Page 35 of Mirror Image

“Yeah, sure,” I replied, imitating my sister’s flatter, cooler affect.

Following her out onto the back patio, I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from cracking up and giving it away. I wanted to see just how far I could go—just how long before she caught on and we had a good laugh over it.

“Come, sit with me,” she said, leading us to the sofa under the large gazebo across from the pool. “Look, Samantha—Sam,” my mom began once we were settled, “we understand you’ve done without your entire life. And you know what? That doesn’t have to be the case anymore.”

I felt my heartbeat pick up a little. Finally! They were finally coming around. The wave of relief was so strong that it was practically euphoric.

“Oh yeah? Great,” I said, pairing my best Sam-centric tone with her signature nonchalant shrug. “What were you thinking?”

My mind was whirring with the possibilities . . . Maybe they’d ask her to move in here permanently. Maybe they’d offer to get the two of us a condo on campus. Maybe they’d—

My thoughts came to an abrupt and screeching halt when she pulled something out of her pocket and held it out for me to take.

“What is that?” I asked, staring down at the folded check.

“Consider it seed money. Just a little something to get you set up—wherever you want to go. It’s enough for a car and moving expenses, for several months’ rent, incidentals . . . If you spend it wisely, you’ll be set for some time, Samantha.”

My hands had a slight tremor as I took the paper from her and opened it.

Two hundred thousand dollars.

“And there’s more,” my mother continued as I scrambled to process what was happening at that moment. “Once you give us a bank account number, there will be a . . . let’s say . . . stipend . . . deposited on the first of each month for an additional five thousand dollars.” She sat back and considered me—or Sam, as it were. Because Theresa Langston had never once looked at me with the kind of cool detachment she was looking at me with at that moment. Now that she thought I was someone else.

I jumped a little, startled when she put a hand on my knee.

“Sam, it’s enough to keep you comfortable the rest of your life. You don’t even have to work if you don’t want to. Or maybe you’ll start that company—that tour company you talk about. You could go to another country, even! South America, Europe . . . We could certainly help you get what you need to make an international move if that’s what you wanted. Really, the possibilities are endless.”

I tried to swallow past the hard lump that had formed in my throat, but my voice still came out sounding strained. “Is that . . . ?” I began, closed my eyes for a second and tried again. “What’s the catch?”

My mother’s mouth tightened slightly at the corners. She never did like dealing with the nitty-gritty details of business. That was for my father, for the attorneys, for other people to hash out. But I imagined her and my father deciding that this particular pitch would be best coming from a woman. From her.

“You have to cut off all communication with Mary.”

Bitter bile filled my mouth, and I had to swallow quickly.

“She’s my sister,” I said when I was sure I could speak without gagging and retching right there on the six-figure Persian rug. “And we’ve only just found each other—”

“But is she?” Mom asked more sharply than I expected. “Is she really your sister, Samantha?”

“Well, yeah . . . obviously . . .”

She shook her head. “This is what I keep telling Mary—simply sharing DNA, simply looking like someone, does not automatically bond you together for life. Come now, Sam,” she said conspiratorially, softening her tone and volume. “We both know you’re not looking for a ready-made family. You’ve been on your own for so long! You’re independent—doing what you want to do when you want to do it, with no one to answer to.”

“And . . . uh . . . what would you tell Mary? About me just . . . disappearing?”

My mother scoffed and waved a hand. “Pfft. We’ll find a suitable story.”

It was as if someone flipped a switch in me. Sitting there, knowing I looked exactly like Sam, somehow emboldened me to tamp down the “good girl” in me and channel my grittier, savvier counterpart.

“You don’t think she’ll be upset? That this might hurt her after we’ve gotten so close?”

Her smile was all ice. “Trust me, Sam, she’ll get over it.”

Did she really think that? Was it possible my mother believed me to be so shallow and vacuous that I could somehow be manipulated into forgetting I had a twin?

“Yeah? I’m not so sure about that.”

“I am.”