My Sister's Voice by Mary Carter

He brushed past her and grabbed his keys from a hook by the door.
    “I’ll be at the studio,” Lacey said. Alan didn’t turn around. For the first time in six years, he left without kissing her good-bye.
     
    The minute Lacey pulled up to the warehouse, a feeling of calm settled over her. She couldn’t say the same thing for Rookie, who was vibrating as if he’d lapped up twenty bowls of Red Bull. For a moment Lacey was jealous of her dog. Had she ever been that excited over anything? Rookie jumped on her and licked her face. Must be nice, she thought as she planted a kiss on his nose. Then again, a dog’s life probably wasn’t the one for her. She’d never been one for sitting, shaking, or kissing butt.
    She hated upsetting Alan, she hated that he left without kissing her good-bye, she hated that she was keeping secrets. But she just wasn’t ready to talk about this. She had to read Margaret’s letter alone. Only when she knew exactly what she was dealing with could she open up to Alan. It doesn’t matter what the letter says, she told herself as she and Rookie made their way to the studio. I have a good life. A job I like. A man I love. And of course a hyperactive puggle . The letter can’t change that. It can’t change anything.
    Once inside, Rookie took off, zooming across the floor until he was nothing but a gyrating wheel of fur in the distance. Lacey knew he would run himself into oblivion and eventually tucker out on the La-Z-Boy chair. Lacey headed straight for the leather couch. She sat down and removed the letter from her purse. Her heart was pounding. She placed her hand over it. I should have bought a bottle of Johnny Walker, Margaret . If I don’t feel like toasting you after reading this, I could at least get smashed . She took a deep breath and opened the letter.

    My Dearest Lacey,
    It was so good to see you after all these years. And yes, as you already know, you have a twin. She’s identical to you except that she is not hearing impaired .

    Deaf. All this time and Margaret still didn’t get that Lacey wanted to be called Deaf—

    She was kept in the car when you were dropped off, but I could see her in the backseat. Both of you were carrying on something awful. You were three years old but you were fighting like a tiger, biting and clawing everyone in sight.

    Three years old? So much for the baby in the basket. So that was the truth behind her “lost” baby pictures. Margaret said they’d been ruined in a flood.

    I know you were led to believe that your biological parents had passed away. I’m so sorry, Lacey. I don’t know where they are now, or if they’re still alive, but they were the ones who dropped you off .

    Her biological parents? Her biological parents? Lacey put the letter down. “Rookie,” she screamed, not bothering to clap. “Rookie!” He came racing over so fast he tripped on her feet and landed belly up on the floor in front of her. She picked him up and held on to him, burying her face in his fur. He smelled like corn chips. He licked her face. My biological parents kept my twin sister and dropped me off at Hillcrest ? My biological parents?
    She’d wondered about them over the years, of course; every orphan played the Who Are My Parents game.
    They were Russian spies. It tore out their hearts to give her away, but the CIA was closing in on them, they had to go home, and they didn’t want to subject their delicate, newborn infant to harsh Russian winters and lukewarm Stroganoff. Although they could have hidden all their secret gadgets in her diaper bag—
    They were young and in love and died tragically right after she was born. Her handsome father wheeled her mother out of the hospital and opened the back door of their Volvo. He gingerly took Lacey out of her mother’s hands and called to a nurse walking past, just beginning her shift. “Here,” he said handing Lacey over. “Hold this for just a sec.” Then he lifted her mother out of the