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  Good riddance, Ellen thought, not missing the irony. She pasted the article onto the page with a bit more force than necessary. Just as she was returning the swollen scrapbook to its drawer in the sideboard, thinking she’d soon have to get a new one, the phone ran. The wall clock said 12:24. Smiling, Ellen picked up the receiver. "Hi, sweetie."

  "I always knew you were psychic," came the familiar voice. "Then again, who else would be calling you at this time of night, right?"

  "I’m glad you called. I was too excited to sleep, anyway. You just getting home from the club?"

  "Yeah. The roads are a bitch-and-a-half. I practically had to crawl. Fender-benders everywhere. I was getting worried they might start canceling flights; I’d go nuts if they did. But the weatherman says sunny and clear for tomorrow, so everything’s a go."

  "Great. I was getting a little concerned myself. Oh, Gail, I can’t wait to see you. This is going to be the best Christmas ever. We’ve got so much to celebrate."

  "Yeah, the Morgan girls haven’t done too bad for themselves, considering."

  "Especially Gail Morgan," Ellen said, smiling into the phone and thinking she just might break her cardinal rule and break open a bottle of champagne so they could toast Gail’s success—maybe even a few times.

  "Thanks, Ellen. I couldn’t have done it without you, and I mean that. Oh, I can’t wait to get there. It’ll be kind of like it used to be. Remember how we used to lie in bed and talk half the night?"

  "I remember."

  There was a pause. Then a solemn, quieter Gail said, "I wasn’t thinking about when we lived with Mom and Dad. I was thinking about those two rooms you rented on Albert Street so you could spring me from the home."

  "I know you were." Ellen was flung back in time. She was seventeen again, sitting in the hard-backed chair in the visitor’s room of the Evansdale Home, with its dark green tiled floor, and the air smelling of creosote and something else Ellen could not define, something that made it hard to breathe. Miss Layton, her teacher, had come for moral support, and was sitting beside her. She patted Ellen’s hands, clutched in her lap, white-knuckled against her blue plaid skirt.

  Ellen had barely recognized the small gray figure that stepped so tentatively into the room, eyes questioning, yet accepting. Behind her, the stern-faced matron was steeled for the first sign of trouble, ready to spring into action.

  There would be no need. Gail stood before them, before those who would decide her life, hands clasped politely in front of her—a good little girl, bearing little resemblance to the sassy, spirited sister Ellen remembered. And then those blue eyes were gazing into hers, filling with a shy, cautious hope that wrenched Ellen’s heart.

  "Hi, Ellie." She smiled. In the face of all that had happened, she smiled.

  At first, Ellen feared they were not going to let her take Gail, but Miss Layton had vouched for Ellen, said she was a responsible and capable young woman and both girls would be quite fine, and that, after all, was the objective, wasn’t it? Unless Gail was being held prisoner for some wrongdoing? In the end, they could think of none, and so they had, however reluctantly, released Gail into Ellen’s care. Ellen had often wondered since if her teacher had signed something saying she would accept responsibility if anything went wrong. And yet, though they always exchanged Christmas cards, Ellen had rarely seen Miss Layton after she dropped them off in front of their building that day.

  "That was such a dump," Ellen said, when Gail brought her back to the present. "Remember how we had to share a common bath with the rest of the tenants, and how that awful landlady was always screaming at everyone to turn off the hall lights? And, God, that awful lime-green hallway—remember how it always reeked of pee and wet plaster?"

  "You made Kraft Dinner that first night," Gail said. "It was the best meal I ever ate. And those two rooms on Albert Street were better than any mansion."

  Ellen swallowed against the lump in her throat. "I’m so proud of you, Gail."

  "Yeah, me too. Hey, when are you gonna make your own dream happen and open that private practice you always talk about?"

  "One of these days. You’ll be my inspiration."

  "You know what they’re saying? They’re calling me the overnight sensation. Can you believe it? Here I’ve been singing my little heart out for the past eight years with hardly anyone noticing, and suddenly they’re talking about the new kid on the block getting the big break, like I haven’t paid my dues."

  "I seriously doubt that you’ve ever sung with no one noticing. And keep in mind, dear sister, that some people struggle their entire lives for that big break, and it never happens. So be gracious in victory," she admonished gently.

  "Oh, I am, Sis, believe me, I’m not complaining. Well, I suppose in a way I am, but... oh, you know. God, it was such a good night at the club tonight. The audience was so great. This sweet little woman actually danced her partner right up to the stage so she could give me the ‘thumbs up’ sign. People have been terrific. I can’t describe to you the feeling I get when everything is right on—the waves of love that go back and forth—it’s kind of like flying, you know?" Gail chattered on in that breathless, excited way she had even as a kid, sometimes requiring no answer at all. Ellen was smiling into the phone, enjoying Gail’s own enjoyment of her success, caught off guard when Gail asked suddenly, "So how’s it going with you and Paul?"

  "I’m not sure. He’s gone off to Eastport to visit his parents for the holidays." She felt a pang of guilt. He’d been gone four days now, and she’d hardly given him a thought. Maybe because she just needed a little breathing room.

  "What do you mean, you’re not sure?"

  "He’s pressing for a deeper commitment. He says my problem is I’m comparing all men to Ed. When I stop doing that I’ll realize we belong together."

  "Is he right?"

  "I don’t know. Maybe. I’m just not sure I want to get seriously involved with anyone right now. I’m not even sure I can."

  "So tell him that."

  "I did. He’s not listening. Hey, let’s not talk about Paul, anymore, okay? I want to hear more about you."

  "Never mind changing the subject. Listen, maybe you’re not giving the guy a fair chance. Why don’t you just flow with it, see where it goes?"

  "I’ll think about it."

  Not that Paul was unattractive, quite the contrary. Tall and handsome with a neatly trimmed beard that lent him an air of distinguished authority, women were drawn to him. Ellen had not been an exception.

  Paul Henderson was one of four psychologists, including Ellen, who worked at the clinic. A colleague. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to be going out with someone she worked with. It had started out as an innocent lunch. He’d said he wanted to discuss one of his cases with her, get her opinion. And then he’d bought those tickets to see Les Miserables, and after he’d spent so much money, how could she possibly refuse. Not that she’d really wanted to.

  Paul had a way of looking at you that made you feel you were the most important person in the world, which, of course, was partly what made him so good at his job. Yet Ellen couldn’t help wondering, and not for the first time, if maybe Paul didn’t encourage a little hero-worshipping in his female clients. More than once, she’d glimpsed a pretty big ego behind those intelligent eyes.

  Thoughts of Paul faded as she listened to Gail telling her that her roommate, Sandi, a willowy, incredibly beautiful girl whom Ellen had met once and liked immediately, was also off visiting her parents for the holidays. Sandi was a model. "You know," Gail was saying, "It’s been kind of nice having the place all to myself. I can walk around in the buff if I like. I don’t have to worry about—" She broke off in mid-sentence. "Hello! Is someone there? Hold on a second, Ellen."

  The line went silent and alarm raced along Ellen’s nerve endings. It seemed forever until Gail was back on the line, saying fondly, "It was just Tiger—crazy cat. I forgot to feed him and he was letting me know in no uncertain terms."

  Ellen let
out the breath she’d been holding. She couldn’t stop herself from asking, "Are your doors locked?" and heard the indulgent smile in her sister’s answer. "Yes, Mommy, my doors are locked—double locked, in fact. Windows, too. But I love you for worrying."

  ~ * ~

  Upstairs, Ellen set about making up the other twin bed. This time tomorrow night, Gail would be in it. She could have waited until morning to make it up, but she was still feeling restless. She’d splurged on candy-striped sheets and pillowcases, and bought a pretty pale green satin puff to match the one on her own bed.

  A bouquet of yellow roses was centered on the small, wicker table by the door. Off-white walls, soft lighting from milky globes, splashes of green provided by hanging plants and an assortment of pillows all conspired to give the room a bright, airy feel. For a long time she’d kept everything just as it was when Ed was alive. She’d found comfort in being surrounded by those things they’d shared together. It had made it easier to pretend he was still with her. But now she needed to create a space of her own. It was time to let go of the past.

  Ellen wandered to the window, one of two overlooking the dense, piney woods behind the house. She could see only blackness outside, a faint silhouette of the tree outside her window, and her own ghostly reflection in the glass.

  Turning from the window, she stood uncertainly. There was something she must do. Something important she’d forgotten but she couldn’t think what it was. The turkey was in the freezer, all the fixings for their Christmas dinner bought. No Kraft Dinner this time.

  Finally, taking off her robe and stepping out of her slippers, Ellen crept between the cool sheets and waited for sleep to come. But her mind was not easy, as it had not been easy all day, and for a long time she lay listening to the house settling, to the howling wind outside, and tried to still the nagging sense of foreboding within her.

  Five

  After hanging up the phone, Gail slipped out of her white, strapless dress. Draping it carefully over a wooden hanger and covering it with the plastic bag from the cleaners, she hung it up in the closet and closed the door.

  With a little sigh, she picked up her cup of tea by the phone and took a sip. It had gone lukewarm and she made a face, accompanied by a small sound of disgust. Setting the cup back down in its saucer, it rattled a little as a yawn overtook her. She was starting to wind down. Good, that meant she would sleep. She glanced down at the packed bags on the floor at the foot of the bed—a happy, reassuring sight. Her Christmas gifts to Ellen were stacked on the chair, all gaily wrapped, topped with bright, shiny bows. All but the last one, but she’d get to that in the morning.

  Stifling another yawn and wondering how in hell she was going to lug all this stuff out of the house, she perched on the edge of the bed, toed off her silver high-heeled sandals and peeled off her pantyhose. Leaving them on the floor where she’d dropped them, clad only in her strapless bra and white silk half-slip, she padded to the vanity, where she sat down and switched on the lamp. She began taking out her rhinestone—albeit "very good" rhinestone earrings. The beige tweed carpeting felt soft and soothing under her bare feet, and she indulged them in a little massage.

  And then Gail’s feet grew still as she sniffed the air, thinking she smelled cigarette smoke. But since neither she nor Sandi smoked, she must be imagining it. Unless she’d brought the smell home in her clothes and hair. Gross. After a moment, she forgot about it, caught up in thoughts of her sister and the wonderful time they were going to have together.

  Ellen would love what she’d gotten her, Gail thought, setting the earrings on the vanity top and picking up the brush, bringing it slowly and absently through her fair, shoulder-length hair. Especially the teal blue suit she’d spotted in Sybil’s today and hadn’t been able to resist. With her classy looks and those blue eyes—bluer even than Gail’s, like sapphires—she’d be a knockout. Paul will be mightily impressed, she thought, grinning to herself. One thing you had to say for him, he had great taste. He sounded so different from Ed—dear, sweet Ed who had treated her as she’d always imagined a big brother would, and who had clearly adored her sister. Not that they didn’t have their spats. She didn’t know what would happen with Paul, but for Gail, it was enough that Ellen had rejoined the human race.

  Continuing to brush her hair, Gail launched into her favorite fantasy about the day she’d be in a position to buy Ellen a new white Ferrari. She’d have it delivered right up to the door, a big red bow tied on the antenna. And she had no doubt whatever that that day would come. Gail was firmly convinced that you could get whatever you wanted in this world if you wanted it badly enough and were prepared to be single-minded about it.

  Even so, it was hard to believe it really was all happening for her, that finally all the dedication, all the hard work, was paying off.

  Ellen’s birthday was coming up in May. She was a Gemini, the sign of the twins. Maybe she’d get the car in time for Ellen’s birthday, she thought, laying the brush down and smiling dreamily, imagining the joyous surprise on her sister’s face at the sight of her very own showroom-new Ferrari in the drive.

  Dream on, girl, she told herself, grinning at her reflection in the mirror.

  Tiger padded into the room just then, stopping once to wash his face, then winding his sleek, warm body around her bare ankles, first in one direction, then the other, purring the whole time like an old washing machine.

  "I owe her so much, Tiger," Gail said, reaching down to stroke the cat’s soft, glossy fur. "If it wasn’t for—"

  Suddenly, Tiger’s back arched under her hand and he hissed, making Gail’s heart, and her hand draw back as if it had been burned. "Shit, cat, you scared me! What the—?"

  But Tiger, fur standing on end, had already fled the room while his bewildered, shaken mistress turned her chair just in time to see his electrified, retreating tail.

  And then she caught a movement from the corner of her eye. Turning, she froze at the sight of the closet door slowly opening.

  ~ * ~

  Three hundred miles away in Evansdale, Maine, Myra Thompson lay asleep in the darkened room beside her husband, Carl. Myra whimpered in her sleep, and though her husband muttered some incoherent, sympathetic response, and laid a gentle arm about her waist, he did not wake.

  Ellen had been right about the wine helping Myra get to sleep, but not in imagining it would hold the nightmares at bay.

  ~ * ~

  Across town, in an old Victorian house, an old woman lay on filthy sheets, her unwashed hair spread on the pillow like gray seaweed, framing her gaunt face. Hollowed eyes gleamed in the darkness.

  On the beside table, a tray of rotting food was set just out of reach of the claw-like hand that clutched at the blanket covering her. But it was not food she wanted just now.

  "Al-vin," the raspy, witchy voice called out in the silence. Her throat was raw from calling. She’d sleep now and then, wake to call again. She’d been calling for a long time. Now, finally, her bladder let go and the stench of urine was added to the already putrid smell of the room.

  Tears of rage and helplessness filled the old woman’s eyes, ran down the parchment dry cheeks.

  ~ * ~

  In the bedroom of the semi-basement New York apartment, he knelt over the still, white form, artist’s brush in hand. Carefully, he drew the red-tipped brush over her mouth, which was slightly open, revealing small, perfect teeth.

  After several minutes, he settled back on his haunches to appraise his work. A few more final touches. "There," he said at last, pleased at the results. "Finished. Now you look more like yourself. The real you." He gave an ugly laugh. The laugh died as suddenly as he became aware that his cheek was on fire where the bitch had raked him with her long nails. He put his fingertips there, and they came away with his blood.

  "Bitch," he hissed. "Whore." He drew his hand back and slapped her full-force across the face, a purely satisfying sound in the silence. Her head lolled to one side. But his fury was not yet abated.

/>   Slowly, he began to undo his belt buckle.

  Six

  The day dawned clear and sunny. Ellen was on the road by nine o’clock, more than two hours before Gail’s flight was due in. She couldn’t wait in the house any longer.

  She glanced at the LOTS FOR SALE signs along her road as she drove. Soon, she wouldn’t know this place. According to the paper, land development would begin this spring. Now, after last night’s snow, it was picture-postcard pretty. But she knew she wouldn’t mind having neighbors. It would be nice to look out her window and see children flying down the hill on their sleds and toboggans, hearing their shrieks of fearful delight, bright scarves trailing like banners behind them.

  It had been different when Ed was alive. Born one of seven and raised in a tenement flat, this place was his dream, and she had been more than happy to share it with him. They had gone on picnics, taken long walks through the woods, armed with cameras. She had never failed to be awed by the unexpected sight of a deer, a bushy-tailed red fox, or a rabbit quivering in their path. But she knew these were not things she would be doing on her own. Nor with anyone else, for that matter. That time belonged to her and Ed. And though she would never lose her appreciation of the beauty of the land, the isolation no longer held the same appeal for her.

  ~ * ~

  The sun glinted hard off the airport window, through which, less than fifteen minutes ago, a crowd had stood watching the descent of flight 267. Now, only Ellen remained to gaze up at the vast expanse of blue sky—a sky that was empty of planes at the moment, with only wisps of dispersing jet stream to mar the blueness. She could feel the vibration of a jet engine starting up, its awesome power thrumming on the polished floor beneath her feet.

  What are you waiting for, she asked herself. Gail’s plane had already landed. She wasn’t on it. Feeling vaguely the way she had the time she’d gotten separated from her mother in Woolworth’s department store, Ellen shifted her bag to her other shoulder, glanced behind her, half-expecting to see people staring at her as they had stared then.