Doors Close, Windows Open

Blind Spots

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks." William Shakespeare

"Amanda? Mandy! Wake up! You've got a call."

"What? What time is it?" I answered, pushing myself up from what had been a deep sleep.  The school bell ringing in my dream must have been the telephone.

"It's nine and you've been sleeping long enough.  Here, take the phone.  It's your sister."  Amber jumped on the bed, wagging her body now that I was finally awake. She gave me a quick lick and plopped down next to me, using my left thigh as a pillow. Since she hadn't bothered me earlier in the morning, Mom must have taken her for a walk.

"Gina?" I asked with disbelief. She and I hadn't spoken in ... one... two years? Other than nondescript greeting cards or Facebook comments on the rare pictures either of us posted, we did not talk. Our last conversation had ended badly.

Mom nodded her head and raised her eyebrows, shooting a look that said, "NOW!" I grabbed the phone as mom exited my room.  She was more agitated than usual, probably because anything having to do with Gina made her uncomfortable. 

"Hello? Gina?" I mumbled into the mouthpiece.

"Hey Mandy. How are things?" A loaded question I preferred not to answer.

"Things are fine. How 'bout you?" I stretched and tried to yawn away from the phone.

"Well, things here are fine too. Hey, I sent a birthday card but it came back address unknown.  Have you moved?  What are doing in Burnington?"

Of course Gina wouldn't know about The Amanda Disaster. My half-sister was over a decade and first wife removed from us. Long before I had been a twinkle in my dad's eye, he had come home early from work one day to surprise Wife #1 for lunch. Unfortunately, an intimate lunch had been on his wife's mind too, but not with him.  Dad's then wife and her lover never heard him enter the house.

I could easily imagine the heart stopping shock Dad must have felt when he opened his bedroom door to find his wife in bed with another man. Not just any other man, but a friend. From what little I had gathered from the scraps Dad had shared, he had stood in the doorway for several seconds before the twosome took notice. I could picture my thin, quiet dad, standing there like a cowboy seconds before a gunfight.  Without saying a word, he turned around and walked out.  Like father, like daughter, I thought.

His sister, my Aunt Mary and her son, cousin Jack, had gone over to collect his belongings after "That Piece of Work" was gone.  The betrayal was not something my dad would forgive.  He left his first love and daughter that day and never turned back. Five-year old Gina was bewildered. She came home from school that day, found her mother crying in a corner, and learned that daddy wasn't coming home. Ever, as it turned out. It wasn't until much later that Gina learned the truth, but by then, it was too late. Her anger toward her father and his desertion was not to be undone. None of us understood why he'd walked out on Gina. That was a sore subject not discussed. It was what it was, and we left it at that.

Dad sent child support checks, along with cards with cash for birthdays and Christmas, but did not make verbal contact with Gina until sometime after he'd married Mom.  Maybe it was mom who'd convinced him that he should talk to his eldest daughter.  Or, maybe Dad felt some paternal responsibility for daughter number one after having family number two.  Eventually, he did try to bring her into our family.  But those first few attempts were so awkward that perhaps we'd all have been better off if he'd waited until she was out of her tumultuous teens, and in her twenties... or thirties.

"Oh Gina, it's a long story. It would take a keg of beer to tell it all. But, bottom line, I don't live in Chicago anymore. Moved back to Burnington a few months ago. What's going on with you?" I had mastered the art of redirecting.