When We Were Sisters. Emilie Richards

you ever get tired of this, do you think?” I asked.

      My question sobered her. I love Cecilia’s profile, topped off today with an elaborate braided knot of glistening auburn hair. Even an old-fashioned paper silhouette of my sister would be expressive. She’s more than just a singer. She’s acted in some good movies and some not so good ones, but at no time on or off film is Cecilia’s face ever truly blank. I’m not sure we see what she’s really feeling, but we always see something.

      “I get tired of being mobbed.” She turned away and closed her eyes. “I get tired of being grabbed and crowded. When I’m alone at home I really like the quiet and the space. I didn’t always. For a long time it gave me too much time to think.”

      “And remember.”

      “That, too. We’ll be doing a lot of that in the next weeks. I haven’t been back to Randolph Furnace since my mother left me at my grandparents’ house for almost a year. She came back and got me when I was maybe six, and that was that. I must have been six, because I started school in Pennsylvania. Unless they had kindergarten...”

      “That’s one of the problems with our childhoods. Unless a social worker was around to document whatever was going on, we lost the details. Now it’s just vague memories.”

      “You don’t have many of those.”

      I had made sure of that. “You’ve never talked much about yours.”

      “I’m foggy on dates, but I sure have memories.”

      “Do you have any good ones of Pennsylvania?”

      For a moment it seemed as if she didn’t want to answer, but then her shoulders lifted under the elaborate cape. “My grandparents. I loved them. Maybe that’s why I never went back to Randolph Furnace. They died while I was still a child, and by then the mine had closed and the town was practically deserted. I held dying against them, I guess. You know, dying when they knew I was out there somewhere in the world with crazy Maribeth.”

      I knew the answer but asked a question to keep her talking. “Your grandfather was a miner?”

      “Not the healthiest profession. As it turned out neither was construction, since that’s what killed my father.”

      Cecilia’s father had died in his late teens, when she was still just a toddler. A beam fell on him and quickly destroyed their little family and her mother’s ability to cope. The irony? He had chosen construction instead of mining because it seemed safer.

      I was worried. These weren’t good memories. “You’ll be okay going back tomorrow? Complete with film crew and me?”

      “Tonight.”

      I wondered what I had missed. “Tonight? Once we settle into the inn in Uniontown there’s a crew meeting to go over what we’ll be doing.” Mick had explained what would happen. Everything we would do each day would be covered at a meeting the night before, from a briefing on the topic to transportation arrangements, our roles, logistics for each location, what shots we would cover and estimated wrap time.

      “Yes, I know. I’ll be briefed after the meetings on whatever I need to know.”

      I continued. “So I was told that tonight we’d be going over details for filming in Randolph Furnace tomorrow and maybe the next day, depending on weather and whatever else happens.”

      “That’s Mick’s plan. But I’ve made my own. I want to go back without the crew first.”

      I was sure Mick wasn’t going to like that. The point was to document Cecilia’s initial reactions on film. Not leftovers or replays. Mick was after the truth, or as much of it as anyone ever knows.

      “I won’t go to the house,” she said, as if she knew what I was thinking. “I just want to drive around town a little, get a feel for what it’s like now.”

      “Why?”

      “So I don’t turn tail and run.”

      “Isn’t this going to be one of the easier places we visit?”

      “The first time you do anything it’s never easy. Like sex. Remember? Or the first week of a diet? Or how about that first baby you pushed out? You were in labor for what, ten years?”

      “It only felt like ten years.”

      “Come with me. We’ll steal a car.” She laughed at the noise I made. “Actually we’ll take Wendy’s rental. She won’t tell because she thinks I’ll fire her if she disagrees with me about anything.”

      Wendy was the blonde pixie from the airport entourage. She was Cecilia’s assistant, hairdresser and makeup artist—which meant she did whatever Cecilia asked and then some. Of course there was also Hal, the big guy, who was a combination bodyguard and gofer, and he didn’t look easy to fool. Cecilia was insisting on as little security as was absolutely necessary. The crew and Donny would be performing publicity sleight of hand throughout the trip. She wanted to be one of the gang.

      “Won’t Hal know what you’re up to?”

      “He’d better. That’s what I pay him for. But I’ll tell Hal hands off. He answers to me, whether he likes what I’m doing or not. Donny’s the only one who might cause a problem. But he’ll probably be meeting with people. We’ll be able to sneak out.”

      “Did you have any idea we would so quickly revert to our past? You plan escapades guaranteed to get us both in trouble, and I go along because I love you?”

      “Even the worst childhoods have their high points.” She rested her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes for the rest of the flight. I leaned against her and made myself comfortable, too.