My pace steady and my heart racing, I approached the gallery at the end of the hall. A woman in a green coat sat gazing up at an immense impressionist painting. I kept my eyes focused intently on her, expecting her to vanish at any moment.
I’d come close to catching her before. For three years she’d danced across the map, caught up in some tarantism of her own creation. I’d pursued her through the Italian countryside in a sleek sports car; across the North Sea on a packed ferry; on a bicycle over the cobblestone streets of Amsterdam; and once even on the back of a camel somewhere near Cairo. For three years we’d been competing in a gymkhana for two and this is the closest I’d come to catching her.
I stepped through the threshold of the gallery and still the woman in the green coat sat examining the painting. I took another step towards her and cleared my throat. “Babette?”
“Hello, little sister.” She didn’t turn around, but I could hear the smile in her voice. “You’ve been extremely sedulous in your pursuit. You’re to be commended.”
My breath caught in my throat and my eyes teemed (pullulate) with tears. “Why, Babette?” I choked out. “Why did you run away? Mother died and a week later you split (bifurcate) the family fortune in two and ran off, leaving me to fend for myself.”
Babette turned over her shoulder and patted the spot next to her on the bench. “Come sit, Tallula, and I’ll explain everything.”
I held my ground, not wanting to give into her request.
She sighed and her face softened. “I know you’re angry, but please let me explain. I promise I didn’t do this just to be unregenerate.”
I seethed, but my curiosity won out. Refusing to meet her eyes, I stepped around the bench and sat down. We sat in the quiet of the gallery, side by side, staring up at the painting. In the lull, I let myself relish in having my sister by my side once again. I hated her for what she’d put me through, I’d missed her.
“From the moment we were born,” Babette began, eyes on the painting, “she was grooming us to be carbon copies of her. When she was gone, we would move into the family home, lunch at her table at the club, attend the same society parties she had, we would marry men just like Daddy. In a word, we would carry on her life and legacy once she was gone.”
I swallowed. It was true; we both knew it. Even from my earliest memories Mother had been crystal clear in her expectations for our lives.
“When she got sick,” she continued, “I knew we both had a choice to make. Either we could live the lives she’d plotted out for us or we could live our own lives.”
“You made your choice,” I muttered, swallowing past the lump in throat.
“Yes, Talulla, I did.” She turned to face me. “But, I couldn’t -” she stopped, uncertain. “In the end you didn’t have a choice. Mother had manipulated and indoctrinated you to the point that you no longer knew who you were or what you wanted.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but Babette held up her hand. “You’d stopped arguing with her years ago, stopped rebelling before you’d even had a chance to rebel.” She grabbed my hand in both of hers. “You were going to choose to become Mother’s copy. I couldn’t let that happen without you experiencing all the world had to offer first.”
The meaning of her words struck me like a blow. Memories of the past three years flood my mind. Mind boggling sites, chatting with strangers over exotic foods, dancing late into the morning, the beautiful men I’d taken back to my ever changing hotel rooms. I’d lived more life in the past three years than I had in the decades that had preceded them. “You did this for me.”
“Yes, Talulla.” She smiled wickedly. “Well mostly for you. I did manage to have a bit of fun myself.” Her face grew serious. She dropped my hands and reached into the bag at her feet. “And now that you’ve had the chance to live a little,” she handed me a thick heavy envelope, “you can make an informed decision about what kind of life you want.”
I stared down at the envelope my hands. This is why I’d chased Babette across the globe.
Without opening it, I knew what it contained. Keys to the safety deposit box, deeds, Mother’s last will and testament: everything I needed to get back to the life Mother had planned for me.
My decision was clear. I slipped the envelope into my bag and turned to Babette. “I saw a cute little place around the corner. How about we go grab a bite and a drink? I’m dying to hear about your travels.”
A wide grin bloomed on Babette’s face. “Not nearly as much I’m dying to hear about yours, little sister.”
Alona's Writing Corner 