“Take care, now!” Everyone waved as his aunt pulled the car out onto the street.
It was cold in the car and quiet. Davin peered at the treat bag in his lap but didn’t feel like checking to see what was inside.
Instead, he checked his aunt. She looked normal, except her skin was kind of white and she was driving slower than usual.
At the next red light, she gave him a smile. “I’m okay. Really, Davin.”
“Then why—”
Her gloved hand reached for his shoulder. “Do you remember my telling you that when Helena is hurt I always know because I get the same feeling?”
Oh-oh. He should have figured this was all connected to Amalie’s twin. Everything bad in his life somehow tied in with her. The mother he wished he didn’t have.
Davin shut his mouth and didn’t ask any more questions.
AMALIE NOTICED Davin’s withdrawal, so common whenever the subject of Helena came up. When the traffic light turned green again, she took her hand from his shoulder and placed it back on the steering wheel.
She felt badly that she’d spoiled the end of the party for him. And just when they were having so much fun. But the urge to rush home was something she couldn’t ignore…maybe she’d find some word from Helena.
She and Davin lived in a rented duplex about six blocks from the Mitchells in Bloor West Village. The Toronto neighborhood was handy to the hospital Amalie worked at—she could take the subway with just one transfer. The neighborhood had once been run-down, but now it was considered trendy. Amalie appreciated the blend of new and old in the shops and cafés that lined both sides of Bloor street.
Since completing her training as a nutritionist, she had dreamed of one day buying the house she now rented. But real estate prices were sky-high for the two-story brick dwellings, with their tiny front porches and high-pitched roofs. It didn’t seem to matter that the buildings were small and packed tight together, many with original plumbing and wiring.
Location, location, location. They were close to the subway, to downtown Toronto, to the lake, to just about everything, it seemed.
Amalie rolled her Jetta behind the Dodge Omni that belonged to the neighbors who lived in the other half of her duplex, then turned to her nephew buckled into the front seat beside her.
“I’m sorry if I scared you, Davin.”
He hadn’t uttered a word since she’d made that reference to her sister. Amalie put her hand to Davin’s head and brushed back hair so fair it was practically white. His eyes shone like clear blue topaz, in the dwindling afternoon light. With coloring just like hers, and her sister’s, Davin had been an exceptionally beautiful child.
But that was changing. Just this year his features had begun to lose their little-boy roundness, taking on a definite masculine shape. He was growing up. Inside, however, he was still her little boy. Too young to understand the odd emotional connection that existed between her and her identical twin.
“Hungry?”
He shook his head.
“Well, how about a cup of hot cocoa, then?” Amalie turned off the ignition and got out of the car. As she removed the glove from her right hand so she could search for the house keys in her purse, she felt the bite of the northwesterly wind on her cheeks and her hand. It was almost February, and while the days had begun to lengthen, the recent interval of cold weather was a reminder that spring was still a good two months away.
Warm air and the lingering aroma from the cinnamon French toast she’d made for breakfast welcomed her as she opened the front door. Letting her nephew go ahead, Amalie stomped the snow from her boots, watching it scatter over the gray-painted boards of the porch floor.
Once inside she passed along the narrow hallway to the kitchen at the back of the house. Immediately, she scanned the kitchen counter. Sure enough, the red light on the answering machine was flashing.
Davin had disappeared into the living room. She could hear a murmur from the television, and decided against calling him back to pick up the ski jacket and mitts he’d left lying on the floor.
Looking past tired, oak-veneer cupboards, dull yellowed linoleum and cracked and chipped countertops, Amalie reached for the playback button on the machine with a shaking hand.
You have one message.
She dropped to a kitchen chair and stared out the window. A weathered maple dominated the narrow strip of yard. To her the branches appeared weary after a valiant season of struggling against freezing temperatures, driving winds and snowfall after snowfall.
The machine clicked, and her mother’s recorded voice came out at her.
“Hello, Amalie. Just wondering why you hadn’t phoned yet this weekend. Your father and I are fine, although Dad’s back is aching after shoveling all that snow from last night’s storm. I hope you and Davin managed to go to church this morning. Give us a call when you get in.”
No word from Helena after all. Amalie’s disappointment fused with the guilt she felt about not going home this weekend as usual and shoveling that long driveway for her father.
She knew the guilt was irrational. Jeremy’s party had been important to Davin, and he deserved a little fun. Weekends with her parents in the small town north of Toronto ran a predictable pattern. Saturday, she did the odd chores they couldn’t seem to manage on their own. Sunday, all four of them went to church in the morning, then came home for a big midday meal. Afterward, she and Davin piled in the car for the two-and-a-half-hour drive home.
Only occasionally did she and Davin remain in Toronto for a weekend, but when they did, her mother created such a fuss it was hardly worth it. For instance, that reminder about church. Her mother knew Jeremy’s party had been scheduled for Sunday at eleven.
Her friend Jenny was always bugging her about taking too much responsibility for her parents. “You need to lighten up and have a little fun,” she urged over and over again.
But Jenny had two brothers and a sister, and her mom and dad weren’t the type to make demands on their children.
Amalie’s family was totally different. Her parents had immigrated from Germany when she and Helena were only seven, and they’d never fully integrated into their new country. As they got older, they relied on her more and more, and she felt she owed them whatever help she could offer.
Especially since she knew that she and Helena had both been such disappointments to them.
Amalie reached for the phone, then decided not to return her mother’s call at the moment, in order to keep the line open. With any luck she would hear from Helena soon, so she could stop worrying.
If only there were some way for her to contact her sister. But Helena’s occasional note or gift for Davin rarely included a return address. Her phone calls were even less frequent, and Amalie had learned not to ask where she lived or what her phone number was.
The two sisters hadn’t actually seen each other since Davin’s birth, and he was already eleven.
Yet Amalie had never needed to see her sister to know when she was in trouble.
“Oh, Helena, where are you?” Amalie laid her head down on the kitchen table, atop her folded arms. Being an identical twin was part blessing, part burden. To be so close to another human being meant never to be truly alone. But it also meant having to struggle for a separate identity.
For Helena, that struggle had been harder. Amalie was certain that was why she’d moved so far from home, so rarely kept in touch.
It was because of her, and the knowledge hurt. Firstborn, Amalie had always felt responsible for Helena. Yet no matter how she tried, in the end she’d always let her sister down.
Closing