A Matter of Minutes

A Matter of Minutes

The September sunlight streaming through the window carrying the promise of a new day seemed to mock Isabel. When the plus-sign on the test-stick bloomed bright blue in less than a minute, she slumped against the cool porcelain vanity, certain her heart would box its way through her ribcage.

She'd attributed her increasingly vague maladies to the same hereditary disease that robbed her of a mother when she was just three. For years, she'd been complacent about getting genetic testing, and this unknown shadow trolling her for weeks had finally caught up.

But she wasn’t dying, after all. Her symptoms were caused by an entirely innocent entity, something as innocuous as a pea. Yet, its implications were just as terrifying. Isabel was, quite literally, irrevocably fucked.

This can’t be happening.

Knuckles clattered against the bathroom door, jolting her back to reality.

“You've been in there for 20 minutes. Who do you think you are? Queen Elizabeth?” her older sister, Piper, barked. “We’re late. Again!”

She didn’t wait for a reply. “We've missed the train twice this week and it’s only Tuesday. Imagine that?” Piper's sarcasm seeped through the doorframe like smoke.

“I'm so sorry...be right out," Isabel squeaked. If weasels talked, she imagined they'd sound like her. She wasn’t sure whom she was more frightened by - her sister or this unwanted conception. Both were poised to wreak havoc on her life.

Piper grumbled something about irresponsibility, coffee; Isabel barely heard anything but her own heartbeat and rapid exhales. Her fingers fumbled as she wrapped the test-stick in tissues and buried the mummified evidence in the trash. She washed her hands and splashed cold water on her tear-streaked face.

Piper was right - as usual. This unexpected turn of events was not her sister’s fault. Isabel was not only making Piper late and undermining her credibility at work, but she was sabotaging the promising job Piper secured for her at her law firm on the 98th floor of the North Tower less than five months earlier. And who would turn down such an amazing opportunity unemployed and closing in on thirty? Apparently, Isabel should have.

In hindsight, stepping into that elevator four months ago had been the single biggest mistake she'd made in her entire life. And unfortunately, her misfortune hadn't stopped there. She quickly calculated - exactly nine weeks to the day since that Fourth of July picnic. The memory made her dizzy; her stomach clenched. She just needed to clear her head. This wasn't the 1950s; it was 2001, a new millennium, and women had choices. She’d handle this...respectfully. Eventually she'd have to confide in Piper. Isabel was both broke and desperate.

At the moment, she couldn’t possibly pass her sister's intense scrutiny looking like a walking dirge. She waited until she heard Piper’s heels metronomically click down the stairs before Isabel slipped out the bathroom door. She headed in the opposite direction of her sister, toward the bedroom at the end of the hall. After a gentle tap on the door, she entered.

Isabel's father appeared asleep. She eased down on the edge of his bed. His lips twitched with a suppressed grin as he squinted up at her.

“Morning, Daddy.” She felt like a child again, remembering when the school bus chugged up their street with a very frustrated Piper onboard - sans Isabel. “We missed the train again.”

“Get the next train. It’s New York City, there’s always a next train.” He shifted into a semi-sitting position on the bed and Isabel adjusted the pillows beneath him. She caught the faint scent of his aftershave- her mother's favorite -and time stilled for a beat.

He patted the bedside table, searching for his glasses. They rested beside a syringe wrapper crumpled like origami – remnants of his morning insulin shot Nurse Mary had administered while his daughters readied for work. She handed him his glasses, and he propped them on his nose; a sharp nose like a bent finger, growing more prominent, while his soft facial features, crocheted with age, drew inward over time. Isabel couldn’t imagine a day without her father, but ever since his latest stroke at eighty, he'd been fading - slowly but undeniably.

“Time is a fickle entity,” he'd always said. “Life can only be lived going forward yet only understood looking back.” His quotes of wisdom had always anchored her. After their mother died, he’d been both father and mother to his daughters. Unyielding to change, Isabel thrived in the comforts of simplicity and home.

Piper, in contrast, craved an enigmatic future, eventually leaving the nest for college and becoming a high-powered cooperate attorney. But nearly three decades earlier, the first moment she held baby Isabel, Piper treated her like a precious gift, entrusted to her care. After their mother's diagnosis, Isabel had often crawled into Piper's bed after a bad dream, fearing the simplest things - like Santa, or a howling wind, even the hum of the refrigerator. Piper would draw her in and whisper reassurances that everything was going to be okay.

But when Piper returned from university, while Isabel was still in high school, she wasn't the same sister. She was hardened, driven. Maternal softness had been replaced by ambition and expectations without useless mollycoddling. Isabel's timidity and vulnerabilities didn't help their dynamic, especially in moments like this. Piper abhorred disorganization and tardiness. Isabel couldn't concentrate on anything other than the fact that being late took on a whole new meaning. Can one be late twice in one morning? Apparently so.

“Piper's waiting, so I have to go, but I'll see you for dinner later. I’m making lasagna, your favorite. Then maybe a western?” Knowing he hated the finality of good-byes, she kissed his speckled forehead, and whispered, “So-long, Daddy," just as Piper barged into the room.

“Am I missing something profound? My old man's last words? His final breath?” Piper asked in a sudden, inexplicable Southern drawl as though auditioning for Gone with the Wind. She beamed at their father, then glared at Isabel.

Here we go, buckle-up.

“Tomorrow, I’m hiring a car to take me to the train station.” She tapped an invisible watch on her wrist, then pointed the same manicured finger at Isabel. “I got you this job. How do you think it looks when we saunter in at ten? I was at my desk at eight o'clock sharp every morning for ten years, until you started." She shook her head, like a disappointed parent. “Isabel will be late for her own funeral.” She air-quoted the assertion Isabel had so often heard.

Piper paced the room like a prosecutor. "For the record, Izzy, you’d never be late for your own funeral because I’d handle all the arrangements. Meanwhile, I'll end up in a trash bag in your trunk until you remember to bury me in some cornfield.”

"I said I was sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it anymore." Piper continued. “Seriously, Izzy, what's going on with you? You started off great for the first two months but all summer you've been acting weird. Calling out sick every other week. Wrinkled clothes, scuffed shoes, and bags under your eyes resembling used tea bags. You look bloated, and with your blotchy, red skin you resemble a crack-addicted tomato." She ran her fingers through her coifed hair. "You cannot afford to lose another job. Who the hell gets fired from a library?”

Isabel stared down at her frumpy dress and ugly shoes. “I didn’t get fired – I was let go. There’s a difference,” she sheepishly replied.

“No there isn’t. You have a degree in archeology yet you’re afraid to fly and you don’t like insects. Wednesday, Thursday Friday!” Piper’s genteel way of saying what the fuck in their dad’s presence. “Lately, I don't understand you at all. But I refuse to let you drag me down. Get your shit together or I'll ask the firm to let you go.”

Again, with those damn air-quotes.

"You should've just left without me. I am capable of riding the train alone." Isabel knew she was grasping at air. Ahe needed her sister and until recently, Piper seemed to relish having her kid-sister as her commuter companion.

“That doesn't help me this morning, does it? I had an important deposition at 9:30 - it's regrettably being handled by that annoying junior associate who's always workin’ the perky. The one allergic to everything and stuffs tissues up her sleeves, labels everything in the refrigerator; couldn’t get laid on a conjugal visit. Yep, I'm replaced by that brown-nosing associate.”

“Oh no, Piper, our very existence is in jeopardy. You’re missing a deposition for a grown man who choked on a plastic kiddie-meal toy in a drive-thru.”

“Sure, mock my profession, Izzy, but I’ve worked my butt off to become partner. And fast-food has perpetuated the human race. It’s given mommy a little extra energy for daddy at the end of a long day. Throw in the minivan and she can feed her backseat kiddies without setting foot in the kitchen, all the while sitting down. I’d rather have a colonoscopy than defend this guy, but it's my ethical obligation, my career– you remember what that is, right?”

Isabel swallowed the rising bile at the mention of kids in the same breath as an intestinal procedure. "Thank you for reminding me that I wouldn't have a job if it weren't for you." Isabel had been grateful at first, but she'd grown to hate being trapped in her tiny cubicle high up in that tower. She was floundering, at best. "So, your skillful strategy is that fast-food saves marriages?" Isabel sighed. "You're a brilliant Princton graduate defending idiot clients who warrant your time if they pay for it by the hour. Sounds like the 'world's oldest profession' to me.”

“Wow - well, for your information, Siskabob, that 'fast-food freak' is paying the entire firm’s salaries this month, including yours. So, I believe that puts us in the same prostitution boat. And as 'distasteful' as this case is, I should be in my office preparing a defense concerning toys and food, two subjects I know nothing about. Haven’t played with toys since you were born, and I burn water. Ideally, men want homemade meals served, if possible, on the fifty-yard line between a woman’s legs.”

"Jesus! That's enough, Piper! Both of you, just settle down right now!" The sisters froze. Their father hadn't raised his voice in years. “I remember when you two stood together just like those twin towers, side by side, always looking out for each other. No matter what happens, you'll always be sisters - never forget that.”

"How can I forget when we live and work together?" Piper rolled her eyes. “I have nothing further.” Apparently, she'd rested her case. She strode toward the door on heels sharp enough to qualify as weapons. “So long, Dad, for the second time this morning.”

“Fifth," he corrected. "But who’s counting?" He winked at Piper.

"Love you, too,” she said, then turned to Isabel. “I’ll be waiting in the car, emphasis on waiting.” She sang the last word and flounced out the bedroom door as though just crowned Miss Congeniality.

With false confidence, Isabel turned her attention to her father. “Need anything before I go?”

“I've got Nurse Mary.” He gently patted her knee. “Listen, kiddo, no more of this late for your own funeral nonsense. I’d want to be so late you’d have to reschedule it.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Life is more than just schedules and deadlines. I’ve lived a full life, sewed my wild oats, served and survived Korea, met and married the woman of my dreams and had two perfect daughters. There will always be different measures of joy and sadness, but what keeps me grounded are all the fond memories I will carry forever. And this morning is clearly not one of them."

"I'm sorry, Dad. It was really all my fault, I'll do better."

The Jeep horn bleated outside.

Her father rolled his eyes. “I worry more about that one than I do you, Izzy. Quit doting on your old man - go out once in a while and have some fun. Find that special someone. There must be at least one respectable gentleman in that monolith you work in worthy of my gorgeous girl."

Isabel's throat tightened. There had been someone. They’d met in an elevator in the North Tower Isabel's first week of work. Smart and handsome, he smelled of green apples and sandalwood. He worked a few floors above their law firm - the casual encounter seemed right. She recalled the day early on, when he stopped the elevator mid-floor and gently kissed her. This was followed by six weeks of easy banter and laughter but remained mostly platonic.

Then, that Fourth of July picnic - after the fireworks - everything went horribly wrong. That night hadn't been a mistake but an unimaginable taking. She'd spent all summer trying to erase the memory. Her breath hitched whenever her mind brushed the edges of that torment and humiliation, and she'd stuff it back down. She never saw him again after that night, but she was constantly looking over her shoulder. Two months later, her violator was fully resurrected in the form of a tiny, blue cross.

Her eyes stung at the thought of a termination of both her job and this baby. There was clearly only one option as far as the pregnancy was concerned. She'd love to have a baby someday, just not this one. Given the circumstances surrounding the conception, she was certain Piper would agree. Maybe even sympathize enough to pay for the procedure and help her find a more suitable workplace that didn't cause her to relive that night on a daily basis.

So why the confusion, the flicker of something she couldn't name?

It was quite possible she could no longer trust her own instincts. She looked away to avoid her father reading her expression. Instead, he seemed to read her mind.

“Izzy-bella…," her father murmured. "Sometimes life drags us through the chaff to finally reveal the golden wheat. Maybe what you really need has been right in front of you all along just waiting to be discovered.”

Shocked by her father's strangely intuitive statement, she stood from the edge of the bed and self-consciously smoothed out the front of her dress. A bit wrinkled, but no obvious signs of a bump...yet - just the knowledge of something quietly growing inside her. Silently rearranging her world. Innocently delaying her by minutes that would matter in ways she couldn't imagine.

The horn blared again.

At the bedroom door, Isabel turned back and her dad blew her a kiss. As always, she pretended to catch it. As she gently closed his door, several more abrupt horn blasts echoed up the stairs. Her heart galloped at the thought of Piper's impatience and the conversation she would have to face sooner than later. But she couldn't help but smile after another beep of the horn when her father's voice rose from behind the door.

“God help us, Piper, relax! You’d be early for your own execution.”

Outside, the air was crisp, edged with impending fall weather. Similar to her buried pregnancy test, the sky was so impossibly blue that looking at it hurt. A cloudless day that made one believe nothing bad could ever happen.

On their late-morning commute, under that same flawless sky, the world was splitting wide open. The ashes rained down where two gleaming towers once stood. The two sisters had unknowingly and unwittingly skirted the trappings of history. Slowly, names would replace numbers, as silence grew louder than certainty.

Isabel thought about that morning. Her bathroom sabbatical -the pregnancy test like a warning flare -Piper's heels like a ticking bomb descending the stairs - the overly trivial and elongated conversations at her father's bedside, Piper's lecture over her kid sister's constant, nonsensical delinquencies. How very close they'd come to being where they were supposed to be. But perhaps, they were exactly where they should've been all along.

Isabel finally understood her father's words of wisdom about time, how it only made sense looking back. This unborn baby had saved their lives. Was reciprocation her only way to pay it forward? All three had been spared that fateful day, derailed not by intention or intelligence or bravery, but by fear and family bonds, and the fragile coincidences of time.