Closer Than Blood

“I knew I could count on you,” Tori said. It was Lainie’s voice, too. The voice that confused any who called the O’Neals’ wanting either of the girls from elementary to high school.

“I’m here and it’s cold outside,” Lainie said. Despite a recent violent injury and a hospital stay, Tori had pulled herself together. Her makeup was flawless, understated. She wore a white robe with what appeared to be egret feathers—a little Sunset Boulevard, Lainie thought. Her hair was chic and lighter, almost the color they’d shared when they were little girls and looked exactly alike. Lainie wasn’t sure, at least not completely, but as she ran her eyes down her sister’s body, it looked as though Tori had breast implants. She wasn’t heavy in the face, but she was definitely heftier up there.

“When did you get those?” Lainie asked, staring at her sister’s breasts. Tori shrugged.

“A while ago. Already jealous and you just got here.”

“Jealous? Of you?”

“You’ve always wanted whatever I had.” Lainie regretted her original comment and ignored her sister’s tone. Getting off on the wrong foot was not her intention. It was easy, too easy, to slip into old habits.

“I came because you said you needed me,” she said. Tori’s face softened a little.

“I know,” she said.

“Leave your bag by the stairs. I’ll take you up later and show you to your room.” The door shut behind them and the sisters studied each other in the foyer, quickly so as not to be peculiar, but the rapid once-over that twins sometimes do when taking stock of how they might appear to others.

“The police are treating my house as a crime scene,” Tori said. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. The remark was ludicrous. Lainie wondered if it was a sedative talking.

“That’s because that’s what it is,” she finally said. Tori’s eyes flickered. A glare or look of confusion? With Tori, Lainie could never be sure.

“That’s not what I meant,” Tori said.

“I mean they are treating me and my space as though I’ve done something wrong.” Lainie studied her sister’s lips. They also seemed a little fuller than her own. Not that she thought she had particularly thin lips, but her twin apparently thought so. She’d had them plumped with some ghastly filler, a permanent pout that she undoubtedly felt was sexy. Youthful. Pretty.

“It all happened so fast,” she said.

“Of course it did,” Lainie said.

“Did you get a good look at whoever did it?” She paused and looked past her sister. Lainie knew that the tone of her words hadn’t matched what she’d meant to convey. The word whoever had come out slightly accusatory. She didn’t know why it did, but it did.

“You look tired,” Tori said.

“Hungry?” Lainie was, but she knew that her sister didn’t care about that. She’d asked only because it was the right thing to do. The expected thing.

“It was a long ride, ten times longer than necessary,” she said.

“But what about you? Are you feeling all right?”

“My injury is severe, of course, but not so much that I can’t manage.” Tori’s eyes glistened.

“Alex didn’t make it, and that’s the part that hurts so much. And I know that it will for a long time.” The two sisters were suddenly in the moment, the reason why they’d been brought back together. Lainie reached over and patted Tori’s hand. It felt cold, and she gripped it a little. Tori pulsed back. Lainie wanted her to warm up, be better.

“I’m so sorry, Tori,” she said, feeling sorrow for a man she’d never even met.

“Do you need me to call someone? Alex’s family?” Tori, her eyes dust-dry, looked at her sister, searching.

“He has a sister.”

“Parents?” Tori shook her head.

“No. Just a sister.”

“All right, a sister.” Lainie waited for more instructions, a name or a number. Something that would let her know what she was supposed to do. There was a coolness between the pair. Such an interaction wasn’t exactly foreign. At their greeting, there was no full-on embrace. It was more tentative, casual, almost impersonal. On the ride to Tacoma Lainie had let it pass through her mind that her sister would need her. Want her there. After all, she’d called her.

“What’s her name? Where does she live?” Tori’s eyes drilled into Lainie’s.

“I can’t stand her.” Lainie knew that meant that Alex’s sister couldn’t stand Tori.

“Okay. Why is that? Why can’t you stand her?”

“It’s complicated. But, yes, you need to let her know about Alex. Her name is Anne Childers. Husband is a sales manager or something. They live in Portland. One of the suburbs. Beaverton, I think.” Lainie could hardly believe her sister’s disclosure.

“You don’t know?”

“Not any more than I have to. Trust me. Anne is a bitch. But, yes, call her, tomorrow. She is family, after all.” Tori tenderly touched her thigh, indicating that she was in pain and the conversation was over.

“Let’s lock up,” she said, “and I’ll show you to your room so you can freshen up.” They walked across a blue, gold, and cream oriental carpet in the foyer. Tori seemed only a little hesitant in her gait, not in wincing pain as she had when she first appeared in the doorway. Lainie watched her sister tap out a code on the alarm system hidden behind a panel in the foyer.

“Did that go off the other night?” Lainie asked. Tori sighed.

“No, it didn’t. Alex must have forgotten to set it. He was always doing that. It’s amazing that I’ve survived this long.”

“It isn’t like you were suffering, Tori.”

“I’m sure it looks fine from your perspective. Your view of things was always a little cut-and-dried. You know, average.” It was meant to be another sucker punch to her psyche, given by a sister who probably wanted to see if she still had the ability to hurt. Tori never liked to waste time. Lainie shook it off.

“Are you afraid your attacker will come back?”

“Why should I be?” Tori shut the panel.

“You’re here.” The remark was unsettling, though it shouldn’t have been. It probably wouldn’t have been if they were any other pair of sisters. Lainie wondered if Tori was suggesting that since she had arrived, the assailant might become confused and snuff out the wrong twin.

“That’s right, I’m here.” She picked up her carry-on. They slowly walked up the grand staircase and down the Persian-rug-padded hallway to the first bedroom, dominated by an antique canopy bed. Tori pulled back the coverlet and drew the floor-to-ceiling moire silk drapes, the color of bloodred tulips, like the ones their mother had grown in pots on the back deck of their home in Port Orchard.

“Lainie, I’m so glad that you came.”

“Me, too,” Lainie said, watching her sister disappear into her bedroom just down the hall. Lainie dressed for bed, brushed her teeth. When she discarded a length of floss into wastebasket, a glint of foil caught her eye. It was square with a circular indentation. A condom wrapper. Whoever last stayed in the guest room had a lot more fun than I’m going to have, she thought. Under the covers in the old mahogany bed, Lainie scrolled through her e-mail messages. Her eyes were as tired as they’d ever been. Some messages—too many of them, really—were related to the job she was doing as a content provider for Media, Ink. Her production contact wanted to know if she’d be able to file an extra forty blurbs on Mexican vacation hot spots for a new site the company had recently launched. She fast-forwarded to the end of the message. She hated what her journalism experience had been reduced to. The last message was from Adam Canfield.

Hey Lainie! You know how I feel about your sister, so don’t say hi from me. I know this must be a rough time for her, but I don’t care about her. Hope you’re doing OK!!! Been lots of talk about Tori around here. Anyway, hope your sister is fat now. Call me when you can. Here’s a link to an article about what happened.

She clicked on it. It was from KING-TV, the NBC affiliate in Seattle. It linked to a video that didn’t want to download on her phone’s media player. She scrolled through the article.