Zimbabwe

Linda checked her watch. Marie was now 45 minutes late.

Linda had taken a seat by the diner window so she could keep an eye out for her sister. and dragging a shopping cart behind her, like a thousand others in the city.

She didn‘t see her yet. But she knew she was coming. Linda could sense her sister from a mile away. Her stomach would tighten and her blood pressure would soar. The few people who gave a thought to the odd woman on the street probably thought something like, Oh the poor thing. They had no idea what Marie was capable of.

During the long, agonizing years before she got her diagnosis, Marie did more damage to the family than their parents’ divorce ever did. The screaming fights every morning. Linda could not remember a day when she didn’t go to school feeling sick to her stomach and desperate to get away. The kleptomania- God, Marie would steal anything. Your babysitting money, your diary, your underwear, your one good outfit. Her terrible hand-eye coordination that cost the family broken stereo dials, broken china, broken everything.

Then later, the parade of guys with bad skin and idiotic grins. They’d show up when Mom was at work and disappear into the basement with Marie. Over time the basement acquired a permanent smell of pot and sex and Chanel No. 5- Marie had stolen the cologne from their mother one Christmas. Whenever Mom asked her about it she would scream that her mother was crazy.

It was better now. Marie had drugs and doctors and some semblance of a normal life. She lived in a group home, she had friends. She even had a boyfriend, an older disabled man who still lived with his mother. Marie’s life now was probably as good as it was ever going to get.

She looked out the window and scanned the street again. After a long, bitter winter and a too-short spring, summer was finally here. Banks of flowers were for sale in front of the grocery stores, and women shopped in light skirts that wafted with the breeze. It was a pretty scene.

She checked her watch. Fifty-five minutes late. If Linda had grown up in a normal, healthy family, she might start worrying around now—is she all right? Did something happen to her? But keeping Linda waiting was an old gambit of Marie’s. A power play. Marie liked to keep people on edge. Should Linda dare to complain, Marie would launch into the litany of buses she had taken to get into town. “It’s not my fault they took my license away!”

Of course it is, Linda thought. You tried to mow down those handicapped kids who were crossing the street to their school, remember? I had to throw myself on the principal’s mercy just to keep you out of jail.

She should never have let Marie have her old car. It really was true that no good deed ever goes unpunished.

There she was. A middle-aged woman, slightly stooped, her wild grey hair covered with a kerchief, she was trying to get her shopping cart through the diner’s revolving doors. Of course, this was causing a miniature traffic jam. “Poor old thing!” a woman at a nearby table murmured. “She must feel so lost!”

Don’t you believe it, lady, Linda thought. She knows damn well she should have used the other door. But how would that get your attention?

Linda took a deep breath, and another. She had to be calm. One false move and Marie would leave in a huff.

“Oh. There you are.” Marie sounded annoyed already. “I thought we agreed you’d sit by the door.”

“There were no tables by the door. Besides, this way we can enjoy the scenery.”

“Third Avenue is not my idea of scenery,” Marie said drily. She folded her hands on the cheap laminate tabletop. “So. To what do I owe the honor?”

Linda had seen her sister two weeks ago, so the insinuation- you neglect me- was moot. “Well, I was thinking we could have a cup of coffee first. But if you insist on getting down to business—”

“I do,” Marie said. She added loftily, “You may not have anything better to do but I have. So please don’t waste my time.”

Don’t do it, Linda told herself. No matter how obnoxious Marie gets, don’t lose your temper. That’s exactly what she’s gunning for. “Okay,“ Linda said with forced calm. “I got a call from the bank.”

That got her sister’s attention. “What did they want?”

Linda sighed. “Come on, Marie. Don’t play dumb with me. Mom gave you her ATM card.”

Marie said nothing.

“I saw her yesterday,” Linda continued. “I went to the retirement home. She said she gave you the card to one of her old accounts. The bank called. Someone’s been making large withdrawals.”

“It wasn’t me,” Marie mumbled.

“Oh, Marie, for God’s sake—”

“It wasn’t me!”

Heads turned. Linda’s heart raced. The last thing she wanted to do was trigger an outburst. “Shh! Not so loud!”

Marie’s coffee arrived. She gave the girl a gracious smile. Thank you, dear.”

The waitress smiled and left. Marie could be charming when she felt like it.

Linda let Marie sip her coffee for a moment. Then she said, “OK, so if it wasn’t you, who else could it have been?”

Marie played with her spoon. “Billy,” she said finally.

“What?”

Heads turned again. The man behind the counter gave Linda a warning look.

Linda counted to ten. But her anger only grew.

“Are you telling me,” she said in a fierce whisper, “that you gave your boyfriend Mom’s ATM card? You gave him the PIN?”

Marie looked out the window.

“Marie!”

Marie looked at her sister again. “I didn’t give it to him.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “I just let him borrow it sometimes.”

Linda dropped her head into her hands. “Marie,” she groaned. “Billy’s a gambling addict. You know that. You can’t give him money!”

“Look who’s calling who an addict,” Marie sneered.

Linda stiffened. “I have been clean for a year,” she said evenly. “And Mom’s old account. is down to twenty thousand dollars.”

At that, Marie started. “Twenty thousand? But- there was fifty grand in that account!”

“Not anymore.”

Marie stood up and reached into her shopping cart. She pulled out a massive purse and dug out a small black notebook. “I told him,” she said, “that the only thing I asked was that every time he made a withdrawal he had to mark it down in the book. Look, see? The list starts here and—”

She stopped. She went pale.

Linda frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Marie held up the book. Half the pages were torn out.

Marie sat down slowly. She turned her gaze to the window again.

Linda waited.

For a long while Marie just sat there, looking at a patch of sky. A dreamy expression came over her face. “Summer at last,” she murmured. “I thought it would never come. How lovely the sky is in the summer. Don’t you think it’s beautiful?”

“Sure,” Linda said wearily.

Marie sighed wistfully. “’To see the summer sky is poetry,’” she quoted, “’ though never in a book it lie.’”

The verse went through Linda like a knife. When she was in sixth grade Marie had fallen in love with Emily Dickinson. In two weeks she memorized every single one of the Belle of Amherst’s poems. That’s how brilliant her sister had been, before this vicious bastard of an illness stole her youth, her gifts, her chance for normal human happiness. What kind of a God would—

Stop, Linda told herself sternly. Don’t go down that rabbit hole again. You’ve wasted way too much time in it already.

She reached into her purse and pulled out a tissue.

“I just wanted to make him happy,” Marie was saying. “Billy gets so discouraged sometimes. Between the Parkinson’s and the tracheotomy and the—” She turned her eyes- they were still a beautiful blue, a blue that even time and schizophrenia couldn’t ravage- towards Linda again. “I just wanted to cheer him up,” she said simply.

Linda shook her head. “You can’t cheer him up that way.” She reached across the table and laid her hand on Marie’s. “You do know that, right?”

Marie nodded sadly.

“Okay,” Linda said. “Now, do you have the card with you?”

Marie nodded again.

“Good,” said Linda. “Give it to me for now.”

Marie dug in her purse again. After what seemed like an eternity, she found the card and handed it to her sister.

“Great,” Linda said. “So here’s what we’re going to do. The money Billy took is gone. But we can stop him from stealing any more. Tomorrow I’m going to call the bank and cancel this card. The bank will mail us a new one in a couple of weeks. When it comes I’ll call you. But I’m going to hang onto it, all right? If you need cash you call me. I’ll get you whatever you need, but only if you promise me you won’t give another penny to Billy. Will you do that?”

Marie nodded again. “I promise,” she whispered.

Linda held out her hand. “Pinkie swear?”

Marie gave her a faint smile. She held out her pinkie and intertwined it with her sister’s. “Pinkie swear.” Then Marie leaned forward. “Should we say the secret password?” she whispered. “You know, to make it stick?”

Linda lifted an eyebrow. “You still remember it?”

“Absolutely! I use it for everything!”

“Okay.” Linda smiled. “On the count of three: one, two three—”

“Zimbabwe,” they said together. Then they laughed. “Zimbabwe” had always seemed like the funniest word to them!

The waitress returned. “Can I get you ladies anything else?”

Linda looked at Marie. “You want anything?”

“Oh. No, no.” Marie struggled to her feet. “I’ve got to run, actually. Billy’s taking me to the Golden Corral for dinner. I’ve got to go home and change.”

Linda smiled. “Well, have fun. Tell Billy I said hi.”

“I will.” Marie gave her a little wave and left.

Linda watched her sister walk down the street, dragging her cart behind her. Pedestrians gave her a wide berth and looked away.

She toyed with the ATM card. ZIMBABWE. She pulled her phone and touched the buttons: 9,4,6,2,2,2,9,3. Eight digits for a PIN.

Then she punched in a number.

“Chino? It’s me. I have your money. Yes, all of it. And I want to make another transaction, too. Good. Great. I’ll see you at the usual place.”

She dropped a few dollars on the table and left.