Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“Why the cloak and dagger?” Andrea says, dropping the letter onto the coffee table. “Why is he so evasive? He’s telling you something bad happened, but not what the something bad is. That’s designed to dig its hook into you and keep you in place.”
“I’m sure he had his reasons,” Diana says, though it’s difficult to understand what those reasons might be.
She stalks around the room, avoiding eye contact with her mother and sister and replaying Andrea’s words: Leaving you this letter to find like that?
It’s a sucker punch. Cruel, even. Diana feels raw, as if the bandage she carefully placed over the wound left by Tom’s death has been ripped off without her permission.
She stops at the French doors leading to the deck.
The darkness outside and light inside make it impossible for her to see anything other than her own reflection, rippled and dim.
“You’re a lot like him, acting secretive, hiding this from us,” Andrea says.
Diana wipes tears from her face. How is it that they still come? It’s impossible she can still produce them, that her body isn’t worn out from all the crying.
“Andie, so much of my life these past few years has been controlled by others,” she says, still looking at her reflection.
“By doctors, nurses, Tom, the kids. By you, Mom, and Dad. There was a time, after Tom died, when I needed you to take care of me, to get me out of bed and make me shower, to get me to work on time and remind me how to function in the world.” She chokes out the words.
“That’s not who I am anymore. This is my story, my life. It’s not yours to live.”
Andrea comes to Diana’s side and tries to embrace her, but Diana holds up a hand as if to stop her sister. “Don’t touch me,” she says, her voice brimming with hurt.
Her rejection flickers across Andrea’s face. “You’re right. We have been doing all of that these past few years,” her sister says, “living your life, taking care of you and your family. You’ve been everyone’s priority.”
“That’s not true,” Vivian says.
“It is. It’s always Diana first.”
“Andrea, your father and I love you both equally,” Vivian says. “We support you both, we care for you both. Where is this coming from?”
“Diana sucks all your time. Your decisions revolve around her.”
“Your sister has been through a terrible loss—”
“It’s been eighteen months, Mom. I thought it was getting better, that maybe Diana’s emotional well-being wouldn’t continue to be the engine that fuels this family.”
Diana turns around. “You can’t talk to Mom like this. Or me.”
“I’m done with my life being determined by your grief, Diana,” Andrea whispers.
“I know what I’m saying is harsh, and I’m sorry for that.
” Andrea reaches for her again, but Diana steps back.
Her sister’s voice rises in response. “You need to get rid of the delusion Tom was such a perfect guy. For God’s sake, he says in that letter that you’re the reason he never spoke about what he did.
That’s cruel. Leaving you a message like that—which is consuming your life—is such a Tom move. ”
“Such a Tom move?”
“Diana, can’t you see? Everything was about him. You catered to him. His needs, his wants, his preferences. And this family went along. No one else’s opinion mattered.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Andrea returns to the coffee table for her wine, finishing off her glass as Diana and Vivian watch.
“It was all the small things: what we ate for Family Dinner, what we talked about at dinner, which game we played after. Always Monopoly. Do you know Evan hates Monopoly? With a passion. Me too, yet anytime we suggested a different activity, Tom shot us down.”
“You’re mad about Monopoly?” Diana asks. She looks at her mother for help, but Vivian is staring at Andrea.
“Since the night you met Tom,” Andrea says, taking a deep breath, “every decision you’ve made has been for him. Not for yourself, not for anyone else in this family. Your career was second to Tom’s. Your dreams didn’t matter.”
Andrea mops her face on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, a sign she is deeply upset. She only cries when she gets mad, as if her emotional temperature has bubbled over like a pot on the stove, unable to be contained.
“I didn’t want him to die, Diana. For you and the kids, I wanted a miracle.
When he didn’t make it, I thought maybe you’d find your way again on your own.
That things would be better. Then you discover a letter from him that sets you on a wild-goose chase.
And you hide it from us! You’re consumed with finding out who he was and what he did.
The truth is right in front of you: He was selfish and self-absorbed, and even after his death, he’s still dictating your life and your choices. ”
Diana wants to scream at Andrea, to tell her to shut up, to slap her, to make her stop talking.
Except . . . is her sister right? Did she only ever make decisions that benefited Tom?
Did she lose her way? Not all of what Andrea said is true, but enough of it is that Diana can’t move, her feet glued to the floor.
She flattens her hand against the door, and the glass is cool against her palm.
“This attack of yours isn’t helpful, Andie.
I shouldn’t have told you anything about this. ”
“It’s time to put Tom behind you,” Andrea says. “To live your life for yourself.”
“Enough,” Vivian says. “Andrea, back to the sofa. Diana, come here. Please.”
Diana joins her mother in front of the fire, sitting at her feet.
“The letter is yours, Diana. The decisions related to it are also yours.” Vivian holds up a hand when Andrea attempts to interject. “Let it go, Andrea.”
Andrea folds her arms across her chest but remains silent.
“I have no idea what it’s like to lose a spouse,” Vivian continues, “though I do know what it’s like to disappoint the person you love the most, to forever change the way he perceives you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Maybe my experience will help you.” Vivian sighs, and as the air flows out of her body, she deflates, like a balloon days after a child’s birthday, the joy of the celebration gone forever. “I don’t drink alcohol because I’ve told you that I’m allergic—”
“You’re not allergic?” Diana interrupts, confused.
“That’s what I told you. But it’s not true.”