Chapter 3

THREE

OCTOBER 2019

Monday

The hum of movement and voices downstairs caught Callie's attention, as she sat at Pam's old desk, the wooden jewelry box still in front of her. It sounded like a lot of people were showing up. Callie couldn't even count how many times Pam had mentioned on the phone that she was going to deliver soup to a friend with the flu, or drive to the service station to pick up a neighbor whose car popped a tire. She was always the one to pick up medicine or groceries for an elderly neighbor who didn't drive, or a fellow teacher who was stuck at home with a sick child.

With a sigh, Callie looked down at her lap. She couldn't deny that Pam had always been generous with her time and her love. She was good to people, and that was why so many were here today. Callie pictured herself back in Philadelphia these last three weeks, alone in her apartment, with no job and no friends yet. She'd even begun to regret her impulsive decision to move, despite still believing that it was the right decision. Pam must have suspected this was the way Callie would feel, and she'd tried to open Callie's eyes during that last phone call before Callie left New York. But as usual, Pam had sounded so accusatory. Judgy and demanding. At least that's how it had always seemed to Callie, even from way back:

"Why do you need to go so far away to college? There are plenty of good ones close by."

"Why get a job in Manhattan? You can work and live right here in town."

And then, in one last-ditch effort before Callie said goodbye and continued to pack up her apartment:

"There's something going on that you're not telling me. You've never sounded so confused before. Don't move to Philadelphia. Whatever's wrong, we can work it out at home."

Callie had never wanted to listen to Pam's observations or face her disappointment in her decisions. She had hated that polite yet unending pressure Pam could apply, which made her feel like she was in a tiny room without windows. She'd convinced herself that Pam was too sheltered and unsophisticated to understand her. And she'd resisted allowing Pam's words to penetrate, because to do that, she'd have to deny her instincts and become someone else. A Pam clone. A mini Pam.

Callie turned back to the objects from the box. The news that Pam had been planning a trip to Italy for the two of them didn't make sense. If this trip had something to do with their family, their grandparents, whose wedding picture had been taken from the living room and inserted into the box with the menu card and train schedule, then surely Pam would have mentioned it to Callie. Surely she would have reached out long ago. Pam was so methodical. She never did anything on the spur of the moment. It was one of the aspects of her personality that drove Callie crazy.

So why had Pam done all this so secretively? Had she, too, felt the chasm growing between them? Did she think finding out the truth about what happened to their grandmother would bring them back together? When they were young, they had promised each other they'd get to the bottom of their grandparents' story. Not just that one night after they'd returned from California, but several times later as well. And the more time that passed, the more questions they had—questions whose answers seemed even more unattainable once their grandparents had died. How had their grandparents even met? What had happened to their families back in Italy? How had this Emilia person saved them? And most puzzling, what was the mistake that had reduced their grandmother to tears that day among the sequoias?

Callie hadn't thought about those questions for years. But now she remembered them. And her heart ached at the thought of what Pam had planned, the lengths she'd gone to, just to reunite with her younger sister and fulfill the promise they'd made to one another so long ago.

The voices downstairs were growing louder, the front door repeatedly opening and closing. Callie knew she should go downstairs to accept people's condolences and thank them for coming. It wasn't right to leave it all to Joe. She couldn't imagine how Joe must be feeling. He had lost the love of his life, and now he was going to be a single parent. If anyone had the right to be sitting upstairs alone feeling awful, it was him. Not her. Because she'd been such a bad sister for so long.

She closed the box and placed it back into the bottom drawer of the desk. She couldn't possibly catch the flight that Pam had booked—it was due to leave in a few minutes. So what would she do with all this information and these gathered items now?

She considered this question before shutting the drawer. Her thoughts of Pam had been so negative for so long—the nagging, the judgment, the slights. But the wooden box, and what it represented, now spurred her to recall the good moments. The loving memories.

Like the day the big snowstorm hit. She was six, and Pam sixteen, and their parents were an hour away at one of her father's business functions. That's when the unexpected storm blew in. Stuck home on that Saturday afternoon, she was thrilled when Pam suggested they walk through the snow to the Italian bakery in the shopping center, which made the most delicious cannolis and custard-filled donuts and pignoli cookies almost the size of a Frisbee. They'd had two of each boxed up, and then decided to stop next door to bring back a hot pizza, too. When they finally got home, they were soaked and cold, their fingers numb inside their mittens. They'd dried off and gotten into pajamas and had a delicious feast on the living room rug, watching Christmas movies on TV as they munched on reheated pizza and Italian desserts, and drank hot chocolate. Even now, she remembered how cozy she'd felt, wrapped up in blankets on the living room rug with her big sister. Back then, she loved when Pam spent time with her. It was fun to have a sister already in high school. There was nowhere else she'd rather have been.

Of course, the awful irony was that the same snowstorm that led to their memorable evening together also caused their parents to drive off the highway and be stranded in the freezing car until morning. Neither one of them had survived. Pam had kept her safe that day, and had tried to keep her safe in the years that followed, while their grandparents were alive and later, as Callie's legal guardian. "Don't worry," she'd told Callie who, at twelve years old, didn't understand how they could live together with no grown-ups, dismissing the fact that Pam was twenty-two. "We'll do fine. Sisters are the closest relative there is," she'd said.

Downstairs, Callie peeked into the dining room, which was filled with people piling sandwiches and treats from the buffet table onto their plates. They all seemed to know one another, even though she didn't recognize most of them. Who were they? Neighbors who'd moved in after she'd moved away, friends from the mental health center where Pam volunteered one evening a week, teachers from the school where she taught? In the center of the table was a vase of pink and white carnations that someone must have brought over. Somebody—maybe everybody—knew that Pam loved carnations. The room was filled with the energy of a community coming together, an energy she wasn't a part of. She felt like an outsider. An outsider where she should have belonged.

She turned and made her way to the living room. Joe was sitting on the floral sofa, his hands clasped between his knees, his head down. Next to him was his mother, Rose, a young-looking woman with a slim build and auburn hair. Callie watched her pat her son's back with her hand, gentle and steady. Joe didn't acknowledge the gesture, but somehow Callie could tell by his body language, his motionlessness, that he was comforted by her touch. Chloe was sitting on the rug by Joe's feet, and Joe's father, Sam, sat cross-legged opposite her, hiding his eyes with his hands to play peek-a-boo. Chloe giggled one of those sweet toddler giggles, loud and joyful, the kind of giggle that makes everyone who hears it smile.

Leaning against the wall, Callie watched them. Joe lifted his head and leaned it onto the sofa back, covering his eyes with his hands. His mother stayed where she was, rubbing his shoulder now. And suddenly Callie knew Joe was going to be okay. And Chloe was, too. They may have lost the most important person in their lives, but they were not alone. They had family and friends to love them and hold them up during the long days ahead. Callie was moved by Joe's parents. She knew Pam had loved them and was grateful for them. Up until now, Callie felt so strongly that she'd made much better life choices than Pam had. But at this moment, she wasn't so sure.

"Why are you going to Philadelphia? Why are you leaving?" Callie couldn't shake those questions, Pam's last phone call, from her mind. I didn't have a choice , she insisted inside her head, almost as if she were speaking both to herself and to Pam. I needed to go. I had to get away. I was sure it would all make sense to you one day . She'd been certain she was doing the right thing. She thought so still. And yet, she regretted so much not seeing her sister one last time. Not coming home before moving to Philly, as Pam had begged her to. She thought again, as she had earlier when she was upstairs, that maybe she could have made a difference. Maybe if she'd been here, if she'd delayed her move-in date and stayed for a long visit, she could have saved Pam. By helping her to a chair when she felt lightheaded. By steadying her and calling the doctor. By making sure Pam was getting enough sleep and eating good meals. Maybe just by being here, she could have changed the course of events. Maybe instead of mourning Pam, she could have been on the airplane with her right now, waiting to take off for Italy.

But she had made her own decisions for so long, her own stupid decisions that had led to her move. She thought about what Pam would likely tell her now, in her sweet, lyrical voice: You'll be okay without me. You'll be fine . She wondered how long it would take before she wasn't able to hear Pam's voice anymore. She couldn't even remember her parents' voices, and barely remembered her grandparents'. That was the last thing to go, she'd been told. And the thing that was most painful. Because it was so final.

Joe placed his head on his mother's shoulder. Callie wished she could help. She wanted to provide comfort, too. But she wasn't the person Joe needed now. She'd just never been around enough to be that close.

A moment later she felt an arm circle her waist. It was Mrs. Greenbaum, wearing a black dress with a single strand of pearls around her neck. She looked pale, her brown eyes sunk into her cheeks. But she still managed a smile.

"How are you doing, honey?" she said.

Callie shrugged. "I'll be okay."

Mrs. Greenbaum took her hand and led her to the small loveseat by the window. "I know how hard this must be for you," she said. "Pam was always talking about you, thinking about you. She missed you."

Callie looked at her hands on her lap. "I didn't mean to be away so long. I wanted to come back. I would have been back to see her…and the baby…" She paused, trying to hold back the tears. She felt guilty crying. As though she didn't have the right to, after staying apart with no clear explanation.

"Oh, honey," Mrs. Greenbaum said, taking a tissue from her pocket and handing it to Callie. "She never stopped loving you. She knew you'd come back when you were ready. She understood. And she knew you loved her."

Callie wiped her eyes. Mrs. Greenbaum could say what she wanted, but the truth was, Pam didn't understand. Not everything. There was so much Callie hadn't been able to bring herself to say. She took Mrs. Greenbaum's hand. "How are you doing?" she asked. "It has to be hard for you, too."

Mrs. Greenbaum took out another tissue and flicked it against her nose. "Such a shock, I mean, yes—we all knew about her health. But I still never expected this."

She looked over at Joe and shook her head. "Joe's going to have it hard, poor thing. I hear he's decided to take a little time off from work."

Callie nodded. Joe had told her last night in his parents' cottage, as Chloe fell asleep in his arms, that he was going to take two weeks off from the law firm and stay with Chloe and his parents at their country house in Michigan. Callie had promised that she'd be here when he came back, to help with the baby while he started to put his life back together. She'd kissed Chloe's head and stroked her little hand and gazed at her puckered lips, her dark eyelashes, long like Pam's, resting atop her round cheeks. She watched Chloe sleep, taking in her utter stillness, punctuated every so often by a tiny wriggle of her shoulders or a soft sucking motion of her little mouth. No wonder Pam had thought she'd given the world the most precious gift possible when Chloe was born. She only wished Chloe could feel this kind of peace forever.

"Oh, my heart breaks," Mrs. Greenbaum continued. "They were so in love, the two of them. Pam never wanted to be anywhere else but here at home with Joe and Chloe. When she had the baby—it was as though she'd never want another thing in her life. She was an open book, wasn't she? A beautiful open book. And she was so happy that she'd found a way past the loss of your parents and grandparents. By making her life an extension of theirs."

Callie nodded. Yes, and that was what separated them as they dealt with their multiple losses. Pam had moved forward by digging down and Callie had moved forward by heading for the hills.

She pressed her lips together. The mention of her grandparents made her think of the box with that old wedding picture and all the other items. She wished she had more clarity on what Pam was thinking when she'd pulled together all those things.

"Mrs. Greenbaum…" she began.

The woman looked at her.

"Was it possible…I mean, did Pam ever talk to you about going on a trip? With me, maybe?"

"A trip?"

"Like…to Europe? Did she ever tell you about that?"

The woman chuckled and shook her head. "You know your sister. She never wanted to go anywhere. She never wanted to be anywhere but home."

"I know…but could she have been planning something? Maybe some adventure?"

"Honey, you were the adventurer. Not her."

Callie nodded and looked down. She was on the brink of telling Mrs. Greenbaum about the box. Why not?

But then she heard Pam's voice in her head: Sisters are the closest relative there is . And that's when it all started to make sense to her: that Pam had put the train itinerary and the supper club card and the old photos and the boarding passes into the drawer where she kept the special things she and Callie had shared. Things that were only meant for the two of them. She'd locked the box using a code that only Callie knew.

Pam had put all those things there so that if anything happened to her, Callie would be the first one, maybe the only one, to go through that desk. To find the box. To know the combination that would open the lock.

"What is it, honey?" Mrs. Greenbaum said. "Your whole face just turned white."

Callie didn't answer. All she could think was that Pam had wanted her to find these things. Pam had left them for her and her alone. And she knew what she had to do.