Different Memories

           Her stomach curled as she entered Loretta’s house. She probably should’ve made up an excuse to bow out when she’d called to invite her over; lately, they’d done nothing but argue. She always felt horrible afterward—she didn’t want to upset her sister any more than she wanted a migraine headache—but, for reasons Dannielle couldn’t fathom, Loretta just couldn’t stop broaching the subject that ignited them, and Dannielle couldn’t condone abandoning her principles, not even to keep the peace.

She considered bolting until, from behind the closed bathroom door, Loretta yelled, “Be right out.”

           Dannielle shifted, eyes sweeping the room. Tired corduroy couches. An oak bookshelf teeming with romance novels and, atop it, a ceramic globe with sterling silver continents raised from a pearl-white background, veiled with dust. A maple coffee table cluttered with dog-eared People magazines, Milky Way wrappers, remote controls for the flat-screen TV on the wall opposite and its predecessors, and lavender-scented candle stumps. Matching end tables holding more of the same. Yet another table beside Dannielle offering, atop a torn envelope, a water bill. $129.50. Pretty steep.

           The bathroom door groaned open. Loretta stepped out and motioned for her to come into the kitchen. As Dannielle took a seat at the cherry table she’d bought her as a housewarming gift, Loretta offered tea and snickerdoodles she’d baked that morning. Dannielle declined, and Loretta dropped into the chair opposite her. “It happened again,” she said.

           Dannielle tensed. Just as she’d feared. She, thus, didn’t prompt her to explain, but Loretta did, anyway. The previous night, she’d curled up on the couch to watch Days of Our Lives, and a plate had flown out of one of her kitchen cabinets and shattered against the opposite wall. A “ghost,” she said, as she’d said so many times before. She had to find someone to come in and “cleanse” the home, or else she’d have to move despite the fact that the recent housing crisis had depleted its value so much that she’d end up right back in a cramped, financial money pit like the apartment she’d so happily left a year ago.

           Dannielle sighed. “Come on, Lor. You know that’s ridiculous.”

           Loretta’s face grew as red as a train’s warning light, shadows tracing the borders of the veins in her temples. “Why can’t you just admit that there’re some things we can’t explain?”

           “Because that’s not how the world works.”

           Loretta rolled her eyes. “Right. ‘Cause you know everything, and I’m crazy.”

           “I never said you’re crazy.”

           “Yes, you did. Last week, when we had lunch at the diner.”

           “No, I said, ‘illogical.’ ”

           “No, I distinctly remember, you said, ‘crazy.’ ”

           Dannielle “distinctly” remembered saying, “illogical.” Not once had the word “crazy” crossed her lips.

           “And to compare me to a kid believing in the Tooth Fairy? That’s low.”

           Dannielle shook her head, gut churning. She’d never made such a remark. Why would Loretta say that? Had emotions eroded her memory? Did she, for not the first time, crave drama, warranted or not? Or had something darker come into play? Would Dannielle, if she had called her “crazy,” have been right?

           No. Loretta had not lost her mind. She just wanted to mold Dannielle’s words into a key to fit the lock she currently wanted to open. She’d done it before, and she’d do it again, if Dannielle allowed it.

           She wouldn’t. This, she couldn’t take. It was one thing to vilify someone for what they’d said; it was a whole other offense to do so for what they hadn’t. She would not waste any more time on an argument in which her opponent refused to play by the rules. In fact, though she knew she’d waffle, question herself, and hate herself for it, she wouldn’t engage with her any more at all unless and until she gave her the apology she deserved.

           She jumped to her feet, feeling as if Loretta had cranked the thermostat to a hundred degrees. “Fine. Whatever. Have fun paying your $129.50 water bill.”

           Loretta shot her an expression that looked so genuinely confused that, despite the heat in her chest, she paused. “What’re you talking about? I didn’t even open my water bill this month.”

           “Yes, you did.”

           “No, I didn’t.”

           “It’s on the foyer table.”

           “Unopened.”

           Dannielle shook her head. Down was up. Up was down. The lies never ended.

           “Here,” she said, rising and heading for the foyer. “See for yourself.”

           Dannielle followed her. The sight that met her sent daggers through her chest. The bill did not sit atop the envelope; only the envelope, address facing upward, sat on the table. But she’d seen the bill; she knew she had. Loretta must’ve snuck away and stuffed it back into the envelope when she wasn’t looking.

           But when had she not been looking? She couldn’t, for the life of her, recall having turned away from her sister since they’d started arguing. And why would Loretta do that, anyway—what did she have to gain from such a ruse? Had Dannielle gone crazy?

           Loretta snatched the envelope, turned it around, and flashed it in her face. The flap looked sealed. As if to prove it, Loretta grabbed a corner and tore. A wet ripping sound; yes, the flap had been sealed.

           Loretta pulled the bill from the envelope. “See? I told you it was—“ She stopped, face as white as the paper in her hand. Her jaw dropped and trembled, her eyes adopting a glassy glint Dannielle didn’t like one bit. “Oh my God.”

           “What?”

           With a shaky hand, Loretta turned the letter so that Dannielle could see the bottom line. $129.50.

           She staggered back, breath punched from her lungs. She stared at Loretta, hoping that she’d break into a smirk and expose it as a joke, a stupid joke, payback for giving her a hard time, and provide an explanation. Instead, she dropped the letter, eyes bulging, flesh sinking around the cords of her neck. Much as she wanted to, Dannielle couldn’t doubt her sincerity.

           When the shock wore off, allowing ego to reemerge, she’d say, “I told you so.” Dannielle could rebut, but it would prove no use. Loretta knew the truth: That what had just happened had cast everything Dannielle had thought she’d known into the dust, leaving her floundering. Loretta would love it. Dannielle shriveled, bracing for the blow.

           Loretta’s ceramic globe, all by itself, flew off the bookshelf and shattered on the far wall.