so affectionate, convincing everyone who knew her that it wasn’t possible she could have done something so terrible. Then there would be an incident, like Rachel falling down the stairs, or rat poison from the garden shed ending up mysteriously in Rachel’s milk.
More than once, they’d had a scare like that with Rachel. And more than once, Angela had been nearby. They’d had no proof that she’d caused these “accidents” in any way, and Rachel herself said she had tripped over stuffed animals on the stairs. But the question remained, who had put those stuffed animals there, in a corner of the stairs that was so dark they were unlikely to be seen? And though it was hard to believe a five-year-old would think to take rat poison from a high shelf in a garden shed and put it in her sister’s milk, who had placed the step stool by that shelf and forgotten to put it back? Who, but someone short enough to need it?
On the other hand, to suspect Angela of such monstrous deeds was, at first, unthinkable.
It wasn’t until that terrible Christmas Eve that Gina and Paul were forced to admit they had a killer on their hands. That Rachel hadn’t died that night was a miracle. Paul had gotten to her in time, saving her from more than a shallow wound. It was enough, though, to convince them that Angela could never be trusted alone with her sister again.
They’d had to make a decision, and it was the most difficult one they’d ever faced. On the advice of Victoria Lessing, the psychiatrist they’d been consulting for months, they took Angela back to the orphanage.
Though on the surface it seemed cold to do that, Saint Sympatica’s was known for its private funding by wealthy patrons, and for having psychiatric care for its children. It was because of the high quality of care that it had been recommended to Gina and Paul when they first announced to friends their intention to adopt a child. The long flight to Minnesota to apply, then the following investigation and paperwork, were well worth it when they finally got to hold the twins in their arms.
Gina could remember the first time she realized that Angela was Paul’s favorite. They both did their best not to choose favorites, but there was some link, some bond between Paul and Angela that drew them together. Angela was outgoing and could make Paul laugh with her antics, while Rachel was timid and reserved, standing back and watching while her sister danced like a windup bear and made funny faces that stole the show.
This, of course, had the effect of making Gina show more attention to Rachel so that she wouldn’t feel left out. When Angela was old enough to notice this, she became angry over Gina’s preference for her twin, as she perceived it. At first she threw tantrums, stamping her feet or kicking things. Around the age of four, however, she began to hit Rachel. When she blackened one of her sister’s eyes, Gina and Paul began consulting Victoria Lessing. Victoria at first told them that, though a black eye seemed a bit extreme, fighting amongst siblings was normal. Perhaps Angela hadn’t realized what the consequences of her actions would be? Now that she did, her love for her sister might temper her actions in the future.
The problem, as Gina saw it, was that Angela did not seem to have the usual twin’s love for her sister. There were times, in fact, when Gina was sure that Angela hated Rachel.
She tried to talk to Paul about this but, blinded by love, he couldn’t see it. Angela was too good at hiding her darker side when he was around, and consequently he would defend her hotly, arguing that she simply had a stronger, more assertive personality than Rachel. Paul felt this would serve her well in the future.
In all fairness, not even Gina could have foreseen the kind of terror that future would bring.
The phone rang, and Gina came back to the present with a start. Rolling her eyes, she sighed, sensing who was on the other end of that ring.
“Hi, Mom,” she said, picking up the kitchen phone.
“How’d you know it was me?” Roberta Evans asked. “Oh, you’ve got that caller ID now, right?”
“Right, Mom,” Gina lied. It was easier than explaining that she’d developed a sixth sense for trouble. “What’s up?”
“Rachel’s coming home tomorrow, isn’t she? I forgot when her plane comes in.”
“Five-oh-five in the afternoon, Mom. You want to come with us?”
“Sea-Tac at that hour, the week before Christmas?” Her mother’s tone was one of exaggerated horror. “I’d rather wrestle a polar bear! How come you didn’t make it at a better time?”
Gina could hear the puff-puff of her mother’s cigarette, and saw in her mind the dyed red hair, the dark-lined lips. She loved her mother like crazy, even with all her eccentricities. Truth be told, she loved the eccentricities too—even more than she let on.
“That was the only flight we could get her on, Mom. She’s having tests at school today.”
“Well, that’s the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of! Tests, with Christmas only five days away? What are they trying to do to young people these days?”
“It’s something special, Mom. The term ended officially on the fourteenth, but she had to take some test for a special class.”
Gina sighed and changed the subject, taking a box of cereal from a bag and putting it in the cupboard. “We’re taking her to dinner on the way home,” she said. “We probably won’t get back here till late.”
“You keep saying ‘we,’” her mother commented blandly. “Does this mean Paul will be with you?”
“Of course. We always pick Rachel up together, you know that.”
“On the contrary, I don’t know a thing about Paul these days. Seems to me he’s never home when I call you at night.”
“Well, maybe you don’t call on the right nights,” Gina said, defending her husband out of habit.
“He’s not there now, I’ll bet.”
“No, but—”
“And he wasn’t home last night when I called, either.”
Gina took down a heavy cut-crystal tumbler and pulled a spicy Chardonnay from the fridge, pouring it to the tumbler’s halfway mark, then shrugging and filling it clear to the rim. What the hell.
“Mother,” she said patiently, taking a sip, “you know Paul always works late during the holidays. It’s his way of coping.”
“Well, it may be none of my business, but if you ask me, it’s not his only way of coping.”
Gina frowned. “You’re right, Mother. It’s none of your business.”
“Don’t Mother me, Gina Evans Bradley. He wouldn’t be the first man to stray.”
“No, but as I’ve told you before, Paul isn’t the type.”
“Ha! All men are the type.”
This was not a discussion Gina wanted to have. But to simply let it go would only add more fuel to her mother’s fire.
“Paul is too tired these days,” she said quietly, “to have an affair. He’s worn-out, Mom. I’m worried about him.”
“Are you saying he’s worn-out when he’s
