4. Tuesday, September 5, 2023
Alice
Alice does not do well with the in-between times—waiting in doctors’ offices, being stuck in traffic, that stretch in the dark right before she falls asleep. Her mind always travels to the night Lucy died. Mostly to the things she could have done differently.
The first one is Quinn. She wishes she had just told him to stay at the sleepover, that she’d pick him up in the morning according to the original plan.
When he called, she’d tried to convince him to stay, to give it a bit more time, but he was so adamant that he wanted to come home she’d finally just given in.
It was easier that way. Fighting them took so much out of her. Especially Quinn.
It had been a Friday. She’d had a long day.
Geoff was out that night having drinks with a former colleague, and Polly was getting ready for a party.
Lucy was in her room having a quiet night because she had an early-morning basketball game.
Alice had decided to open a bottle of wine, something she rarely did on her own, because she thought a glass in the bath might be nice.
It was. So, she’d poured herself another to have while watching a show on TV.
Then Lucy had come into the living room to say good night.
They got talking, as they often did, and Alice had poured herself one more glass.
When Quinn had called demanding to be picked up at 9:45 p.m., Lucy had overheard Alice telling him that she’d just finished her third glass of wine and couldn’t drive.
Lucy had motioned to her that she would go get him.
Alice had hesitated; she felt guilty that her daughter wouldn’t get to bed when she’d wanted to because Quinn was being difficult.
“Lucy is offering to come get you, but she has an early-morning game and was about to go to bed.”
“It’s only like thirty minutes out of her life,” he’d said. “Just tell her to come get me since you won’t.” He’d been rude, as if she’d been the one to change plans at the last minute.
“Fine,” Alice had said through gritted teeth. “She’ll leave now.” Words she would forever regret.
Polly had come into the room right at that moment, wearing a white crop top, a metallic-pink mini skirt—her long, tanned legs seeming even longer because of it—and pink Converse.
She had splashed glitter across her cheeks, bright-pink gloss on her lips, and she’d freshly washed and straightened her long brown hair.
She looked beautiful, and the sight of her had planted a pit of dread in Alice’s stomach.
What kind of trouble is she going to get into tonight? she’d wondered.
Polly grinned. “If you’re going somewhere, can I get a ride downtown? I don’t feel like taking the bus.”
Lucy had said yes, explaining that she could pick Quinn up on the way and then drop Polly downtown.
The timing of the pickup and drop-off meant Lucy wouldn’t be home for an hour instead of just thirty minutes.
Alice’s irritation grew to include Polly as a target.
Lucy was kind and accommodating and her siblings took advantage of it.
Hell, if she were being honest, Alice took advantage of it too.
Like right then.
Alice’s show had finished and she was putting her wineglass into the dishwasher when she got the call.
She’d just been thinking that even with some traffic, Lucy should have been home with Quinn by now.
At the first ring her mouth went dry. She remembers little.
Only that her girls had been in an accident, and she needed to get to the hospital.
That, and the police officer explained he had Quinn with him and was taking him to the hospital now.
No, Quinn wasn’t injured. Alice doesn’t remember asking how or why he had her son, but she does remember grabbing her purse and flying out of the front door, the fuzz of the three glasses of wine shocked out of her system by adrenaline.
She doesn’t remember calling Geoff from the car to tell him or leaving a message on her mother’s phone.
She doesn’t remember parking her car in the underground parking, checking in at the front desk, or how she got to the third floor, where they directed her.
All she remembers is the effort it took to breathe, the effort it took not to run red lights, and the buzzing of her body that made her want to tear her skin off.
She’d found Quinn sitting in a chair in a small waiting area outside the surgery unit.
His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his skin gray and clammy.
He was in shock. He said that he thought one of them was dead and Alice instinctively put a hand over his mouth and shushed him.
Told him he was wrong. When he began to sob, she pulled him against her chest and told him that everything was going to be okay.
God, how she regretted that too.
Geoff arrived clutching a plastic water bottle so hard that it emitted a horrible crunching sound that raked her eardrums. He was boozy but trying hard to fight it, widening his eyes and standing with his feet far enough apart so that he didn’t sway.
He kept telling Alice that he was sorry, but she wasn’t sure what for. Each time he said it, she forgave him.
It was to counter her own guilt for sending Lucy to pick up Quinn and for resenting both Quinn and Polly on Lucy’s behalf.
For going to see that divorce lawyer earlier in the day.
Not because she even knew that she wanted a divorce but because she didn’t know that she didn’t want one and was hoping the conversation might help her figure it out.
That night at the hospital, she decided the twins’ accident was punishment for considering breaking up the family.
Alice had been to the information desk three times before a police officer and a doctor finally approached them.
The officer gently asked if she and Geoff could come speak to them privately.
Even though she’d been asking for answers for the last forty minutes, she wanted to say no and run full-speed toward the exit.
Geoff took her hand and pulled it tight against his body.
She didn’t know if it was because he sensed her desire for escape or because he was resisting his own.
They were led to a nondescript office. Once they’d all filed in, the doctor closed the door.
There were chairs but nobody sat down. Instead they hovered behind them awkwardly.
The police officer spoke first, and Alice remembers the scent of menthol in the small room.
He had a cold. She could tell by the raspiness of his voice and the cough drop that clicked against his teeth.
Clocking those details almost made her miss what he was saying.
“We’re having a hard time telling the twins apart,” he explained. Suddenly, Alice understood that was why they hadn’t come to them with any information yet.
“Lucy’s about half an inch taller,” she explained, flashing back to all the times she’d helped teachers distinguish between her daughters: name tags, different outfits, hairstyles. “And Polly’s wearing a pink miniskirt and pink Converse.”
The police officer nodded, taking notes. “And do you know who was driving?” His pen was poised to record her answer.
“Lucy would have been driving,” Alice replied, a visual of her daughter with the keys in her hand flashing through her muddled brain.
The officer nodded again and wrote some things down. “And the tattoo? Which one has a tattoo of a constellation on their right hip?”
“Neither!” Alice had barked. The confusion had sparked hope in her. They had the wrong girls. It was all just one big misunderstanding. Alice started to tremble, and the doctor suggested that they both sit. Geoff, still holding her hand, pulled her down into one of the chairs.
She didn’t dare look at him. She knew they were thinking the same thing. Polly. Polly was the more likely of the two to get a tattoo.
The doctor then explained that the twin with the constellation tattoo had been rushed into emergency surgery for bleeding on the brain.
Her face was swollen and so badly banged up from the accident that it was hard to determine any features that would have helped to distinguish her from her sister.
Her clothes had been cut off at the scene to gain access to her right leg, which was broken, along with some ribs, and her clothes had been misplaced by the paramedics.
The police officer explained that the twin with the tattoo had been in the passenger seat of the car and had not been wearing a seat belt.
She’d been thrown from the car upon impact and hit her head.
That had caused the bleeding on the brain.
That’s when the doctor explained that she had undergone routine surgery to release pressure on the brain, and that though the surgery had been successful, they would need to keep her in a coma for up to a week.
Geoff took a deep shuddering breath. “Polly,” he said exhaling. “That would be Polly. We’re always reminding her about her seat belt, and she would be the one with the tattoo.” He shook his head. “Lucy would never get a tattoo.”
Alice was irritated at Geoff’s logical answer. At his ability to think clearly and his readiness to accept that their daughters had been hospitalized after a car accident.
“But then where’s Lucy?”
The police officer and the doctor exchanged a quick glance, a visual negotiation of who was going to deliver the next piece of information.
“No,” Alice spat, when the police officer cleared his throat.