” Charity said.

  “You already know the answers,” Hope said. “Knowing what you do about Faith’s situation, it’s pretty obvious what must have happened.”

  “I want to hear it from them,” Charity said.

  “You want to reproach them for what they did,” Hope said. “You want to rub their noses in the mess they made of your life.”

  “So what if I do?” Charity said. “They didn’t give me a choice. They made it for me. I want them to see the results of what they did.”

  “You look pretty normal to me. You’ve got a boyfriend and a college education and you’re not in jail or pregnant,” Hope said.

  Charity snorted. “That doesn’t nearly sum up my life.”

  Hope turned to Faith and said, “I’m not so sure we should take her home, especially without giving Mom and Dad some warning. She’s liable to upset them both.”

  Faith frowned. “You want me to take her back to Jake’s place?”

  “The more I think about it, the less certain I am we should just show up with her like this,” Hope said.

  “You can’t keep me from seeing them,” Charity said.

  “No,” Hope said thoughtfully. “But we can make sure they aren’t ambushed by your visit.”

  Charity pulled out a cell phone and said, “Here. Call them. Tell them I’m coming.”

  Hope took the phone and punched in her home number. Her mother answered. “Mom, Faith and I are on our way home with...” Hope realized it wasn’t going to be any less of a shock if she told her mother over the phone who was in the car with them “...someone who wants to meet you.

  “It’s a surprise,” she said when her mother asked who it was. “We’ll be there in about ten minutes. Is Daddy home? Good. Well, Faith and I wanted to give you fair warning. You’ll see who it is when we get there. Yes, you’ve met her before. But it was a long time ago and she’s...changed. See you soon. Love you, too.”

  Hope disconnected the call and handed the cell phone back to Charity.

  “Why didn’t you tell her?” Charity asked.

  “I don’t know,” Hope admitted. “I suppose I was afraid of how she’d react.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t tell her,” Charity said. “I want to see her face when she recognizes me.”

  “You want to see her hurt,” Hope said.

  “She hurt me,” Charity said.

  “Not on purpose,” Faith reminded her. “They’re good people, Charity. You should give them a chance. Take some time to listen when you meet them. Let them explain.”

  “And apologize?” Charity said bitterly. “It’s too little, too late.”

  Hope felt a sense of foreboding. Her mother’s heart hadn’t been good for some years. What if Charity’s appearance caused a heart attack? She had to get into the house ahead of her. She had to give her parents warning. Losing a parent was too high a price to pay for a new sister.

  * * *

  CHARITY’S EMOTIONS WERE TUMBLING over one another. Anger. Excitement. Resentment. Anxiety. Bitterness. Relief. Relief. That was the one thing she hadn’t expected to feel. But she finally had an answer for the nagging sense of abandonment she’d felt all her life.

  It wasn’t simply that she’d been forsaken by her parents. She’d been torn from siblings with whom she’d shared nine months in the womb. It must have been some lingering consciousness of that connection that had left her feeling so bereft.

  Her anger was palpable, a barely controlled rage she hadn’t even realized had been simmering all these years. It frightened her to realize she must have hidden the pain she’d felt even from herself. Now, like a scab ripped off of an oozing sore, those festering feelings were exposed.

  Her heart hurt. Her chest physically ached. She’d wondered for so many years who her parents were, why they’d given her up. The truth was harder to bear than she’d expected. They’d had to choose which child to give up. And they’d chosen her. There must have been something horribly wrong with her for them to make that choice.

  Maybe they’d gone eenie, meenie, miney, moe.

  God. It couldn’t have been like that. Or maybe it had been exactly like that. She thought of the war movies she’d seen, where who lived and who died seemed purely arbitrary. A bullet found you, or it didn’t. Why had she been given away and not Hope? Honestly, it would have made far more sense to give away Faith.

  She glanced from Hope to Faith. She had two sisters who looked exactly like her.

  That reality was still too hard to grasp. She’d been alone since her mother had died last year from an embolism. Her mother’s death had made her wonder even more about her biological parents. She’d gone on the Internet, started to search, then gotten scared and quit. What if her birth mother didn’t want to meet her? That would mean a third rejection.

  Two was plenty.

  She wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t imagined a powerful, emotional reconnection with her biological mother. She’d seen the reunions engineered on Oprah and
Maury and Ricki Lake. In her own private scenario, her mother would have realized her mistake years before and would have searched fruitlessly for the daughter she loved. She’d miraculously find her at last, and they’d smile and hug each other hard and tremble with joy.

  She was too anxious to smile. Too bitter to want to hug them. And if she was trembling, it was with rage.

  Because it hadn’t been a case of a young, unwed mother unable to care for her child. Her parents had been married, so both mother and father had made the decision that had changed the course of her life. She hadn’t imagined a mother and a father. She’d never had a father. And she hadn’t allowed herself to picture him in her mind.

  But he existed.

  And meet him she would. Confront him, rather. Demanding answers. Seeking some explanation for the restlessness that had tormented her for so many years.

  “What are they like?” she asked.

  Hope turned to face her. “Our parents? Like a mixture of us. Or rather, I suppose we’re a mixture of them. Mom has dark eyes and brown hair. Dad has gray eyes and black hair. Mom is short. Dad is several inches over six feet.”

  “That’s a physical description,” Charity said. “I meant, what kind of people are they? What kind of parents were they?”

  Hope pursed her lips. “Dad never went to church, but Mom took us every Sunday. We lived by the Golden Rule—Do unto others—”

  “As you would have them do unto you,” Charity finished. “But they didn’t live it, did they? Not really.”

  “They were loving parents,” Hope said stubbornly. “Dad taught us everything about how to run a ranch. That’s what he does, manages other people’s ranches.”

  “Not his own?” Charity questioned.

  Hope shook her head. “Mom and Dad never had the money to buy a ranch of their own.”

  “My medical expenses kept them from saving enough for a down payment,” Faith said.

  “You make them sound like saints,” Charity said sarcastically.

  “I’m not saying they never wrangled. All parents do,” Hope said. “But they loved each other. And they made it plain they loved us.”